CHAPTER I

NEWS FROM VINCENNES

One morning, four days later, the Comte de Sartines, working in his official room in the Hôtel de Sartines, was informed that a person wished to see him on urgent business.

“What is the name?” asked he.

“Brujon, monsieur. It is the steward of M. le Comte Camus.”

“Show him in,” replied the Minister.

He continued writing; then, when the visitor was announced, he turned in his chair, pen in hand.

“Well, monsieur,” said the Minister of Police, “you wish to see me? What is your business?”

“Monsieur,” said Brujon, “I am in great perplexity and distress. For three nights I have not slept, and the thing has worked so on my mind that I said to myself, I will go to Monsieur de Sartines, who is all-powerful, and place this case before him.”

“Yes?”

“Monsieur, four days ago, our pantry-man, Jumeau, who has charge of the silver belonging to my master, asked leave of absence on account of the illness of his mother; he introduced to me a young man, his cousin, named Jouve, in order that Jouve might take his place during the time of his absence. Jouve had an excellent reference, and I engaged him. Well, that night Jouve disappeared. At least, in the morning he was nowhere to be found. Yet he could not have left the house.”

“And why could not he have left the house?”

“Because, monsieur, all the doors are locked, and, what is more, barred on the inside, yet no bar had been removed. My master, when he comes in late, is always admitted by the _concierge_, who re-bars the door, all the other doors are equally barred, and that night I examined the fastenings myself. If Jouve had left the house by any door, how could he have replaced the bars?”

“He may have had an accomplice in the house,” replied de Sartines, deeply interested and wondering what new move of Lavenne’s this might be, for Beauregard had told him of Lavenne’s suspicions as to Camus, and the whole business, in fact.

“Yes, monsieur,” replied Brujon. “But no silver was taken, no valuables of any sort, why should he have entered the house just to leave it in that manner? Monsieur, I have a feeling that he is still in the house, though, God knows, I have searched diligently enough to find him.”

“Well,” said de Sartines, “what can I do?”

“I do not know, monsieur, but I thought it my duty to consult you.”

“Have you told your master of this affair?”

Brujon hesitated.

“No, monsieur, I have not—he is of such a violent temper——.”

“Precisely. But the fact remains that you have hidden the thing from him, and that fact would not calm the violence of his temper should you disclose the affair now. He might even do you an injury, so, for the sake of peace and your own skin, I would advise you to say nothing, but keep a vigilant watch. Should Jouve turn up, hidden anywhere, lock him up in a room, and send here at once and I will send a man to arrest him.”

“Thank you, monsieur,” replied Brujon, who seemed relieved by Sartines’ manner and advice. “I will do what you say. Good day, your Excellency.”

When he was gone Sartines rang a bell and ordered Beauregard to be sent to him.

“_Ma foi_!” said Beauregard, “there is more in this than I can fathom. What can he be doing all these four days?”

“Who knows?” replied the Minister. “But I am quite confident he has not been idle. He will turn up, and I dare swear he will bring with him the rope to hang Monsieur Camus. It has been spinning for a long time and is overdue. Now here is a commission for you. Since I can’t put hands on Lavenne for the business, go yourself to Vincennes and see how Rochefort is doing. They have had orders to make him comfortable, see that these orders have been carried out. We must keep him in a good temper.”

“Yes, monsieur.”

“Have a chat with him; and you might say that the Dubarrys are working in his interests to smooth matters with Choiseul—which, in fact, they are not.”

“Yes, monsieur.”

“See that he is allowed plenty of exercise—tennis and so forth, but always strictly guarded, for I know this devil of a Rochefort, one can’t count on his whims, and should prison gall him he may, even against his own interests, try to break out and fly into the claws of Choiseul.”

“Yes, monsieur.”

Beauregard went off on his mission, and as he left the room, the Vicomte Jean Dubarry was announced.

“My dear Sartines,” cried Jean as they shook hands, “I just called to see if you were going to Choiseul’s reception to-night.”

“I have been invited,” replied Sartines.

“And you will go?”

“Yes, I think I will go—why are you so pressing?”

“Well, as a matter of fact,” said Jean, “Choiseul asked me to make sure of your coming. He wishes peace all round now that the Dauphiness is to arrive so shortly.”

“You are great friends with Choiseul now, you and Madame la Comtesse?”

“We are at peace, for the moment. I do not trust him one hair’s breadth, but we are at peace.”

“Just so,” said Sartines; “and how is Mademoiselle Fontrailles?”

“As beautiful as ever.”

“And as cold?”

“Oh, _ma foi_!” said Jean, laughing, “I think the ice is broken in that direction—Camus——”

“You mean to say she cares for Camus?”

Jean laughed. “I say nothing. I only know what the Countess told me this morning. Mind this is between ourselves—well, she is Camus’, heart and soul.”

“_Peste_! What does she see in that fellow?—Are you sure of what you say?”

“I am sure of nothing, but the Countess is. Camille has made her her confidante. I do not know what women see in Camus, but they seem to see something that attracts them.”

“But he is married—Oh, _mon Dieu_!” cried Sartines, suddenly interrupting himself and breaking into a laugh. “What am I saying—it is well known that Madame Camus is delicate—and should she die——”

“Then our gentleman would be free to marry Camille,” said Jean.

“No, monsieur,” replied Sartines, “I doubt if it would all be as simple as that. However, we will not consider the question of Camus’ marriage with this girl in any event. She is a fool.”

“Why?”

“Why? Because if the Devil had allowed her to care for Rochefort, and she had thrown in her part with him, it would have assisted to smooth matters with Choiseul. The Countess would have worked more earnestly for a _démarche_, and the Fontrailles would have kept Rochefort contented in Vincennes with a few notes sent to him there— Well, one cannot make up a woman’s mind for her and there is no use in trying. She is going to-night, I suppose, to this affair at Choiseul’s?”

“Oh, you may be sure. Camus will be there.”

The Vicomte went off and Sartines returned to his writing.

But this was to be an eventful morning with him. Five minutes had scarcely passed when the door burst open without knock or warning, and Beauregard, who by this ought to have been on the road to Vincennes, entered, flushed and breathing hard.

“Monsieur,” cried Beauregard, “Rochefort has escaped.”

“Escaped! _Mordieu_! When did he escape?”

“In the early hours of this morning or during the night. Here is Capitaine Pierre Cousin himself who has brought the story.”

“Show him in,” said Sartines.