I Enter the Astrologer’s House.

It was plain that whatever I decided to do must be done quickly. I glanced at the messenger. He sat quite still, but his shrewd, beady eyes were fixed on me as if to read my every thought. Evidently there was no help to be expected from that quarter. And, worse still, the man had discovered his mistake. The instant I opened the door he would raise an alarm, and I should probably fare ill in the ensuing scuffle.

The rascal was aware of his advantage, and actually grinned.

“Pardon me, monsieur,” he said, “but I am always amused by a comedy, and this one is so rich. It is like a battle in which both sides are beaten, and yet both claim the victory. You have the paper and cannot make use of it, while I

“You are in more danger than you seem to imagine.”

“I think not, monsieur,” he answered coolly.

It was certainly a most awkward position, and I tried in vain to hit upon some plan of action. If only the man would speak, and speak the truth, he could make everything plain. I could not bribe him, and if I could he would probably deceive me, but was there not a chance of alarming him? I endeavoured to recall what Belloc had said. Henri was hand in glove with De Retz, who was Mazarin’s enemy, so that the messenger would probably not relish an interview with the Cardinal.

“Come,” I said at length, “let us make a bargain. You shall tell me the meaning of this letter, and I will set you free. What do you say?”

“That you offer me nothing for something, monsieur, which is a good bargain for you. Suppose I do not fall in with such a tempting offer?”

“In that case,” I replied, speaking as sternly as possible, “I shall hand you over to the Guards of Cardinal Mazarin.”

At this the rascal laughed merrily, saying, “The Cardinal may be a great personage at the Palais Royal, but his credit is low in the Rue de Roi. No, no, monsieur, you must try again.”

It was unpleasant to be played with in this manner, yet there was no remedy. I was still wondering what to do, when suddenly there came a sound of footsteps in the corridor, and some one knocked at the door. The dwarf grinned with delight, but, pointing a pistol at his head, I bade him be silent, and asked who was without.

“Armand d’Arcy.”

I recognised the voice at once as that of the youngster who had brought me to the inn. The little man also knew my visitor, and moved uneasily in his chair till my pistol came in contact with his neck; then he sat still.

“Pardon! I am engaged.”

“But you must spare five minutes. I have come on purpose to see you,” and lowering his voice he added earnestly, “the affair takes place to-night.”

Laughing softly at my prisoner, I said aloud, “What of it? You know what to do.”

“Then nothing is to be changed?” and there was a note of surprise in D’Arcy’s voice.

“Not as far as I am concerned.”

“And you will be there by ten without fail?”

“Certainly, why not?”

“Well, there was a rumour floating about last night that you intended to withdraw.”

“Rumour is generally a false jade,” I said coolly.

“Ten o’clock, then, at the new church in the Rue St. Honore,” and with that he retired, evidently annoyed at having been kept out of the room.

“That lessens the value of your information,” said I, turning to my prisoner.

“Considerably,” he replied cheerfully. “I judged monsieur wrongly. It is plain that his wits are as keen as his sword.”

Ignoring the doubtful compliment, and taking up the note afresh, I observed that I should soon be able to tell who wrote it.

“It is possible,” he agreed, “quite possible.”

He had regained his composure, and, indeed, seemed rather pleased than otherwise at the turn events were taking. Still he did not quite know what to make of me, and now and then a shadow of anxiety flitted across his face.

As we sat staring at each other it dawned upon me that I had a new problem to solve. What was to be done with this unwelcome visitor? I had made up my mind to meet D’Arcy, and the sound of a neighbouring clock striking nine warned me there was short time left for decision.

“Suppose I let you go?” I asked, half amused at the comical situation.

“That would be agreeable to me.”

“Would you promise to say nothing about this affair till the morning?”

“Readily, monsieur.”

“And break your promise at the first opportunity?”

“That is probable, monsieur. You see, I have a very bad memory,” and he laughed.

“Then you must be kept here. I am sorry; I have no wish to hurt you, but there is no other way.”

