"A conspiracy? And you have put your name to it, you, who have never
been more serious than a sonnet? Were you mad, or drunk?"
"They call it madness. Madame's innocent eyes drew me into it. I've
only a vague idea what the conspiracy is about. Not that madame knew
what was going on. Politics was a large word to her, embracing all
those things which neither excited nor interested her. Lord love you,
there were a dozen besides myself, madame's beauty being the magnet."
"And the plot?"
"Mazarin's abduction and forced resignation, Condé's return from Spain
and Gaston's reinstatement at court."
"And your reward?"
"Hang me!" with a comical expression, "I had forgotten all about that
end of it. A captaincy of some sort. Devil take cabals! And madame,
finding out too late what had been going on, and having innocently
attached her name to the paper, is gone from Paris, leaving advice for
me to do the same. So here I am, ready to cross into Spain the moment
you set out for Paris. Mazarin has taken it into his head to imitate
Richelieu: off with the head rather than let the state feed the
stomach."
"So that is why De Beaufort, thinking me to be the guilty man, sought
me out and demanded the paper? My faith, this grows interesting. But
oh! wise poet, did you not hear me tell you never to sign your name to
anything save poetry?"
"It might have been a poem . . . I wonder whither madame has flown?
By the way, Mademoiselle de Longueville gave me a letter to give to
you. It is unaddressed. I promised to deliver it to you."
The Chevalier took the letter and opened it carelessly; but no sooner
did he recognize the almost illegible but wholly aristocratic pothooks
than a fit of trembling seized him. The faint odor of vervain filled
his nostrils, and he breathed quickly.
"Forgive! How could I have doubled so gallant a gentleman! You have
asked me if I love you. Find me and put the question again. I leave
Paris indefinitely. France is large. If you love me you will find me.
You complain that I have never permitted you to kiss me. Read. In
this missive I kiss your handsome grey eyes a thousand times. Diane."
A wild desire sprang into the Chevalier's heart to mount and ride to
Paris that very night. The storm was nothing; his heart was warm,
sending a heat into his cheeks and a sparkle into his dull eyes.
"Horns of Panurge! you weep?" cried Victor jestingly. "Good! You are
maudlin. What is this news which makes you weep?"
"Ah, lad," said the Chevalier, standing, "you have brought me more than
exoneration; you have brought me life, life and love. France is small
when a beloved voice calls. I shall learn who she is, this glorious
creature. A month and I shall have solved the enchantment. Victor, I
have told you of her. Sometimes it seems that I must wake to find it
all a dream. For nearly a year she has kept me dangling in mid air.
She is as learned as Aspasia, as holding as Calypso, as fascinating as
Circe. She is loveliness and wisdom; and I love her madly."