ieve it was I who shot at Conde?"

"Monsieur is certainly very young for such a deed," he replied, shaking
his head solemnly, and with this evasive answer he took his departure,
bolting and barring the door behind him.

In the evening he returned, but this time I had no word with him, as he
was accompanied by the officer of the rounds and several soldiers. The
officer gave me a casual glance, searched the cell carefully--though
what he expected to find I cannot imagine--shrugged his shoulders,
ordered the turnkey to fasten the door, and presently I heard the tramp
of their feet along the corridor.

Several weary days dragged by in this manner. The turnkey regularly
brought my meals, and sometimes in the morning stayed for a few
minutes' gossip, but with this exception I was left alone.

One morning, contrary to the usual custom, he was attended by four
soldiers, who stood at attention while I ate my breakfast. As soon as
the meal was finished, the gaoler directed me to follow him, and,
escorted by the soldiers, I descended the massive staircase shut in on
each storey by ponderous double doors, crossed the wide court, ascended
another staircase, and so into a large room known as the Council
Chamber.

Here four men sat at a table, and one--an ugly, weazened fellow dressed
as a councillor--ordered me to stand before them. Then the soldiers
retired well out of earshot, and the examination began. First of all
the councillor asked a number of questions concerning my age, name,
family, and estate, one of his colleagues writing down the answers as I
gave them. Then followed a long harangue on the infamy of my crime,
after which the speaker implored me to make a full confession, and to
throw myself on Conde's mercy.

"Not," he exclaimed, "that we require your confession; these proofs are
too clear," and, noticing my start of surprise, added coolly, "listen,
and then say if I am not right."

Turning the papers slowly over one by one he read the heads of a mass
of evidence which his agents had collected, evidence so clear and
convincing that, on hearing it, I almost believed myself guilty. It
began by describing me as a penniless lad, who, having come to Paris to
seek my fortune, had taken service with Mazarin as a secret agent; and
all my doings with the Cardinal were carefully noted down.

For this I was prepared, but the next paragraph brought the blood to my
face with a rush. It stated that, having discovered