“As you please,” he replied, and submitted quietly to be bound with strips torn from the bedclothes.

I fastened the knots securely, yet so as to cause him the least suffering, and then proceeded to improvise a gag. At this point his calmness disappeared, and for a short time he looked both surprised and angry.

However, he soon recovered his spirits, and said admiringly, “Surely monsieur must be a gaoler by profession; he knows all the tricks of the trade.”

“Ah,” said I, laughing, “you did not expect this?”

He shook his head disconsolately.

“But it is necessary.”

“It may be for you.”

“Let us say for both, since you will be prevented from getting into mischief. But come; I will make you comfortable.”

The man’s eyes twinkled, and any one outside hearing him laugh would have thought we were engaged in a humorous game.

“Ma foi!” he exclaimed, “you are politeness itself. First I am to be bound and gagged, and then made comfortable. But there is just one thing which troubles me.”

“Speak out; I may be able to set your mind at ease.”

“It is just possible that some one, not knowing your good points, may cut off your head.”

“Well?”

“In that case, with a gag in my mouth, I shall be unable to express my sorrow.”

“Have no fear,” I replied, catching his meaning. “Whatever happens to me, and the venture is certainly risky, I promise you shall be released in the morning.”

“Thanks, monsieur,” he said, looking considerably relieved, “you certainly play the game like a gentleman.”

I was really sorry to treat the man so scurvily, but, as a single word from him would upset my plans, it was necessary to prevent him from giving warning. So, carefully inserting the gag and repeating the promise to set him at liberty as soon as possible, I put my pistols in order, took my hat, and went out, closing and fastening the door.

The sight of the innkeeper in the narrow passage reminded me that he might be wondering what had become of the messenger, so I stopped and said, “If the dwarf returns before me, tell him to come again in the morning.”

“Certainly, monsieur,” he replied, holding the door open while I passed into the courtyard.

As usual the Rue de Roi was crowded, and I thought some of the people looked at me strangely, but this might have been mere fancy. Once, indeed, a man placed himself purposely in my path. It was the ruffian who had spoken to me in the inn, but, not desiring his company, I placed a finger on my lips to indicate silence, and walked past rapidly.

Ten o’clock struck as, entering the Rue St. Honore, I passed up the street, seeking for the new church. Several people were still about, but I dared not ask for information, though where the church was situated I had not the faintest idea. However, I kept straight on, and, a quarter after the hour, approached a huge pile of scaffolding and the unfinished walls of a large building.

Here I paused in doubt, which was relieved by a whispered “De Lalande?” and the next instant Armand d’Arcy joined me.

“You are late,” he exclaimed irritably. “The others have started, and I had almost despaired of your coming.”

Taking my arm he crossed the road, hurried down a by-street, and, by what seemed a round-about route, led me into a most uninviting part of the city.

“Our friends have made good use of their time,” I remarked, hoping to learn something useful from his conversation.

“They are anxious to surround the cage while the bird is still within. These strange rumours concerning the Abbe have made them uneasy.”

“But I don’t in the least understand you.”

“Well, they must be untrue, or you would not be here. Still, the information came to us on good authority.”

“Speak out, man, and let us clear up the matter; I am completely in the dark.”

“Then,” said he bluntly, “it is just this. We heard De Retz intended to trick us, and that you, instead of having returned to Paris, were still at Vancey. Of course I knew better, but the Abbe is a slippery customer!”

“Why not have told him your suspicions?”

D’Arcy slapped me on the back.

“Behold the innocence of the dove!” he exclaimed. “Of course he would have denied everything and demanded our proofs. But he will do well to leave off this double game. With the Cardinal in our hands we shall be too strong for him.”

“I don’t understand now.”

“It is simple enough. You know that De Retz drew up the scheme and induced us to join him. But he can’t be trusted, and half of our fellows believe he is playing us false.”

“But why should he?”

