At length the explosion came.
It was an open secret that the Prince would be removed by force, as he had obstinately refused to listen to either proposals, entreaties, or commands, and in short was courting disgrace, for Heaven only knows what, unless perchance he hoped to rise only by his failures and reverses. At all events, preparations were made without concealment for his arrest on the evening of the 10th of December, as he drove to the Opera, and the Vicomte, from his position in the Household Troops, had charge of the arrangements.
Margaret had heard the rumour that very day, and had sent the Vicomte peremptory word to come to the rue Dauphine; but no doubt it was his duties, certainly not any hesitation at facing the interview, which prevented his complying with her command.
The next day, when he presented himself, the news of the arrest was all over Paris, with every absurd exaggeration of detail.
He entered admirably composed, though knowing a painful scene was before him, and after saluting Lady Jane, he advanced towards Margaret, holding out his hand.
She stood erect, her face white with emotion.
“One moment, M. le Vicomte, until I see whether I can touch that hand again or not. Is it true that it was laid on my Prince?”
“No, mademoiselle, it was not.”
“Who, then, arrested him?”