I Lose all Trace of Henri.

By this time the flames had attracted a number of people, who ran from all directions to gaze at the spectacle. Armand brought me back to my senses by saying, “We must make sure of Peleton, Albert, or he will escape.”

“Humphreys will guard him while you fetch a coach,” I said, “then drive him straight to Conde.”

“And you?”

“I shall stay here till till

“I understand. We will escort this fellow to the Hotel de Conde, and then return.”

My passion had exhausted itself by now; I could only stand bewailing the loss of my trusty friend. Meanwhile the crowd increased; soldiers appeared on the scene; men dashed buckets of water on the fire; some seized burning pieces of wood and flung them into the street where they could do no more mischief.

I toiled with the rest, and gradually we got the flames under, but there was no sign of Raoul’s body. One man we found was quite dead, and no one recognised him. What had become of the others? Some had dashed down the stairway in front of me, but I had left Raoul and Henri, Pillot and his companion, nearly at the top. Where were they, if not buried beneath the smouldering debris of the fallen staircase?

Presently a roar of excitement came from the people behind me, and glancing towards the astrologer’s house I beheld a man, hatless, bleeding, and scorched by the hungry flames, rush into the street.

A hubbub of voices at once arose.

“Bravo, monsieur!”

“That’s one who was in the house!”

“He has saved one man’s life!”

“See, his face is cut!”

At sight of him my heart for a moment stood still; then I called aloud “Raoul!” and, scattering the people right and left, ran, frantic with joy, toward the friend I had never again expected to meet alive.

“Raoul!” I cried, “Raoul! Where have you been? I thought you were in the burning house!”

“There was your cousin to save,” he answered simply, flushing like a girl.

“You risked your life to save his?”

“Pshaw! I could not leave him to die like a rat. Then Pillot came with one of his fellows and we carried him through the secret passage into the next house.”

“Is he seriously hurt?”

“I am afraid so; though Pillot calls his wound a scratch. But what of Peleton? Has he escaped?”

“No! He is safe in the Hotel de Conde by now. D’Arcy and Humphreys took him there in a coach. But come, let us get away from this crowd, and visit the surgeon in the Rue Pierre. It is quite time your wounds were attended to.”

“It is scarcely worth the trouble; I can have that done at the Luxembourg.”

However, I managed to persuade him, and the surgeon, a man whom I had met more than once at the Palais Royal, bathed his wounds, applied some ointment, and lent him a hat. He was a wise man and asked no questions, though no doubt he learned in the morning all that he wished to know.

Leaving the house we walked to the end of the street, when Raoul stopped, saying, “You had better not go any farther with me; Conde will be expecting you.”

“To-morrow will do,” I replied, and we were still discussing the point when Armand and the Englishman suddenly made their appearance.

I need not describe their joyful surprise on perceiving Raoul, whom both believed to be dead. John Humphreys did not make a great display of his feelings he rarely did but Armand clapped Raoul on the shoulder and executed a lively dance.

“Where is Peleton?” I asked, when he had sobered down.

“In the Bastille by now, I expect. Conde is delighted; he will learn all about the plot within twenty-four hours. I never saw such a coward as Peleton!”

“The fellow isn’t worth powder!” exclaimed Humphreys in disgust.

“Anyhow there is an end to De Retz’s scheming,” I remarked cheerfully, but Raoul shook his head.

“The Abbe can take care of himself,” said he; “you will find that Peleton has no proof against him. It is your cousin who will suffer.”

“I thought Henri was killed on the staircase’” cried Armand.

“No, he was wounded, but we managed to convey him along a secret passage, of which Pillot knew, into Martin’s house. He is a bold rascal! I shall feel quite sorry if he falls into Conde’s clutches. Did the prince question you, Armand?”

“No, he was too much occupied with Peleton, but he intends sending for Albert in a day or two. You will be wearing his livery soon, my friend!” said he, turning to me.

“Not likely!” I replied laughing. “Remember I am still a Mazarin!”