“Ah, that is the mystery. He may have made his peace with the Cardinal for all I know. However, you can’t draw back now; so if he has cheated us, he has cheated you. Is the plan changed in any way?”

“I have heard of no alteration.”

“We had better make sure of our ground. It would be folly to miss so good an opportunity through want of foresight, though I don’t see how we can fail,” and, dropping his voice to a whisper, he went through all his arrangements, only pausing now and again to ask my opinion, which he evidently valued highly.

I walked by his side like one in a dream, hardly knowing how to answer. Here was I, a simple country youth, plunged into a conspiracy so daring that the recital of it almost took away my breath. The enterprise, started by the Abbe de Retz, was no less than the forcible carrying-off of Cardinal Mazarin, the most powerful man in France. I turned hot and cold at the thought.

It was known that the Cardinal, as a citizen, paid occasional visits to a certain astrologer, in whose house he was at present, and the conspirators had arranged their plans accordingly. False passports were obtained, a body of horse were in readiness outside the gates, and it only remained to obtain possession of the Cardinal’s person. This part, it appeared, De Retz had promised should be undertaken by my cousin, who was deep in his confidence, while a band of reckless young nobles, with D’Arcy at their head, should form an escort.

“Once we get the old fox trapped, the rest will be easy,” said my companion. “I warrant he won’t get loose again in a hurry.”

“No,” said I, puzzling my brain as to why De Retz had at the last moment drawn back from the venture.

There was no doubt he had written the note even then inside my doublet. Something had occurred to shake his resolution, but what was it? Had he really joined hands with the Cardinal? The letter to Henri did not look like it. Had he intended all along to sacrifice his allies? I did not think so, because his note seemed to hint at their possible success. Perhaps, and it was my final conclusion, some unexpected danger had compelled him to hold his hand.

What ought I to do? As we walked along, Armand d’Arcy rallied me on my silence, but happily the darkness hid my face, or he must have suspected something was wrong.

“Are you growing nervous, De Lalande?” he asked banteringly. “I have always heard that nothing could alarm you.”

“I am not alarmed.”

“The old fox will be surprised by our visit. I wonder if he has gone to the astrologer’s to have his fortune told?”

“Very likely. He believes in the stars and their influence.”

“Now, for me, I put more faith in a sharp sword,” said D’Arcy, laughing, “but everyone to his taste. Steady, now, some of our fellows ought to be posted here.”

“Suppose,” I asked, suddenly coming to a halt, “that instead of trapping Mazarin, we are walking into a trap ourselves?”

“Why, in that case, my friend, you will be the only one caught. We shall remain in hiding till you give the signal.”

“Of course,” and I heaved a sigh of relief, “I had not thought of that.”

D’Arcy’s words had shown me a way out of the difficulty. I intended, if possible, to save the Cardinal, yet I could not in honour betray the men whose secret I had discovered by such a series of strange accidents.

As it was, my course seemed plain and open. I had only to see Mazarin, acquaint him with his danger, and get him into a place of safety; after that I could tell the conspirators their plans were discovered, and they would quickly disperse. Mazarin might not believe my story, but something must be left to chance.

“We are getting near now,” whispered D’Arcy presently; “you don’t wish to draw back?”

“Not in the least, why?”

“Because if you do, I will take your place. If the plan fails it is the Bastille for you, and perhaps a rope with a running knot from the walls.”

“Pshaw! there is no danger for me, and you can take care of yourselves.”

At the end of a by-street, we were challenged by a low “Qui-vive?” when we instantly halted.

“Notre Dame!” replied D’Arcy quietly. “Is that you, Peleton? Are we in time?”

“The old fox has not come out, and a light still burns in the third window. Have you brought De Lalande?”

“Here he is.”

“Ma foi! ’tis more than I expected. But I warn our friend that if he means playing us false he will have need to look to himself.”

A ready answer sprang to my lips, but I checked it. D’Arcy had evidently only a passing acquaintance with my cousin, but this man might know him well; in which case the trick would be discovered.

