'Give me your word to help me, monseigneur. I will do the rest for myself.'
'Give it, my lord.'
Biron hesitated for a moment, and then suddenly threw up his hands. 'Very well, let it be as you wish. I promise, M. de Gomeron.'
'Enough, my lord; I thank you. The Chevalier Lafin has laid before you in detail all our resources. Let me now show you this.' He unrolled a parchment that was before him, and handed it to the Marshal. 'Here,' he added, 'are the signatures of all. It only needs that of Biron; now sign.'
I could hear the beating of my heart in the silence that followed, and then Biron said hoarsely, 'No! no! I will never put my name to paper.'
'Morbleu! Marshal,' burst out Lafin, 'This is no time for nibbling at a cherry. Tremouille and Epernon have signed. Put your seal to the scroll, and the day it reaches M. de Savoye, thirty thousand troops are across the frontier, and you will change the cabbage gardens of Biron for the coronet of Burgundy and La Breese.'
'And see your head on a crown piece, Marshal,' added de Gomeron.
'But we have not heard, Lafin—' began the Marshal.
'We will hear to-night, monseigneur—that horn meant news, and Zamet never fails. Curse the low-bred Italian! Pardieu! he is here,' and as he spoke, I heard what seemed to be three distinct knocks at a carved door, and, Lafin opening it, a man booted and spurred entered the room. He was splashed with mud as one who had ridden fast and far.
'Zamet!' exclaimed the Marshal and de Gomeron, both rising, and the face of the former was pale as death.