Humphreys and I accompanied our friends some distance on their way, and then turned off in the direction of the Palais Royal. We did not talk much, for I was tired and sleepy, but I thanked the Englishman for the gallant part he had played in Peleton’s capture. Indeed, without his assistance I question if the adventure would have ended so successfully.

Remembering Armand’s remarks, I remained in the house the whole of the next day, in case Conde should send a message; but it was not until the third evening after the fight that one of his gentlemen appeared with a request that I would go immediately to the Hotel de Conde. The prince received me graciously, and, indeed, he displayed a very winning manner when it suited his purpose.

“Well, M. de Lalande,” he exclaimed, “you have kept your promise, and Monsieur Peleton is occupying your old cell in the Bastille. Do you know, I fancy he is rather pleased at leaving his late quarters?”

“I can well believe that, your Highness! He does not like being on the losing side. But I hope he has made it quite plain that I had nothing to do with the conspiracy?”

“He has told me everything in his power. By the way, De Lalande, that cousin of yours must be a very daring fellow!”

“My cousin Henri, your Highness?” said I, with a start of surprise.

“Yes, the man who carried the plot through! De Retz has an able lieutenant in him. Oh, come, do not look so astonished. You must have guessed the truth, and now there is no need for concealment. Peleton’s evidence is sufficient to bring your cousin’s head to the block. But I bear him no ill-will, and he can still save himself.”

“How, your Highness?”

“You are a clever lad,” said the prince, “and honest, as far as honesty goes in these days. You are from the country, I believe?”

“Yes, your Highness,” I answered, really surprised now.

“And have enjoyed many a good day’s fishing, I warrant? Ah, I see you have. Have you ever gone out with the determination to hook one particularly big fish?”

“Why, yes,” I replied, laughing, and quite at my ease. “I remember an old trout, a regular monster, that I could never catch, though I tried often enough. He was a wily fellow and would not take the bait.”

“But you landed others?”

“A good many, your Highness, though they did not make up for the one I missed.”

“Then you can understand my feelings, De Lalande. I have been angling a long time for a very wily fish, but I cannot get him on my hook; and the lesser ones are not worth catching. They are useful only as bait.”

Now I began to perceive the prince’s drift. The big fish was, of course, De Retz, who so skilfully avoided capture; Peleton only ranked as one of the smaller fry.

After a time, Conde, who had been watching my face closely, spoke more plainly.

“M. de Lalande,” he began, “I am going to ask you a question. Will you take service with me?”

“You do me great honour, your Highness, but it is impossible. I have pledged my word to Cardinal Mazarin.”

“His power is gone.”

“Which seems to me all the more reason why I should stand by him, your Highness. A fallen man has the most need of friends.”

“And obtains few. However, I will not attempt to persuade you, but there is one matter in which it may suit your interest to serve us. Would you like to see your cousin led out to execution?”

“By no means, your Highness! He played me a nasty trick, ’tis true, but I am sure he had no hand in Maubranne’s scheme.”

“Very well. I will speak plainly to you. This Peleton has told me all he knows. His confession is sufficient to bring your cousin to the block, but it is not enough for my purpose. It strikes at the second man and leaves the first untouched. Now, I would much prefer that it should be the other way, and in this you can assist me.”

“I will enter into no schemes to entrap my cousin, your Highness.”

“No, no!” answered the prince pettishly; “you mistake my meaning. I want you to go to him from me, privately. Make him aware that Peleton has confessed and his own head is in danger. Do you understand?”

“So far, your Highness.”

“The rest is simple. He can save his life if he chooses, by adding to Peleton’s confession. If he will not do this he must take the consequences.”

“Your Highness has made a mistake,” I answered coldly. “Henri de Lalande is not another Peleton. He will not purchase his life on these terms.”

Conde laughed and exclaimed, “At least you can offer him the chance. Find out where he is hiding and deliver my message. Then he can please himself.”

Although feeling sure that Henri would refuse to avail himself of Conde’s offer, I allowed myself to be persuaded, and, before leaving the house, agreed to report to my cousin what the prince had said.

I soon discovered that the promise was easier to make than to fulfil. Henri had vanished, and on all hands I heard rumour of his death. So steady and persistent was the report that even Marie and her aunt, on whom I called the next day, believed it.

