Chapter 8

The Plot is Discovered.

"Is your master at home?" asked the Cardinal.

"He is, my Lord," replied the man with a low bow; "but he is unwell, and has retired to rest."

"Ah, my poor Martin, what a misfortune! but lead the way; he will doubtless make an effort to receive an old friend like myself."

While one servant made the door fast, the other went forward with the lantern, and we followed; the Cardinal, a trifle uneasy, glancing keenly from side to side, as if half expecting to meet with some lurking enemy. Everything, however, seemed as usual. The lower part of the house was empty save for a woman cooking some savoury dish, and she took not the slightest notice of us.

The fellow with the lantern opened the door of the astrologer's room, and, lighting several wax candles, requested us to be seated while he informed his master of our presence.

As soon as he had gone, Mazarin ordered me to explore the part screened by the curtains, which I did, sword in hand.

"These conspirators are so crafty," he murmured, "that they make one cautious even in the house of a friend like the worthy Martin."

"The room is empty, your Eminence."

"Ah," said he with a sigh of relief, "then we can look forward with an untroubled mind to meeting our kind host," and, laying aside his hat and cloak, he sat down.

In a short time the astrologer entered the room. He had put on dressing-gown and slippers, and was wearing his black skull-cap. His face, always pale, had become white, there was a constant twitching at the corners of his mouth, and the gray eyes I had thought so calm and powerful, fell beneath the keen gaze of the Cardinal. In spite of his treachery, I pitied the man, and almost found it in my heart to wish I had not observed my cousin and his companion enter the house.

Mazarin, fondling his beard, smiled pleasantly, and begged his host in such soft cooing tones to be seated, that Martin threw off the half-alarmed expression his face had worn.

"So you have been ill, my friend? _Per Baccho_! One can see it in your face. Ah, now I can breathe more freely and laugh at my fears."

I was standing between the table and the door, but in such a position as to be able to watch the old man's face.

"Fears, my lord?" he murmured questioningly.

"Yes, yes, I was foolish enough to doubt your--vigilance."

He purposely made a long pause between the last two words, during which Martin sat like a man waiting to be hanged; then he recovered himself and actually smiled.

"Something has happened without my knowledge," said he briskly.

"Without your knowledge, truly, my dear Martin, or you would have sent me word. As it is, I have to inform you that Paris has had a distinguished visitor."

Martin went deathly pale again and murmured, "Surely it cannot be----"

"Oh, no," interrupted Mazarin, smiling, "the Prince still occupies his prison at Havre. But La Rochefoucauld is here to represent him. If you go into the city you will hear the people crying for the release of Conde. They are not aware how comfortable he is. But you will not go!"

"Why not, my lord?"

"Because I have need of you. We must put our heads together, and unravel the mysteries of this plot. The matter is serious; all my enemies seem to be in league. Come now, do you fancy De Retz has been bought?"

I really felt sorry for the poor wretch with whom the Cardinal thus played as a cat plays with a mouse.

"De Retz?" he stammered. "I should think it very likely; the others could accomplish nothing without him, because he controls the mob."

"It is very unfortunate. You are aware he wishes to become a Cardinal, and now he will lose his chance. The red hat would have suited him well, but I must give it to Riviere, the bosom friend of Orleans. But perhaps even the Duke has been gained? What do you think, my dear Martin?" and the purring cat suddenly became a hissing serpent.

The unhappy astrologer bent his head.

"They must have secured him," he gasped like a man choking. "They would not dare to move without his support."

"And the king of the markets?" asked Mazarin, who thus scornfully referred to the Duke of Beaufort.

"He has powerful friends. His help would be valuable if there really is a conspiracy."

Leaning back in his chair, Mazarin stroked his beard thoughtfully. Presently he began to purr, a sure sign that he had regained his composure.

"This union (which he pronounced _onion_) of parties is very touching," said he, "yet in the interests of His Majesty it must be broken up," and he looked so fixedly at Martin that the latter was compelled to meet his gaze.

