Scant cause is there for me to tarry over the details of my return to Paris. A sad enough journey was it; as sad for my poor Michelot as for myself, since he rode with one so dejected as I.
Things had gone ill, and I feared that when the Cardinal heard the story things would go worse, for Mazarin was never a tolerant man, nor one to be led by the gospel of mercy and forgiveness. For myself I foresaw the rope--possibly even the wheel; and a hundred times a day I dubbed myself a fool for obeying the voice of honour with such punctiliousness when so grim a reward awaited me. What mood was on me--me, Gaston de Luynes, whose honour had been long since besmirched and tattered until no outward semblance of honour was left?
But swift in the footsteps of that question would come the answer--Yvonne. Ay, truly enough, it was because in my heart I had dared to hold a sentiment of love for her, the purest--nay, the only pure--thing my heart had held for many a year, that I would set nothing vile to keep company with that sentiment; that until my sun should set--and already it dropped swiftly towards life's horizon--my actions should be the actions of such a man as might win Yvonne's affections.
But let that be. This idle restrospective mood can interest you but little; nor can you profit from it, unless, indeed, it be by noting how holy and cleansing to the heart of man is the love--albeit unrequited--that he bears a good woman.
As we drew near Meung--where we lay on that first night of our journey--a light travelling chaise, going in the same direction, passed us at a gallop. As it flashed by, I caught a glimpse of Eugène de Canaples's swart face through the window. Whether the recognition was mutual I cannot say--nor does it signify.
When we reached the Hôtel de la Couronne, half an hour later, we saw that same chaise disappearing round a corner of the street, whilst through the porte-cochère the hostler was leading a pair of horses, foam-flecked and steaming with sweat.
Whither went Master Canaples at such a rate, and in a haste that caused him to travel day and night? To a goal he little looked for--or rather, which, in the madness of his headlong rush, he could not see. So I was to learn ere long.
Next day I awoke betimes, and setting my window wide to let in the fresh, clean-smelling air of that May morning I made shift to dress. Save for the cackle of the poultry which had strayed into the courtyard, and the noisy yawns and sleep-laden ejaculations of the stable-boy, who was drawing water for the horses, all was still, for it had not yet gone five o'clock.