“It is quite true,” Madame Coutance declared. “De Retz has offered up prayers for the repose of his soul, which he would hardly venture to do if he believed your cousin was still alive. I met Madame de Chevreuse last night and she informed me that the Abbe is disconsolate.”

I did not argue the point, though in my own mind I concluded that De Retz was a very clever schemer, and that these reports of Henri’s death were circulated in order to deceive Conde.

In the afternoon I paid a visit to the astrologer’s house, and by dint of bribing the porter gained admittance. Fortunately for the learned Martin the fire had not reached his rooms, though some parts of the buildings were damaged. The philosopher received me very affably, and spoke in feeling terms of my cousin’s illness, but when I asked if Henri would see me the wily old fellow regarded me with the utmost astonishment.

“M. de Lalande is not here!” he observed. “Did you not know? How strange! Why, he had left before D’Artagnan arrived with his musketeers to search the house. It appears that your cousin has offended Conde, or the Duke of Orleans, or some powerful person, and is in danger of being imprisoned.”

“It is said in the city that he is dead.”

“Dead? I hope not, but in his weak state the hurried flight may easily have proved fatal. The soldiers were sent to arrest him, but his faithful servant, by some means, heard of their coming, and smuggled his master out just in time.”

“Pillot?”

“Yes, he is a trusty fellow.”

“Where was my cousin taken?”

“Pillot did not trust me with his secret,” said the astrologer, smiling blandly, “and I have not seen him since.”

“But you can guess where he is to be found?”

“Indeed, I have not the least notion, monsieur,” and the bland smile became still more bland, “but as to the rumour of your cousin’s death I would fain hope that it is not true.”

Remembering the nature of my last visit with Mazarin to this house, I placed small faith in Martin’s remarks, but as it was clearly impossible to obtain any further information I took my leave, resolving to discover for myself what really had become of Henri. Raoul joined me in the search, but for a long time our efforts were fruitless. It became, indeed, difficult not to believe in my cousin’s death. Many even of Conde’s friends accepted the report as true, while the Abbé’s henchmen openly mourned the loss of their brilliant leader. Still I was not entirely satisfied, especially as no trace could be found of Pillot.

During one of our expeditions we came across Pierre and Francois, the one grim and hostile, the other smiling and communicative.

“Monsieur is right,” replied Francois in answer to my questioning, “M. de Lalande did leave the astrologer’s house; I helped to carry him. He was ill dying, I think. We took him to a safe place. Pillot stayed to nurse him and I left them. He instructed me to go because the soldiers were watching.”

“Could you show us this house?” I asked.

“Monsieur would have his journey in vain. M. de Lalande is not there now. Pillot took him, or his dead body, away in a carriage.”

“Where is Pillot now?”

“Ah! monsieur asks a question! Perhaps he is dead too! I have not seen him since.”

For a moderate consideration Francois agreed to point out the haunts which his former ally had been in the habit of frequenting. Such dens of vice and misery, where crime, starvation, and disease went hand in hand, I had never beheld. I wondered how any one could live in such noisome places even for a day. The sufferings of the people were terrible; a dreadful pestilence mowed them down in scores. Small marvel that a clever agitator like De Retz could obtain hundreds of willing tools ready for any act of bloodshed and violence.

Always hungry, always in filth and rags, scarred and disfigured by disease, their numbers decimated many times over by an ever-present plague, what could they know of the sanctity of life? Death walked and talked with them continually; a familiar guest, eating and drinking by their side like a trusty comrade feared by none, welcomed by many. But for Francois we should never have left these dens alive.

With all our care and trouble we could obtain no information. My cousin had vanished so completely that I gradually became convinced of his death, and an accidental meeting with De Retz confirmed me in this belief.

Coming one day from the neighbourhood of Notre Dame, I met the Abbe face to face. He stopped involuntarily and his face became white.

“De Lalande?” he gasped. “De Lalande? Is it possible?”

“Albert de Lalande,” I said.