"How say you?" he continued, "would that little monkey of a priest rise to the bait of a Cardinal's hat?"

"It is probable, my Lord! That is, if the hat were a real one," at which Mazarin laughed loudly.

"_Per Baccho!_" exclaimed he, "we would not attempt to deceive so skilful a plotter. Then that is settled! A cardinal's hat for De Retz, and you shall make him our offer. But he must accept quickly; in twenty-four hours it will be too late. I am sorry to drag you from your sick bed, but the King's interests are above all."

"Come," thought I, "it promises to turn out not so badly. Mazarin must be a good fellow in the main, to let the astrologer off so lightly."

Martin, too, shared my satisfaction, especially when the Cardinal rose as if to depart. But the play-acting was not yet finished. I was moving towards the door when Mazarin suddenly sat down again.

"I had almost forgotten," said he softly, "and yet it is very important. I am about to set you a difficult task, my friend! no one else could do it, but then you are so wonderfully clever. Sit down and write a list of all those likely to have joined in this plot--men and women--the powerful and the insignificant; do not leave out one. And if you can make a guess what each has promised the other, put that in also. It will be interesting to see if our guesses are alike."

Still Martin did not break down, but his voice was very unsteady as he replied, "You over-rate my powers, my Lord, it would be impossible to do as you wish."

"You may have some papers which will help you," said Mazarin quietly. "Look them over, my friend, I can wait."

At that the wretched man's courage forsook him, and, realising that his treachery was discovered, he flung himself at Mazarin's feet, crying, "Pardon me, Monseigneur, and you shall be told everything, but I have not the papers."

"Who has them?"

"Madame Coutance! She promised to obtain the signature of the King's uncle."

"That woman mixes herself up in everything," exclaimed Mazarin, irritably, "and does more harm by her folly than De Retz can manage by his scheming. She must be kept quiet for a month or two. De Lalande, ask M. Belloc to station a carriage, six troopers, and a spare horse at the corner of the Rue Crillon, and to remain there till he receives fresh orders."

I bowed, and leaving the room, hurried downstairs, where one of the men undid the fastenings of the door.

"Do not replace the bar till my return," I said, "I shall be away a short time only."

Belloc, who was watching from his hiding-place, perceived me immediately, and crossed the street.

"What is it?" he asked anxiously. "Has anything gone wrong?"

"No," said I, and delivered Mazarin's message.

"Rue Crillon?" he exclaimed. "That is where Madame Coutance lives."

"She is mixed up in the plot which Mazarin has discovered. I am sorry for her niece."

"Mazarin will do the maid no harm," exclaimed the old soldier. "I have always found his bark worse than his bite. Are you sure that he is quite safe yonder?"

"Everything appears as usual."

"Still, in case you are sent on another message, it will be as well that the Cardinal has some protection," and he gave a private signal which quickly brought two soldiers to our side.

"You are under the orders of M. de Lalande," he exclaimed, and, leaving me to return to the house, hurried off.

"Affairs go well," said the Cardinal briskly, as I entered the room, "and the credit is yours, M. de Lalande. But for your sharp eyes I might have failed to get on the track of this conspiracy against the King. There is one thing more for you to do. Take this note to Madame Coutance in the Rue Crillon. It is a request by our dear Martin that she will give up the papers relating to the plot. You will pass them to M. Belloc with orders to bring them here at once."

"Suppose the lady refuses to surrender them, my Lord?"

"You will search her room, while this _lettre de cachet_ will secure her a lodging in the Bastille. If, on the other hand, she has the good sense to yield quietly, you will simply escort her to her chateau. The carriage will be in readiness."

I told him of the soldiers stationed in the corridor, and once more left the house. The night was growing late, and the streets, in spite of the _falots_ filled with burning pitch, and the dingy lamps suspended by chains passing from one side of the road to the other, were almost in darkness.

But Paris was wide awake and unduly excited. Swarms of people of the lowest class, unkempt, ragged, and frowsy, but all armed in some fashion, were prowling around intent on mischief, and cheering for De Retz. Bands of Black Mantles, grave and preoccupied as became owners of property, guarded the shops, in dread equally of the _canaille_ and the nobles.

