‘No,’ he answered? ‘I am not! You two may have rehearsed this pretty scene a dozen times. The word, it seems to me, is—Quick march, back to quarters.’
At length I found myself driven to play my last card; much against my will.
‘Not so,’ I said. ‘I have my commission.’
‘Produce it!’ he replied incredulously.
‘Do you think that I carry it with me?’ I cried in scorn. ‘Do you think that when I came here, alone, and not with fifty dragoons at my back, I carried the Cardinal’s seal in my pocket for the first lackey to find. But you shall have it. Where is that knave of mine?’
The words were scarcely out of my mouth before a ready hand thrust a paper into my fingers. I opened it slowly, glanced at it, and amid a pause of surprise gave it to the Lieutenant. He looked for a moment confounded. Then, with a last instinct of suspicion, he bade the sergeant hold up the lanthorn; and by its light he proceeded to spell through the document.
‘Umph!’ he ejaculated with an ugly look when he had come to the end, ‘I see.’ And he read it aloud:—
‘BY THESE PRESENTS, I COMMAND AND EMPOWER
GILLES DE BERAULT, SIER DE BERAULT, TO
SEEK FOR, HOLD, AND ARREST, AND DELIVER
TO THE GOVERNOR OF THE BASTILLE THE BODY
OF HENRI DE COCHEFORET, AND TO DO ALL
ACTS AND THINGS AS SHALL BE NECESSARY
TO EFFECT SUCH ARREST AND DELIVERY, FOR
WHICH THESE SHALL BE HIS WARRANT.
(Signed) THE CARDINAL DE RICHELIEU.’
When he had done—he read the signature with a peculiar intonation—someone said softly, ‘VIVE LE ROI!’ and there was a moment’s silence. The sergeant lowered his lanthorn. ‘Is it enough?’ I said hoarsely, glaring from face to face.
The Lieutenant bowed stiffly.