The door was flung rudely open, and the man bearing the lantern--whose rays shone upon a uniform of the Cardinal's guards--confronted us.
With a chuckle he flashed the light in my face, then suddenly grew serious.
"Peste! Is it indeed you, M. de Luynes?" quoth he; adding, with stern politeness, "It grieves me to disturb you, but I have a warrant for your arrest."
He was fumbling in his doublet as he spoke, and during the time I had leisure to scan his countenance, recognising, to my surprise, a young lieutenant of the guards who had but recently served with me, and with whom I had been on terms almost of friendship. His words, "I have a warrant for your arrest," came like a bolt from the blue to enlighten me, and to remind me of what St. Auban had that morning told me, and which for the nonce I had all but forgotten.
Upon hearing those same words, Yvonne, methought, grew pale, and her eyes were bent upon me with a look of surprise and pity.
"Upon what charge am I arrested?" I enquired, with forced composure.
"My warrant mentions none, M. de Luynes. It is here." And he thrust before me a paper, whose purport I could have read in its shape and seals. Idly my eye ran along the words: "By these presents I charge and empower my lieutenant, Jean de Montrésor, to seize where'er he may be found, hold, and conduct to Paris the Sieur Gaston de Luynes--"
And so further, until the Cardinal's signature ended the legal verbiage.
"In the King's name, M. de Luynes," said Montrésor, firmly yet deferentially, "your sword!"
It would have been madness to do aught but comply with his request, and so I surrendered my rapier, which he in his turn delivered to one of his followers. Next I stepped down from the coach and turned to take leave of Mademoiselle, whereupon Montrésor, thinking that peradventure matters were as they appeared to be between us, and, being a man of fine feelings, signed to his men to fall back, whilst he himself withdrew a few paces.
"Adieu, Mademoiselle!" I said simply. "I shall carry with me for consolation the memory that I have been of service to you, and I shall ever--during the little time that may be left me--be grateful to Heaven for the opportunity that it has afforded me of causing you--perchance without sufficient reason--to think better of me. Adieu, Mademoiselle! God guard you!"
It was too dark to see her face, but my heart bounded with joy to catch in her voice a quaver that argued, methought, regret for me.