A man seized me by the cloak. "A just sentence, was it not, monsieur?" he asked. And then went on: "A pity the old fox died; but it will be a good expiation, almost as good as that of Clinet and De Luns—cujus regio, ejus religio," he babbled on, airing his Latin; but I drove the fool from me with a curse, and wonder to this day if he ever knew how near he was to death.
La Valentinois had arisen, and, followed by De Mouchy and half a dozen others, was making her way to the exit, all parting before her as though she were the Queen. Now was my chance. Simon had escaped me for to-day; but De Mouchy—he at least was within my reach—and with my hand to my poniard I pressed down the steps of the gallery, but near the door was hemmed in by the crowd. Try as I would it was impossible to get through, and a barrier was put up, which made matters hopeless. There as I stood in impotent rage I saw over the heads of the crowd La Valentinois entering her coach. She was followed by De Mouchy. The guards closed around. There was a cheer, and they were gone. It was then that a cold hand touched my wrist, and a voice whispered in my ear:
"There are two days yet; do nothing rash!"
I turned swiftly, and saw Le Brusquet at my elbow, and behind him the tall figure of De Lorgnac; unknown to me he had followed me here.
"Come with us!" he said; and I made no answer, but did as I was bidden, and placing me between them we went back together to the Louvre. Once in Le Brusquet's apartments the reaction set in, and flinging myself in a chair I covered my face with my hands—for the first time in my life I had broken down utterly.
After a while I somewhat recovered myself. Lorgnac was standing with his back to me, looking out of the window, and Le Brusquet was by my side, a glass of cordial in his hand.
"Drink this," he said. "Remember there are two days yet; and God's arm is long."
Mechanically I drank, and as I held the glass in my hand Le Brusquet removed his cloak. In doing this something dropped, and stooping he picked it up. It was a packet of letters, tied with a red ribbon. With a glance of contempt at it he flung it on the table in front of De Lorgnac, who had joined us, saying as he did so:
"There are De Ganache's letters. I had almost forgotten them."
The packet had fallen on the table, almost under De Lorgnac's eyes. Half unconsciously he let his glance rest upon it, and then a strange expression came into his face, and holding up the letters, he asked Le Brusquet, with apparent unconcern: