THE REGENT SHOWS HIS HAND
The place was more brilliant than I had ever seen it. The room was
crowded from end to end by a throng of richly dressed people, from
whom every instant came bursts of laughter, following some witty
sally,--only to me, whose ears were perhaps unduly critical, the
laughter sounded forced and unnatural, sometimes almost hysterical.
Mlle. de Launay appeared to be everywhere at once, and left smiles
behind her wherever she went. Truly, a wonderful woman, but to me her
activity seemed feverish. The duchess, as usual, held her court at the
farther end of the room, and the crowd about her was so dense that I
despaired of getting to her, and paused to look about me. I saw that
all of her political satellites were present. Polignac was the centre
of one interested group, Chancel was declaiming his latest satire to
another, Malesieu was explaining the meaning of a Greek phrase to a
third. There were many persons present whom I had never seen before,
notably a number of gentlemen elegantly dressed but not in the latest
Paris mode, whom I immediately set down as provincial. The duchess and
her maid withdrew before I could get a word with either of them, and
I joined the group about Chancel. But I found his satire little to
my liking, for it was merely a brutal tirade against the regent, and
contained accusations which I felt certain even Chancel himself knew to
be untrue.
As the moments passed I noticed that the provincial gentlemen, as
well as the other important personages present, were approached by a
page and taken one by one to the room into which Madame du Maine had
retired, and that when they came out again there was fire in their eyes
and a new intelligence in their faces. Only once was there any break
in this stream of persons entering and leaving the cabinet. The page
appeared to be seeking some one whom he could not find.
“Have you seen the Abbé Brigaut this evening, monsieur?” I heard him
inquire of the gentleman at my elbow, and the latter replied in the
negative. He took this answer back to the duchess, and a moment later
reappeared to conduct others of those present to that mysterious door.
I was racking my brain to find an explanation of this proceeding, when
the page approached me.
“Madame du Maine wishes to speak to you a moment, M. de Brancas,” he
said, and without waiting for a reply, he led the way to the door
through which I had already seen so many enter. I followed him, and in
a moment the door closed behind me. The duchess and Mlle. de Launay
were sitting at a large table littered with papers.
“Ah, M. de Brancas,” cried the former as I entered, and I saw that her
eyes were bright and her face flushed with excitement, “it is, as you
see, a gathering of the clans. To-night we are all assembled, each to
learn his part in the drama we are about to play. You have perhaps
noticed that there are many strangers present?”
“I have indeed noticed it, madame,” I answered.
“And you have been wondering who they are, have you not? Well, I will
tell you, M. de Brancas. They are representatives of half the noble
houses of Brittany, who have come to give me personal assurance of
their support. To-night, monsieur, the threads are all in my hands, and
in five days Philip d’Orleans will no longer be regent of France.”
The lines of care had faded from her face and left her ten years
younger. Her companion had caught her enthusiasm, and her eyes were
sparkling in sympathy with those of the duchess.
“I rejoice to learn that everything goes so well,” I said, and I felt
my heart warming for these two women who had accomplished so much. “Has
madame any commands for me? I should be most happy to take a part in
the drama, even though it be a small one.”
“’Tis not a command, but a request,” she answered, quickly. “You can
be of great service to me if you will, M. de Brancas. The arrest
of Richelieu takes a cog out of the wheel, and in order that the
machine may move with perfect certainty and smoothness I wish you to
replace that cog. In a word, monsieur, what I desire is a personal
representative at Bayonne, a man whom I can trust and in whose courage
I have faith. You are that man, M. de Brancas,”--I bowed at the
compliment,--“and I ask you to go to represent me at Bayonne.”
“I will go with the greatest pleasure, madame,” I answered; “only will
the good people of Bayonne have in me the same faith which you have?”
“You will take papers with you which will inspire them with faith,
monsieur,” she answered, “and I believe that after they have known you
a few days even the papers will be unnecessary. They will be handed
to you presently, for I wish you to set out to-night. At ten o’clock
a horse will be waiting for you just without the little gate at the
back of the Tuileries, which you already know, as you passed through
it the other day with Mlle. de Launay. Here is a key to the gate. At
ten o’clock we will give you the papers; you will go out at the back
of the palace without attracting attention. You will open the gate and
lock it after you. At the other side you will find your horse. You
will mount the horse and set off for Bayonne. You will find changes of
horses awaiting you at Orleans, Tours, Poitiers, Angoulême, Bordeaux,
and Rion. Where, in detail, you are to look for these horses will be
specified in the written instructions which will be given you, since
you might forget if I were merely to tell you. And I beg of you do
not spare the horses. Upon reaching Bayonne, you will go at once to
the address which you will find in the papers. All of the papers will
then be opened and read in your presence, and you will see that the
instructions contained in them are carried out. Do you understand,
monsieur?”
“Perfectly,” I answered.
“And you agree?”
“Yes, madame.”
“I thank you, monsieur,” and she gave me her hand very prettily. “I
knew that I should not call upon you in vain. Adieu, monsieur. When we
meet again I hope to be in a position to advance your fortunes.”
It wanted but half an hour of ten o’clock when I returned to the
outer room. I was apparently the last one to whom the duchess had
instructions to give, for she soon followed me, accompanied by her
maid. The room was still crowded, and no one showed any disposition
to leave. The knowledge that the time for action was not far distant
charged the air with excitement, and men looked at men with set lips
and shining eyes. There was no mistaking the determination to strike
the regency a blow from which it could not recover, and for the first
time I began to be really confident of success.
“Where is St. Aulaire?” I heard Mlle. de Launay inquire.
“I did not invite him this evening,” answered the duchess. “He knows
nothing of our plans.”
“’Tis not like him to await an invitation, however,” observed the girl.
“Brigaut is also still missing, is he not?”
“He has doubtless been detained. He has much to do.”
She turned to the courtiers who were crowding around her, when there
came a little tumult at the door, and I saw a thin, old man pushing his
way through the crowd. At a glance I recognized St. Aulaire.
“Ah, madame,” he cried, as he neared the duchess, “the most astonishing
things have been happening in Paris this evening. Three or four hours
ago, Hérault and his men arrested a fellow called Abbé Bri--Bri--I
forget the name. Does any one here happen to know the name of a certain
adventurer which begins with Bri?” he continued, appealing to the group
about the duchess.
A silence as of death had fallen upon the room. Nearly every man within
sound of St. Aulaire’s voice knew that the Abbé Brigaut was interested
in the conspiracy, and was, indeed, one of the most trusted of Madame
du Maine’s agents in Paris, but not one of them uttered a word. St.
Aulaire found himself looking into faces of stone.
“But of course you do not,” he rattled on, after a moment. “No one here
would know him. Nevertheless, it is a most amusing story. It seems
that this abbé has a secretary, and this secretary, of course, has a
mistress. Last night he had an appointment with his mistress, which,
it appears, he did not keep,--in which he was greatly to blame. This
morning he called to make his excuses, and told the girl that his
master had kept him awake all night preparing a lot of papers which
were to be sent to Spain.”
At that word a shiver ran through the listeners, and the duchess became
livid. By a supreme effort she smiled.
“Ah, well, monsieur,” she said, “continue. We find the story very
interesting.”
“Well,” continued St. Aulaire, who did not often find so attentive an
audience and who needed no encouragement to proceed, “the girl, of
course, was an agent of Hérault. All girls of that class are. It is the
price they pay for the protection of the police. So she told a gendarme
about the Abbé Brigaut’s correspondence with Spain. The gendarme told
Hérault, Hérault told Dubois, Dubois told the regent, and there you
are. A few hours later a company of guards surrounded the house of this
abbé--who, it seems, is not really an abbé, after all--and took him
to the Bastille, where he is now comfortably lodged. His papers, of
course, were carefully gathered up and handed over to Dubois.”
“And is that all?” asked the duchess, who had bitten her lips until
they were red with blood in the effort to retain her composure.
“No, that is only the beginning,” cried St. Aulaire, enjoying immensely
the sensation he was creating and little comprehending how profound it
was. “It seems that Dubois and the regent found much to interest them
in the abbé’s papers. It is said at the Palais Royal, where I was but
a moment ago, that they discovered proofs of some ridiculous Spanish
plot, I know not what; but, at any rate, they sent Hérault to arrest
the Spanish minister, Prince Cellamare himself. There is big game for
you! They tell me that he was completely surprised--trust Hérault for
that--and made no resistance.”
St. Aulaire paused from sheer want of breath. Every one was looking
into his neighbor’s face.
“Gentlemen,” said the duchess, in a hard voice, “it seems that we are
to be too late. I would recommend that you leave here as quickly as
possible, as M. Hérault will probably not long delay paying me a visit.”
Even as they turned to go there was a tramp of feet at the door, which
swung open, giving a glimpse of armed men beyond. But only two men
entered. They were Hérault and the Marquis d’Ancenis. Without glancing
to the right or left, and with an admirable composure, they advanced
straight to the duchess along the lane which was opened for them.
“Madame du Maine,” said d’Ancenis, bowing, “I regret to inform you that
you are under arrest.”
“What, captain!” cried the duchess, and I could not but admire the
brave manner in which she took the blow, “you dine with me one evening
and arrest me the next? Is not that ungallant?”
“’Tis a disagreeable duty, madame,” answered d’Ancenis, “but one which
must be performed, nevertheless. Let no one leave the room,” he added
sharply, in a louder tone, hearing a movement behind him. But it was
no one trying to escape,--every one seemed too nearly paralyzed to
think of that, even had it been possible. It was only the Cardinal de
Polignac, intriguer, liar, and arrant coward, who had tumbled in a heap
on the floor, completely overcome by terror. He was pushed to one side
with scant ceremony and left to recover as best he might.
“I am at your orders, monsieur,” said Madame du Maine, proudly, and
d’Ancenis bowed again.
