_To the Hôtel de Lorraine._
I found M. Étienne sitting on the steps before the house. He had doffed
his rusty black for a suit of azure and silver; his sword and poniard
were heavy with silver chasings. His blue hat, its white plume pinned in
a silver buckle, lay on the stone beside him. He had discarded his sling
and was engaged in tuning a lute.
Evidently he was struck by some change in my appearance; for he asked at
once:
"What has happened, Félix?"
"Such a lark!" I cried.
"What! did old Menard share the crowns with you for your trouble?"
"No; he pocketed them all. That was not it."
I was so choked with laughter as to make it hard work to explain what
was it, while his first bewilderment changed to an amazed interest,
which in its turn gave way, not to delight, but to distress.
"Mordieu!" he cried, starting up, his face ablaze, "if I resemble that
dirt--"
"As chalk and cheese," I said. "No one seeing you both could possibly
mistake you for two of the same race. But there was nothing in his
catalogue that did not fit him. It mentioned, to be sure, the right arm
in a sling; his was not, but he had his wrist bandaged. I think he cut
himself last night when he was after me and I flung the door in his
face, for afterward he held his hand behind his back. At any rate, there
was the bandage; that was enough to satisfy the captain."
"And they took him off?"
"Truly. They gagged him because he protested so much, and lugged him
off."
"To the Bastille?" he demanded, as if he could scarcely realize the
event.
"To the Bastille. In a big travelling-coach, between the officer and his
men. He may be there by this time."
He looked at me as if he were still not quite able to believe the thing.
"It is true, monsieur. If I were inventing it I could not invent
anything better; but it is true."
"Certes, you could not invent anything better! Nor anything half so
good. If ever there was a case of the biter bit--" he broke off,
laughing.
"Monsieur, you know not half how funny it was. Had you seen their
faces--the more Lucas swore he was not Comte de Mar, the more the
officer was sure he was."
"Félix, you have all the luck. I said this morning you should go about
no more without me. Then I send you off on a stupid errand, and see what
you get into!"
"Monsieur, I put it to you: Had you been there, how could Lucas have
been arrested for Comte de Mar?"
"He won't stay arrested long--more's the pity."
"No," I said regretfully; "but they may keep him overnight."
"Aye, he may be out of mischief overnight. I am happy to say that my
face is not known at the Bastille."
"Nor his, I take it. I thought from what I heard last night that he had
never been in Paris save for a while in the spring, when he lay perdu.
At the Bastille they may know nothing of the existence of a Paul de
Lorraine. But, monsieur, if Mayenne has broken his word already, if they
are arresting you on this trumped-up charge, you must get out of the
gates to-night."
"Impossible," he answered, smiling; "I have an engagement in Paris."
"But monsieur may not keep it. He must go to St. Denis."
"I must go nowhere but to the Hôtel Lorraine."
"Monsieur!"
"Why, look you, Félix; it is the safest spot for me in all Paris; it is
the last place where they will look for me. Besides, now that they think
me behind bars, they will not be looking for me at all. I shall be as
safe as the hottest Leaguer in the camp."
"But in the hôtel-"
"Be comforted; I shall not enter the hôtel. There is a limit to my
madness. No; I shall go softly around to a window in the side street
under which I have often stood in the old days. She used to contrive to
be in her chamber after supper."
"But, monsieur, how long is it since you were there last?"
"I think it must be two months. I had little heart for it after my
father--So, you see, no one will be on the lookout for me to-night."
"Neither will mademoiselle," I made my point.
"I hope she may," he answered. "She will know I must see her to-night.
And I think she will be at the window."
The reasoning seemed satisfactory to him. And I thought one wet blanket
in the house was enough.
"Very well, monsieur. I am ready for anything you propose."
"Then I propose supper."
Afterward we played shovel-board, I risking the pistoles mademoiselle
had given me. I won five more, for he paid little heed to what he was
about, but was ever fidgeting over to the window to see if it was dark
enough to start. At length, when it was still between dog and wolf, he
announced that he would delay no longer.
"Very well, monsieur," I said with all alacrity.
"But you are not to come!"
"Monsieur!"
"Certainly not. I must go alone to-night."
"But, monsieur, you will need me. You will need some one to watch the
street while you speak with mademoiselle."
"I can have no listener to-night," he replied immovably.
"But I will not listen, monsieur! I shall stand out of ear-shot. But you
must have some one to give you warning should the guard set on you."
"I can manage my own affairs," he retorted haughtily; "I desire neither
your advice nor your company."
"Monsieur!" I cried, almost in tears.
"Enough!" he bade sharply. "Go send me Vigo."