“Peleton is always suspecting some one,” laughed D’Arcy, “and generally without cause.”

“Well, if anything goes wrong, remember I warned you!” growled the other.

“Peace!” cried a third man, stepping from the shadow of a doorway. “Small wonder the Cardinal wins, when we spend our time in squabbling between ourselves. De Lalande, you are late, but now you have come, let us begin the business without more delay. Mazarin is still in the house, and our men are waiting. The horses are harnessed, and directly you give the signal the carriage will be at the door. I need not warn you to take care of yourself.”

“Three knocks, remember,” said D’Arcy. “We will stand here in the shadow; the others are in their places, and keeping a sharp look-out.”

“One minute!” I whispered to him. “There is just a trifling matter I wish done. If I don’t return and that seems not unlikely will you go straight back to La Boule d’Or? You will find a man in my room tied up and gagged; set him at liberty.”

D’Arcy gave a low whistle of surprise, but without asking for an explanation he promised to go.

“If we succeed I can attend to him myself,” I added. “Now stand back.”

“Don’t forget,” said the third man, “that if the Cardinal slips through your fingers your own neck will be in danger.”

“Good luck,” cried D’Arcy softly, as I crossed the road to the astrologer’s house.

For a moment, as my companions disappeared, my courage failed. I was bound on a really desperate venture, and the first false slip might land me in a dungeon of the dreaded Bastille.

Suppose that Mazarin, having learned of the plot, had filled the house with his Guards? Once I raised my hand and dropped it, but the second time I knocked at the door, which, after some delay, was opened wide enough to admit the passage of a man’s body. The entry was quite dark, but I pushed in quickly, nerving myself for whatever might happen. At the same moment sounds of firing came from the street, and I heard the man Peleton exclaim, “Fly! We are betrayed!”

I turned to the door, but some one was already shooting the bolts, while a second person, pressing a pistol against my head, exclaimed roughly, “Don’t move till we have a light. The floor is uneven, and you might hurt yourself by falling.”

“You can put down that weapon,” I said. “I am not likely to run away, especially as I have come of my own free will to see your master’s visitor.”

The fellow laughed, and lowered his pistol.

“You will see him soon enough,” said he, and I judged by his tone that he did not think the interview would be a pleasant one.

Another man now arriving with a lantern, I was led to the end of the passage, up three steps, and so into a large room, sparsely furnished, but filled with soldiers. Truly the Abbe was well advised in withdrawing from the conspiracy.

“Peste!” exclaimed the officer in charge, “why, ’tis De Lalande himself, only the peacock has put on daw’s feathers. Well, my friend, you have sent your goods to sea in a leaky boat this time.”

He took a step towards me, and then stopped in astonishment.

“What mystery is this?” he cried. “Are you not Henri de Lalande? But, no, I see the difference now. Ah, Henri is a clever fellow after all; I thought he would not trust himself on this fool’s errand. But you are marvellously like him. Well, well; whoever you are, the Cardinal is anxious to see you.”

“I came on purpose to speak to him. Had I known he was so well prepared to receive visitors I might have spared myself a troublesome journey.”

“And deprived His Eminence of a great pleasure! Unbuckle your sword, and place your pistols on the table. The Cardinal is a man of peace, and likes not martial weapons.”

To resist was useless; so I surrendered sword and pistols, which the officer handed to one of his men.

“Now,” he said, “as you are so anxious to meet the Cardinal, I will take you to him at once. This way.”

We toiled up a narrow, steep, and dimly-lighted staircase, at the top of which a soldier stood on guard, while another paced to and fro along the narrow landing. Both these men, as well as those in the lower part of the house, wore the Cardinal’s livery.

There were three rooms, and, stopping outside the second, the officer knocked at the door, while the soldier on duty stood close behind me. For a time there was no answer, but presently a calm voice bade us enter, and the next instant I stood face to face with the most powerful man in France.