"Take care!"
"I do not know who wore my cloak."
"A while back you said something about truth. You are not telling it
now. I will know who killed De Brissac, an honored and respected
gentleman, whatever his political opinions may have been in the past.
It was an encounter under questionable circumstances. The edict reads
that whosoever shall be found guilty of killing in a personal quarrel
shall be subject to imprisonment or death. The name of the man who
wore your cloak, or I shall hold you culpable and punish you in his
stead."
The Chevalier stooped and recovered his hat, but he did not touch the
sword.
"It is impossible for me to tell you, Monseigneur. I do not know. The
cloak may have been stolen and worn by some one I never saw."
"To whom did you lend the cloak?"
"To tell that might bring another innocent man under a cloud. Besides,
I have been absent thirty days; that is a long time to remember so
trivial a thing."
"Which is to say that you refuse to tell me?" not without some
admiration.
"It is," quietly.
"Your exoneration for the name, Chevalier. The alternative is your
resignation from the Guards and your exile."
Exile from Paris was death to the courtier; but the Chevalier was more
than a courtier, he was a soldier. "I refuse to tell you, Monseigneur.
It is unfair of you to ask me."
"So be it. For the sake of your father, the marquis,--and I have often
wondered why you never assume your lawful title,--for the sake of your
father, then, who is still remembered kindly by her Majesty, I shall
not send you to the Bastille as was my original intention. Your exile
shall be in the sum of five years. You are to remain in France. If
you rebel and draw your sword against your country, confiscation and
death. You are also prohibited from offering your services to France
against any nation she may be at war with. If within these five years
you set foot inside of Paris, the Bastille, with an additional three
years."
"Monseigneur, that is severe punishment for a man whose only crime is
the possession of a grey cloak."
"Death of my life! I am not punishing you; I am punishing the man who
killed De Brissac. Come, come, Monsieur le Comte," in a kindly tone;
"do not be a fool, do not throw away a brilliant career for the sake of
a friendship. I who know tell you that it is not worth while.
Friendship, I have learned, is but a guise for self-interest."
The Chevalier, having nothing to say, bowed.
"Go, then, to your estates." Mazarin was angry. "Mark me, I shall
find this friend of yours, but I shall not remit one hour of your
punishment. Messieurs," turning to the musketeers, "conduct Monsieur
le Chevalier to his lodgings and remain with him till dawn, when you
will show him the road to Orléans. And remember, he must see no one."
Then Mazarin went back to the gallery and resumed his game. "What! De
Meilleraye, you have won only three louis? Give me the cards; and tell
his Grace of Gramont that I am weary of his discords."