Père Matthieu did not add that the message really contained evidence against Cinq Mars, “the king’s rattle,” as the cardinal called the grand equerry. It was the beginning of that plot which brought M. le Grand to the block and involved Monsieur once more in an effort to bring the Spaniards into France.
Péron asked no more questions, but rose and buckled on his sword and pistols and partially concealed his hallecrèt with his cloak.
“Which way did you come?” asked the priest, as they descended the stairs.
“By the way of Laon and Namur,” Péron replied.
“Then return by Arras and Amiens,” said Père Matthieu; “’tis better to turn out of the way a little than to fall into a trap.”
At the rear door, they found Paschal Luce already mounted on a stout mule and holding Péron’s horse. The priest shook hands with the young musketeer and gave him his benediction.
“God speed you, my son,” he said less grimly than usual; “your life is in His keeping.”
With these words still ringing in his ears Péron sprang into the saddle and followed Paschal through the byways and lanes of Brussels to the gates, in the gray light of dawn. At that hour, the city was quiet enough: no one was abroad save those who, having no home, had slept in the doorways and in vacant porches all night, and arose now and walked, shivering in their rags, and having no hope of better comfort until the sun arose. These wretched creatures, whom the rich passed indifferently when they went to early mass, were the first upon whom God’s light shone every day, but the last to whom man’s benefits extended. As Péron passed, he threw some money among them, not that he had it to lavish, but his heart was tender, and the stony face of poverty appeals most sharply to those who have known trouble themselves; and his life had had its trials. The gates were not yet opened, but Paschal Luce found means to overcome this difficulty; after some parley in the guardhouse he came out triumphant, and the two rode out of the city together. So far all was well; they had no cause to suppose that they were followed, and they proceeded along the highroad at a brisk gait with lighter hearts. Three leagues out from the town, Luce bade Péron farewell and returned to report to Père Matthieu.
Left to himself, with a clear road behind and with the hope that all was well in front, Péron continued his journey with some satisfaction. He had reached Brussels in safety, and accomplished his mission; he had now only to return with equal good fortune and expedition to Paris, and he seemed in a fair way to do so. He had examined girth and saddle well before starting, his weapons were in good condition, his horse a fine one, and there appeared to be no reason for him to fail. The sun rose and dispelled the gloom in the woods by the wayside, and the scene was at once cheerful and encouraging. Spring was coming; already the green turf showed on the hillocks, and the trees were budding on every side. As the day advanced, he began to pass parties of merchants and other travellers bound for Brussels, as well as peasants carrying in provender for the city. But no one appeared to excite either alarm or suspicion; he made good progress before night, and his tired horse compelled him to make a halt. His journey continued almost monotonously uneventful to Arras, where he was delayed six hours by a heavy storm, and afterwards he found the travel more difficult on account of the bad roads.
As he drew nearer Paris, his thoughts again recurred to M. de Nançay. What had been his fate? Knowing monsignor, he could imagine but one result, and fell to musing over the probable consequences to mademoiselle. Thus his thoughts turned on one pivot, and his natural abhorrence of Pilâtre de Nançay was modified by pity for his daughter. As to his own future, he could make no plans except that he was unwilling to make his elevation to rank and fortune the cause of another’s misery.