These last swaggered about showing off their finery, singing noisily, and occasionally compelling the passers-by to cheer for Conde. Now and again a coach, preceded by lackeys bearing flambeaux, would roll by, conveying ladies of distinction to or from some brilliant assembly.

At the corner of the Rue Crillon I looked for M. Belloc, but some time passed before he appeared, and then I could see nothing of a carriage.

"In the yard of the 'Plume of Feathers,'" said he, in answer to my question; "it would attract too much attention standing here. Paris is in a turmoil to-night. I do not like the signs. The people are restless without knowing why, though there is some talk of Conde's returning."

"The Cardinal has first to unlock the door," I replied, at which the old warrior smiled grimly, thinking such a proceeding on Mazarin's part very unlikely.

"Why is the carriage required?" he asked.

"To convey Madame Coutance either to the Bastille or to her own place at Aunay. It is a troublesome business," and I explained just what my orders were.

"Better get it over at once," he suggested, "it will be none the pleasanter for delay;" so, putting a bold face on the matter, I walked to the door of the house, and inquired for Madame Coutance.

"She is not at home, monsieur," replied the porter. "Both the ladies went out early this evening with Madame de Chevreuse."

I put several further questions, but the porter was either a very stupid man or a very faithful servant--he knew nothing, and I had to retire baffled.

"They will return soon," said my companion, when I rejoined him, "unless madame has received a hint of her danger."

"That is hardly probable! Even Mazarin had no suspicion until an hour ago. But he will begin to wonder if anything has gone wrong."

At the end of half an hour a carriage drew up before the door, and Marie and her aunt descended. They stood for a moment on the top of the steps, and then, as the vehicle passed on, entered the house.

Leaving our post of observation, we crossed the road, and the servant, showing us into an ante-room, went to announce my name.

"Get it over quickly," whispered M. Belloc, as the man returned. "Most likely there will be a few tears, but you must not mind those."

I did not feel particularly happy as I followed the servant along the corridor. The errand was far from my liking, and I would rather have stormed a breach; but, as I ate Mazarin's bread, it was my duty to obey his orders.

The ladies were seated in a small but luxuriously appointed room, and Madame Coutance welcomed me with embarrassing warmth.

"The hour is somewhat late," she said, "but I expect the Cardinal keeps your time fully occupied. You do not favour us with much of your company."

"I am very unwilling to be here now," I blurted out, not knowing what else to say. "The fact is, I have come on an unwelcome errand," and, producing Martin's note, added, "that will explain the object of my visit."

I scarcely dared glance at Marie, who remained very still while her aunt was reading.

M. Belloc had warned me to expect a few tears, but, instead of weeping, Madame Coutance launched into an angry speech against Mazarin, whom she called a wicked and infamous man, and concluded by a blunt refusal to surrender any papers whatever.

"But," I suggested feebly, being overwhelmed by her torrent of words, "you have no choice in the matter, madame. Unless you give me this list of your own free will, my orders are to lodge you in the Bastille, and to search your rooms."

"And if my aunt yields the papers?" asked Marie, who, I fancy, was rather alarmed at the mention of the Bastille.

"In that case, mademoiselle, the affair ends with a trip to Aunay. A carriage is outside, and in ten minutes we leave for one place or the other."

"Come, _ma chere_," said the girl soothingly, "you must submit. Life in the Bastille cannot be nearly as pleasant as at Aunay."

Madame Coutance opened a desk which stood in a corner of the tiny room, and drew out a roll of paper.

"There is what your master wants!" she exclaimed angrily, "but let him take care; it will be our turn soon."

"Do you accompany us to Aunay?" asked Marie.

"Yes, with an escort of troopers; for all the world as if you were two desperate prisoners. I am really sorry, but perhaps you will object less to me than to some rough soldier."

"Indeed we shall," she replied. "When do we start?"

"As soon as madame is ready," I answered. "The Cardinal likes not delay."

