“Marcilly and I are going now. May we send René in to you?”
“It will save time,” he answered, and bending over the sleeping figure, I cast a look at Jean. Then I gave Comminges my hand in adieu, and, putting my finger to my lips to enjoin silence, stepped out on tiptoe from the room. As the door closed behind me I saw Condé and Vaux together, and the latter’s face was all smiles. I took the key of the cachot from my pocket and handed it to the page.
“You can give this to Comminges in an hour’s time, with the compliments of Monseigneur,” I said, “and you might add that Monsieur de Bresy is, perhaps, in need of some fresh air.”
“How on earth did you get him there?” began the Prince; but I interrupted him.
“I will tell you, your Highness, as we ride—let us not delay now.”
Vaux would have dropped on his knee to say farewell, but Condé restrained him, taking his hand in a warm clasp.
“Au revoir!” he said, stepping toward the door, and as I followed him I called out somewhat loudly, “Make our compliments to the Prince, Vaux, when he awakens.”
The next moment we were in the corridor, and, walking together arm in arm, discussing the Prince’s illness, we passed slowly out, receiving the salutes of the sentinels. In the misty courtyard we ran no risk of discovery, but at the gate itself there was some slight danger. The sergeant of the guard was there, so we called him up to us, and I placed a brace of gold crowns in his hand.
“From Monseigneur the Prince,” I said, “for you and the guard to drink the King’s health.”
“And the Prince’s, too,” was the answer, whereat we laughed, and, wishing him good luck, passed him. He had seen Marcilly and myself on our entrance. Our going out was in the natural course of things, and the fog and the chink of gold disarmed suspicion.