“The cardinal is here,” was the reply; “he came this morning.”
Further inquiry developed the fact that monsignor had reached his own house at Ruel some hours earlier and was there then. This was better fortune than Péron could have expected, and it lifted a load from his heart. It was easier to get Monsieur to the cardinal’s house here unnoticed than in Paris, where he was almost certain to be recognized at once. But it was no easy matter to get the unhappy prince to see the affair in the same light. To his mind it was no better to face Richelieu at Ruel than at the Palais Cardinal. Monsieur had never been able to meet an ordeal, and he was not any better prepared than usual. At first he refused loudly to move an inch, holding his horse’s head steadily toward Paris and declaring that he would see no one, go to no one but the king.
“Your highness may be recognized if you speak so plainly,” Péron reminded him, “and in that case I cannot answer for the results.”
“Mon Dieu!” cried Gaston, in alarm; “surely, man, they would not hurt me! My brother would never forgive them if they dared to touch me.”
“Your highness is safe,” Péron replied dryly, “but you would be more so with the cardinal. He is a wise man and will devise some way out of this difficulty, I doubt not.”
Monsieur gasped; he was relieved, but he could not make up his mind. Péron laid his hand on his bridle rein.
“M. le Prince,” he said bluntly, “yonder come some gay gentlemen; if I mistake not, M. de Bassompierre is among them. If he sees your highness, this matter will be the talk of the galleries of the Louvre to-night, the gossip of the Marais, the tattle of the Port Antoine.”
“Parbleu!” ejaculated Monsieur, in a vexed tone, “you are right. Go on, man, to the cardinal—or to the devil—it must be my unlucky star!”
Péron did not wait for another change; he gave his orders quickly, and they all proceeded at a trot to the cardinal’s house. The court was full of musketeers, and there was a guard at the door; but Péron was recognized and easily gained admittance for himself, Monsieur, and the two women. The others remained without, finding friends and comrades among the guards. Péron sent a message to the cardinal, and in a few moments received his orders to leave mademoiselle and her woman in the anteroom below and to come to him with his prisoner, of whose importance a hint had been conveyed. An usher led them up the broad stairs, and opened the door for them to enter the cardinal’s presence. The prince was still masked and muffled, and walked sullenly into the room, which was a large one, richly furnished and with a bright fire burning on the hearth. The hangings were of splendid tapestry, and the floor was covered with fine rugs. Richelieu was better able to gratify his taste for magnificence now than when the young Bishop of Luçon bought the second-hand black velvet bed of his aunt, Madame de Marconnay, and borrowed money to buy his first silver dishes.
Péron followed close on the heels of Monsieur and closed the door behind them. They found the cardinal alone; he was standing with his back to the fire, and he had the advantage, for the light fell full on their faces, leaving his in the shadow. He was not a large man, thin and of medium stature, yet in his red robes and with his coal-black moustache and chin tuft and his white hair, he was at once an imposing and remarkable figure. The restless genius of the man shone through the immovable mask of his pale face, as the fire burns within an alabaster lamp. Péron saw that he recognized Monsieur at a glance; he did not show any surprise, however, but briefly ordered Péron to keep the door against all comers; then he turned to the prince with a cold smile on his thin lips.