"In an hour then, though I do not care for travelling by night."

"The carriage is roomy and comfortable; there is no danger, and perhaps you will be able to sleep on the journey."

Bowing to the ladies, I rejoined Belloc, who was waiting impatiently in the ante-room.

"Well?" he exclaimed.

"It is all right. Here is the paper, and we leave for Aunay in an hour. I am not looking forward with any pleasure to the journey, I can assure you!"

"You are obeying orders," said he, taking the paper. "Now I must return to the Cardinal; and, by the by, take care of yourself! The troopers will be sufficient protection against robbers, but, should you meet with any of Conde's friends, you may have to fight."

"I hope not, at least until the ladies are safely disposed of."

Wishing me good-bye, he walked away at a rapid pace, while I, glad of the chance to divert my thoughts, paid a visit to the inn. The troopers, who were in charge of a grizzled sergeant, had dismounted, and were amusing themselves in a small room looking into the courtyard. The sergeant saluted, listened respectfully to my order, and accompanied me to inspect the carriage and horses.

"Are we going far, monsieur?"

"Two or three days' journey. I hope you can depend on your men? The ride may not be altogether a holiday jaunt."

"I chose them myself, monsieur. They would as soon fight as eat, and have all been in many a rough scrimmage."

"They may be in another before long!" said I, remembering M. Belloc's words; and then, bidding him have all in readiness, I returned to the house, wishing that Mazarin had entrusted this particular commission to any but myself.

Yet, after all, the Cardinal had acted very generously. There was really no great hardship in being sent to one's country seat, and I suspected that Marie would rather enjoy the change. As to her aunt, she would find it irksome, being a woman who could not live without excitement of some sort.

Presently the carriage rumbled to the door, and jumping up, I hurried into the hall, nearly falling over the servants, who were carrying rugs and shawls and various packages to the main entrance. When the parcels were stowed away, I stepped forward to assist the ladies into the coach, but Madame Coutance, who was still very sulky, haughtily declined my proffered help. However, I saw them safely in, had the leathern coverings let down to exclude the night air, posted the troopers in front of the carriage, mounted the spare horse--a splendid animal by the way--and gave the word for the gate St. Denis.

It was fortunate that the ladies had prevented an earlier start. Although late, numerous citizens were still abroad, and their curiosity made them troublesome. Twice the troopers were compelled to clear a way for the coach by force, and, had the streets been more crowded, we should never have reached the gate.

"Down with Mazarin! To the lamp-post with the _Mazarins_!" yelled the people, but at sight of the grim sergeant and his stalwart troopers their courage oozed away. These night-birds were mostly followers of De Retz, but occasionally we met with a swaggering young noble or two wearing the colours of the great Conde.

At the gate we were stopped by the officer on duty, who refused to let us pass, quoting an order from the Duke of Orleans to prevent all persons from leaving the city. Even after inspecting my papers, which were signed by the Queen, he hesitated, declaring the Duke's commands were strict.

"As you please," said I, "only remember that Gaston of Orleans is not King yet, and you will be guilty of the crime of high treason. Unless the gates are opened within five minutes, I shall return to the Palais Royal."

The officer was a brave man, and had he served any other master would doubtless have stood his ground, but no one could depend on Gaston. As likely as not, if any trouble arose, the Duke would throw over his own servant, and expose him to the vengeance of Mazarin.

"Come," I said, when half the time had passed, "which is it to be? Will you take your orders from the Queen or from the Duke?"

At the last minute, though still grumbling, he permitted us to continue the journey, and the coach passed outside the city walls. For several miles we rode forward slowly, till the dawn of another day began to appear in the sky; then we quickened the pace, as I was anxious to get as far away from Paris as possible. It was scarcely likely that any one would attempt a rescue, but so many foolish things were done in those days that I did not feel at all secure.

The road along which we travelled was lonely and deserted, the country looked very desolate, and even after the sun had risen there were few people to be observed abroad. At that time I did not know what I afterwards learned, that our route lay through a district which had been swept bare again and again by the horrors of war.