The cardinal said nothing more, but stood looking at the clock. In the pause they heard the trampling of horses’ feet in the court.
“’Tis the provost-marshal,” Richelieu said calmly, “and ten minutes too early.”
Monsieur rose to his feet and staggered to the desk, uttering a great oath in his passion of shame and fear.
“Save me, M. le Cardinal,” he cried, “I cannot go with the provost-marshal. Mon Dieu! I will sign anything rather than that.”
CHAPTER XVIII
MADEMOISELLE’S TRINKET
HALF an hour later, Péron had told the cardinal the whole story of the ride to Poissy and of mademoiselle’s signal. He was too straightforward to conceal even that which was to his disadvantage. Richelieu rebuked him sharply.
“I took you for a man of some wit, M. de Calvisson, or I should not have sent you on such an errand. Had I wanted only a good sword, there are half a hundred at my service as good as yours. But it looks like a fool, sir, to leave a woman to work her will; it might have cost you dear. Happily, you captured the one prize most desired; otherwise”—the cardinal looked fiercely into the young musketeer’s eyes,—“otherwise, M. de Calvisson, you would have gone to the Châtelet.”
“The oversight was culpable, monsignor, I admit it,” Péron answered proudly, “but it was not a wilful breach of duty; when I betray a trust, I am ready to suffer imprisonment.”
“It is well,” Richelieu replied coldly, “for you would assuredly meet your deserts. I spare no man, M. de Calvisson, I favor no man. I am not the first to break off from an engagement, but when it is broken, I will surely punish the offender. It is my purpose to employ you on another and a dangerous mission, and I do not look for failure. Now, mark me, you will take a good horse and go alone to Brussels. In the great square at Brussels, a few yards from the Maison du Roi, in the direction of St. Gudule, there is an old house, with a small iron cross over the door. This ring will gain you admittance, and the master of the house will give you a letter for me. You will then return at once with this to Paris, and you will defend the secret with your life. If you give up that message,” the cardinal paused, his face was pale and cold, but his eyes burned like fire, “if it is wrung from you, I will have your head, sir, ay, and expose it upon the gibbet by the Pont Neuf where Maréchal d’Ancre hung by the heels!”
Péron looked him proudly in the eye.