Hérault returned to the entrance and ordered in a company of the
guards, whom he posted at all the doors, while d’Ancenis prepared to
take a list of all the people in the room. This occupied some time, and
while it was in progress I again gained the side of Madame du Maine.
“Permit me to compliment you, madame,” I said in a low tone, “upon the
heroic manner in which you withstand this reverse. It is magnificent.”
The duchess looked at me with a smile.
“Perhaps all is not yet lost, monsieur,” she said, glancing quickly
around to see that no one else could hear.
“Not yet lost?” and I looked at her in amazement. “I do not understand,
madame.”
“Can I trust you?” she asked, looking at me a moment. “Yes, I think
I can. At four o’clock this afternoon, monsieur, the Duc d’Orleans,
accompanied only by three or four gentlemen, left Paris to visit the
king at Versailles, to lay before him, I do not doubt, the details of
our plans and to get his signature to certain papers which Orleans
might himself hesitate to enforce without the royal approval. St.
Aulaire was mistaken in saying that the regent was in the city this
evening.”
“What then, madame?” I asked. “I confess that I am still in the dark.”
“At nine o’clock this evening the regent was to leave Versailles to
return to Paris. Two hours later he will arrive at that part of the
road near St. Cloud where it passes through a strip of woodland. At
that point he will disappear. He will enter the wood at one side, but
he will never come out at the other. He will vanish as though the earth
had opened and swallowed him. It is a detail of the plan which, until
this moment, I have kept to myself, and of which I am certain the
police know nothing. I was arranging a pleasant little surprise for our
confederates, for with Orleans out of the way what serious opposition
could there be to Philip of Spain? Ah, well, it seems that it is this
detail which is to save us, and which may yet make Philip of Spain
regent of France. You understand now, monsieur?”
I gazed in amazement at this extraordinary woman, who permitted nothing
to stand in the way of her ambition.
“But that is assassination,” I gasped, at last.
The duchess looked at me coolly.
“Call it what you please, M. de Brancas,” she said.
“But, madame, it is something to which no gentleman could consent.”
“Do you presume to give me a lesson in honor, monsieur?” she demanded,
haughtily, though still preserving the low tone in which the entire
conversation had been conducted.
“Oh, madame,” I said, “you do not understand. Your standards of
honor are different from those of a man. To a woman everything is
permitted--almost everything, for even a woman will not break her word
if she be honorable.”
“And what then, monsieur?” she asked, looking at me in astonishment.
“Simply this, madame,” and I gave her look for look: “I do not consent
to this assassination.”
“You do not consent?” she hissed, her eyes blazing with anger. “And
pray who asks you to consent, monsieur? I do not see that it is any
concern of yours. Do you mean that you, who prate so prettily of honor,
will betray me?”
“No, madame,” I answered, “I shall not betray you,--not even to save
the regent from assassination. What you have told me in confidence I
shall tell no one. Only I shall save the regent if I can.”
“If you can,” she sneered. “That is well said. Unassisted, M. de
Brancas, I defy you to save the regent.”
I looked at her once again but said nothing. Then I left her side.
D’Ancenis was still busy taking the names of the prisoners. A group of
guards lounged at each door. I considered a moment. If I could reach
the horse which had been waiting for me since ten o’clock outside the
little gate at the back of the palace I might yet be in time to warn
the regent. Clearly, that was the only thing to be done, since I could
not betray the duchess.
I sauntered carelessly towards the group of guards who stood at the
entrance of the hall which led to the rear of the building. There
were six of them, and they were chatting among themselves. I saw with
satisfaction that the hall was dark. I was within three feet of them,
and still they did not suspect me. I gathered myself for a spring.
“Take care, gentlemen,” cried the shrill voice of the duchess, “M. de
Brancas is going to escape!”
But she was too late, for even as she spoke I sprang at the guards,
hurled back two that barred the way, and disappeared into the darkness
of the hall. They were thrown into confusion for a moment, and in that
moment I reached the rear door and felt with joy that it yielded to my
touch. As I slammed it after me a fusillade of shots rang out in the
hallway, but I was in the court. Blessing the chance which had made me
familiar with the place, I hastened towards the little gate, found it,
and inserted the key in the lock. I heard the door behind me open and a
chorus of excited cries.
“There he is!” yelled some one. “He is escaping! Fire!”
But I had the gate open and was in the street beyond. An agony of
apprehension seized me. Suppose the horse should not be there. Suppose
I should not find it in time. Yes, there it was, stamping its feet
impatiently in the darkness. I reached it and with my sword cut the
rope with which it was fastened just as my pursuers poured through
the gate into the little street. In an instant I was in the saddle,
without taking time to sheathe my sword, and the horse was off like
a flash. There was a roar of muskets and I felt a sharp pain in my
left shoulder, but my horse kept on and turned the corner into the
Rue d’Echelle. I swayed in the saddle, but the shock passed, and in a
moment I was riding firmly, my heart leaping at the rapid motion. And
I set my teeth together as I determined, come what might, to save the
regent.