The priest glanced again at the child.
“It is M. de Nançay,” he said, in a low voice; “one of the witnesses against the accused is his cousin, Lemoigne de Marsou.”
“Ah!” ejaculated Jacques des Horloges, nodding his head slowly.
“A trap, of course, mon père,” Madame Michel exclaimed, leaning forward in her interest, her knitting forgotten.
“It would seem so,” Père Antoine replied thoughtfully. “M. de Bruneau was led into making some admission. There has been too much sharp practice in tracing plotters. I truly believe that de Bruneau may be innocent of all treason, but it cannot be proved. Since his majesty reached his majority, madame his mother has been discontented with her position. She cannot accept any place but the first. She has ruled so long during the king’s childhood that she is not willing to give up. It is said publicly by her partisans that she has been admitted to the council merely for the sake of appearances and has no voice in anything, though her name is used, and the people hold her responsible for affairs in which she has no part. The young men of her party are therefore constantly plotting to reinstate her in authority, and her jealousy of her son fosters these intrigues both here and in her court at Blois. It is some affair of this kind in which de Bruneau is implicated, but I think that M. de Nançay is far more likely to have burned his fingers than this young man.”
“It is strange,” remarked Jacques des Horloges; “M. de Bruneau is the last man of whom I should expect such disloyalty; he could not have been in his senses.”
“He says that he had been drinking when the confession was forced from him,” Père Antoine rejoined; “it was at Archambault’s pastry shop.”
“You have seen him, then?” asked Madame Michel eagerly.
“I went immediately to the Châtelet,” the priest replied; “I found him much as I expected. He has not the fortitude to meet such a calamity.”
“He has powerful patrons, mon père,” the goodwife said; “is there no hope of intercession?”