In effect de Bresy appeared at the moment. “His Highness will receive you, gentlemen—have the kindness to follow me,” and he led the way. We observed everything that was possible as we went, noted the number of sentries in the corridors, counted the steps on the stairs, marked the thickness of the doors and how they were secured, until at last we reached a landing, where there was an officer and four men on guard. Behind them was an open door, and, looking into the room beyond, we saw three or four figures seated round a card table, early in the day though it was. They were the Prince and his immediate attendants, Vaux and one or two others. Condé saw us almost at once, and, in cheery greeting, waved a hand holding some cards, his voice as joyous and hearty as if he had never known a moment’s grief, as if he did not know that within a few hours his neck might lie upon the headsman’s block. He was a true Bourbon, and the Bourbons, with all their faults, were never afflicted with the poltroon fever.
“Welcome!” he cried. “Come, give me all the news.” And, flinging his cards on the table, he rose and took us by the hands. Except that he was pale and thin with his confinement, he seemed as much at his ease there, with death hanging over him, as if he were receiving us in his own château of Germiny.
We met him in the same spirit, and spoke in general terms of a hundred things, de Bresy, who remained in the room, joining in the converse. At last I caught Marcilly’s eye, and succeeded in arresting de Bresy’s attention for a moment by raising a discussion on Touchet’s system of fence. I showed him the Spanish pass, and, when the little play was over, had the satisfaction of seeing that Jean had been able to make known at least the object of our coming.
As I sheathed my sword the Prince said, “Bresy, these gentlemen dine with me to-day; I trust you will honor me with your company as well.”
The archer bowed and expressed his thanks, and, seeing that we were staying practically for the day, begged leave to excuse himself, as he had to do his rounds. As he was at the door Condé called after him:
“At twelve exactly, de Bresy, and we will play a match at tennis in the afternoon. I wager ten écus that Marcilly, here, beats you. Will you take it?”
“With pleasure, monseigneur,” and, bowing, de Bresy went.
The door was still open, but that did not matter, for we gathered round the card table, which we pushed near the fireplace, and as we pretended to play, Marcilly, in a few rapid words, explained our plan. It was only, however, when we came to the point that the Princess was awaiting him at St. Loup that Condé spoke.
“Oui-da!” he exclaimed. “I would ’twere La Limeuil.”
Marcilly bit his lip, and I for one did not hesitate to show my feelings. The callous indifference displayed by the man we were about to risk so much for moved me for the moment to hot anger. I actually dared to curse him in my heart, I, who in a short time was to be guilty of a crime to which the Bourbon’s sins were white as snow. Condé, however, was quick to see the effect of his words. He laughed his merry laugh. “Ah!” he said, “I but jested, my friends. Once out of this”—and his eye flashed—“I will draw the sword openly, and, by God’s grace, France shall be free.”