“Ah,” he exclaimed with a sigh of relief, “Henri’s cousin! I had forgotten you, and it is a shock to one’s nerves to meet a dead man in the flesh.”

“Is my cousin really dead, monsieur?”

“Ma foi! What a question! Why do you ask?”

“Because I imagined the report had been spread about to deceive Conde.”

“No,” he replied, showing no offence at my remark, “I would it were so, but M. Beauchamp’s sword bit deeply. Pillot should have informed you, but he has had much to do. He has taken his master’s body home for burial. I feel his loss greatly. Your cousin was an admirable man, and I shall never find his equal. But what of yourself? Have you taken service with Conde?”

“No, monsieur, I still fight for the Throne.”

“And for Albert de Lalande! Well, well, as long as you steer clear of me I wish you no harm.”

“Monsieur is pleased to be gracious,” I returned with a mocking bow. “I am indeed grateful.”

The little rogue’s eyes twinkled brightly, and he went away laughing.

So Henri was really dead and laid to rest in the family vault! I could no longer question the truth of the rumour after seeing the Abbé’s face when he met me. It was certain that he, at least, believed my cousin was dead and buried. Even Raoul could not shake me on this point, though he rather scoffed at the story.

“It is a trick to deceive Conde,” he said. “If Henri is dead, where is Pillot?”

“He has taken the body home.”

“Chut! The tale is a pack of lies. The Abbe is keeping your cousin in hiding till Conde has lost his power. Have you heard that he is going to accuse the prince of high treason?”

“De Retz?”

“Yes, to-morrow in open court at the Palais de Justice. There are likely to be warm doings, and it is my belief if De Retz wins your cousin Henri will soon come to life.”

That night I wandered about the city by myself. Raoul and Armand were with the troops in the Luxembourg; John Humphreys was at his post in the Palais Royal; the gates of both palaces were closed and barred, for no one knew what an hour would bring forth. The night passed quietly, but, as soon as the dawn broke, bands of armed men, in the pay of De Retz, moved down on the Palais de Justice, swarming into the halls and galleries and seizing the best positions. The crowd outside rapidly increased to enormous numbers, and very soon cries of “Down with Conde” were heard.

About an hour after De Retz put in an appearance loud shouts announced the coming of the prince. He rode haughtily at the head of some two thousand fighting men, who marched afoot with their hands on their swords, and apparently quite ready to use them. I was standing near the gate as Conde passed, and to my surprise he beckoned me toward him.

“Has your search failed?” he asked.

“Yes, your Highness. According to all accounts my cousin is dead, and I am sure De Retz thinks so.”

“Why do you say that?” he asked quickly. “Come with me; it is important that I should have the latest news.”

Accordingly we walked together along the corridor, which was filled with armed men, and so into the Parliament Hall, Conde listening with deep attention to the story of my chance meeting with De Retz.

“Ah!” he exclaimed thoughtfully, “that will account for more than one strange incident,” and leaving me he took his seat in the assembly.

I was too far off to hear the speeches, but there was tremendous excitement, and I think everyone was expecting the meeting to end in bloodshed. Better sense, however, prevailed; Conde sent a nobleman to ask his friends to withdraw, and De Retz went with a similar message to his own retainers. Then something happened which threatened to undo all the good. Conde’s messenger getting back first shut the door, and when the Abbe knocked, opened it only a little way. As De Retz endeavoured to squeeze through, the nobleman caught and fixed him between the two halves, at the same time calling to his friends to kill the Abbe.

It was a critical moment, as the first blow would have been the signal for a fierce fight, yet I could hardly refrain from laughing at the spectacle. The little man’s head and shoulders were within the hall, and the rest of his body was outside, while he could not stir an inch. Happily no blow was struck, as one of Conde’s captains, crying “Shame!” ran forward, and two or three of us nearest the door managed to extricate the Abbe from his awkward situation.

“Thank you, gentlemen,” he exclaimed; “I am glad there are some men of honour in the prince’s train,” and he passed to his seat as if nothing unusual had happened.

“There will be no more trouble to-day,” said a man close to me; and he was right, but Paris had only just missed another revolution.