CHAPTER III

THE PAIR OF SPECTACLES

The Hôtel de Sartines was situated in the Faubourg St. Germain. Jean Dubarry’s carriage drove into the courtyard as half-past eight was striking, he descended, went up the steps, and entered the great hall, where already the bustle and the business of the day was in full swing.

The door was guarded by soldiers, a Suisse stood as sentry at the foot of the great staircase, and soldiers sat about on the benches, whilst crossing the hall from department to department went clerks, and men with papers in their hands, messengers and agents.

Dubarry gave his name to the usher on duty, and asked him to take it to the Comte de Sartines, with a message that his business was urgent. In less than five minutes, the man reappeared and asked the visitor to follow him.

He led the way up the broad staircase to the first floor, past the entrance of the famous octagon chamber, down a corridor to the bedroom of his Excellency, who was at that moment being finished off by his valet, Gaussard, the same who, though a valet, claimed the right to wear a sword by virtue of the fact that he was also a hairdresser.

Sartines, released from the valet’s hands, was in the act of rising from his chair, when Dubarry was announced.

The Minister of Police was in an ill temper that morning, and as the cause of his bad humour has an important bearing on our story, we will refer to it.

Briefly, then, some days ago a tragedy had occurred at Luciennes. Atalanta, the King’s favourite hound, had been poisoned. Louis XV., to give him his due, had a not unkindly feeling for animals. He tolerated Mizapouff, the little dog of Madame Dubarry, that cut such quaint capers at a celebrated dinner-party, he fed the carp in the pond at Luciennes with his own royal hand—when he could find no better amusement, and he was fond of Atalanta. Besides, she was his dog, the only dog of all the dogs in France who had the entrée of his private apartments. She was on a footing with the Duc de la Vrillière, her coat had the royal arms embroidered on it, and she knew it; she was fed with minced chicken, and she had her own personal attendant.

Some days ago, this aristocrat had been found in the courtyard at Luciennes, stiff and stark, poisoned by some miscreant or some mischance. The King was furious. He took it as a personal matter. Sartines was fetched over from Versailles, where he was on a visit of inspection, and Sartines had the unpleasant task of inspecting the corpse and questioning the cooks, the scullions, the chambermaids, the grooms, the gardeners—everyone, in short, who might have had a hand in the business, or who might have been able to cast some light on the affair. The result was absolute darkness and much worry for the unfortunate Sartines. The matter had become a joke at Court, and Sartines might have measured the extent to which he was hated by the way in which he was tormented.

Everyone asked him about the dog, and whether he had made any further advance into the mystery; a ballad was written about it, and he received a copy. The whole business gave him more worry and caused him more irritation than any other of the numerous affairs that were always annoying and irritating him, and, to cap the business, he had received this morning a neat little parcel containing a pair of spectacles. Nothing more.

The Vicomte bowed to Sartines and then, when the valet had taken his departure, plunged into the business at hand:

“My dear Sartines, that fool of a Rochefort has complicated matters in the most vile way; he called an hour ago and knocked me up to tell me the pleasant news that Choiseul is in pursuit of him. More than that, he has taken a grudge against us. He is in love with the Fontrailles, she refused to see him. I advised him to leave Paris at once, and all I got for my advice was an accusation of ingratitude. He is against us now; he knows all about the Ferminard affair, and he frankly threatened me that, were Choiseul to capture him and question him in any unpleasant way, he would tell all he knew. Even were Choiseul simply to imprison him, he would most likely tell, just from spite against us and to obtain his release.”

“The devil!” said Sartines. “Things seem to have a habit of going wrong these days—but he would not tell. I have great faith in Rochefort, though I am not given to having faith in people. He is a very proud man. He would not betray us.”

“Has he promised secrecy?”

“No, he has promised nothing.”

“There you are. He may be a proud man, an honourable man—what you will, but he fancies we have used him and cast him away. There is the Fontrailles business as well. He is angry, and I tell you, when Rochefort is like that, he cares for nothing. He said Choiseul was at least a gentleman who could look after his friends. He will join arms with Choiseul.”

“Well, suppose he does?”

“Then Choiseul will be in power for ever. Once he gets hold of the true tale of the Ferminard business, he will flatten us out. I will be exiled, for one, his Majesty could never allow such an affront to the Monarchy to go unpunished; and you, Sartines, what will become of you? Who originated the whole idea but you, yourself?”

Sartines produced his snuff-box and took a pinch. Then he turned to the window and looked out on the courtyard.

He felt himself badly placed.

He had guarded against everything but this—Rochefort turned an enemy.

He knew quite well that the Dubarrys had used Rochefort just as they had used the old Comtesse de Béarn, for their own ends, and would throw him away when used; what angered him was the fact that this fool of a Vicomte Jean had clearly let Rochefort perceive this; there was the business of the girl, too. Rochefort had promised no secrecy.

“Before we talk of Rochefort,” said he, “how about Madame de Béarn?”

“We have nothing to fear from her,” said Jean. “She was furious, but the thing is over, and were she to make a fuss, she would gain nothing and lose a good deal. She has come in, and her price, between you and me, was not a low price. She has cost us two hundred thousand francs. By the way, I suppose Ferminard is safe?”

“Yes; when his work was done, he was driven to Vincennes very securely guarded. When Choiseul is gone from the Ministry, we will let him out. Now, as to Rochefort, we must deal with that gentleman in a drastic way. That is to say, we must save him from Choiseul. For, if Choiseul once takes him into his hands, we are lost.”

“How do you propose to act?”

“Very simply. I shall arrest him and hide him in Vincennes.”

“And Choiseul, when he hears the news, will visit him in Vincennes.”

“Choiseul will not hear the news. We will pretend he has escaped. Early this morning I had a letter from Choiseul, asking me to drag Paris with a seine net for Rochefort. He is accused of having killed a man. Well, I will drag Paris with a seine net, imprison Rochefort, under the name of Bonhomme, or any name you please, and once we have him tightly tucked away in Vincennes, all will be smooth. Captain Pierre Cousin, the governor of Vincennes, is entirely mine.”

“It is a good idea,” said Jean; “and really, seeing how Rochefort is placed as regards Choiseul, it would be the best act we could do for him.”

“It’s the best we can do for ourselves,” said Sartines. “Has Rochefort gone back to his rooms, do you think?”

“I don’t know. He told me he would go to the Café de Régence for breakfast.”

“If he said that, he will be there, it’s just like his bravado, and there I shall arrest him.”

“He will resist, and he will be surrounded by friends.”

“Dubarry,” said Sartines, “you talk as though you were talking to a police agent. If you had been with me the other night, you would have heard me giving Rochefort a little lecture on my ways and methods; you would have heard me say, amongst other things, that I hold my position not by cleverness—though, indeed, perhaps I am not a fool—but by my knowledge of men and how they reason and think and act. Of course, if I were to arrest Rochefort in the ordinary way, he would resist; his friends would help him, blood would be spilt, and the Parisians would cry out, ‘Ah! there is that cursed de Sartines again.’ Rochefort is a popular figure, and a popular figure only requires to be arrested to make it a popular idol. I do not intend to make an idol of Rochefort.”

He went to the table by the window, and struck a bell.

“Send Lavenne to me,” said he, when the servant answered the summons. “Has he arrived yet?”

“Yes, monsieur, he is here.”

“Then send him up.”