"Nothing of the sort. Nothing was missing from the Hôtel de Brissac.
The Chevalier is rich."
"The Chevalier? I tell you that the association is impossible. In the
first place . . . It is of no matter," biting her lips. "I know."
"Ventre Saint Gris! as my grandfather used to say, there is but one
grey cloak lined with purple satin, but one square velvet collar, a
fashion which the Chevalier invented himself. Three persons saw and
recognized the cloak. If the Chevalier returns, it is the Bastille and
forgetfulness. Mazarin is becoming as strict as those pot-hat Puritans
yonder in England. He might possibly overlook a duel in the open; but
to enter a man's house by the window . . . What more is there to be
said? And all this recalls what my father used to say. De Brissac and
the Marquis de Périgny were deadly enemies. It seems that De Brissac
had one love affair; Madame la Marquise while she was a Savoy princess.
She loved the marquis, and he married her because De Brissac wanted
her. But De Brissac evidently never had his revenge."
Madame felt that she could no longer sustain the conversation. In her
own mind she was positive that her daughter and the son of her old
flame had never met. A man does not fall in love with a woman after he
refuses to look at her; and the Chevalier had refused to look at
Gabrielle. Why? Her mind was not subtile enough to pierce the veil.
A lackey approached Beaufort.
"I was directed to give this note to your Highness." The lackey bowed
profoundly and retired.
Beaufort opened the note, scanned the lines, and grew deadly pale.
What he read was this: "Monsieur le Comte's private papers are missing,
taken by his assailant, who entered the hôtel for that purpose. Be
careful." The note was unsigned.
At this moment Bernouin approached Mazarin and whispered something in
his ear.
"Impossible!" cried the cardinal.
"It is true, nevertheless," replied the valet. "He is in the anteroom."
"The fellow is a fool! Does he think to brazen it out? I shall make
an example of him. De Meilleraye, take my cards, and if you lose more
than ten louis! . . . Ladies, an affair of state," and Mazarin rose
and limped into the adjoining cabinet. "Bring him into this room," he
said to the valet. He then stationed two gentlemen of the musketeers
behind his chair, sat down and waited, a grimace of pain twisting his
lips.
Meanwhile the Chevalier entered the gallery, following Bernouin. His
face wore a puzzled, troubled expression. All this ado somewhat
confused him.
"He is handsome," said Madame de Montbazon; "handsomer than ever his
father was."
"He is more than handsome," said Beaufort, whose astonishment was
genuine; "he is brave. What the devil brings him here into the wolf's
maw?"