"ventre-saint-gris!" It was a flat, oblong packet,
tied about with common twine, the seal cut out. The king twitched the
string off, and with one rapid glance at the papers put them into
Monsieur's hand.

"Take them, St. Quentin; they are yours."

XXIX

_The two dukes._

Mademoiselle being given into Dame Verney's motherly hands, Gilles and I
were ordered to repose ourselves on the skins in the saddler's shop.
Lying there in the malodourous gloom, I could see the crack of light
under the door at the back and hear, between Gilles's snores, the murmur
of voices. The king and his gentlemen were planning to save my master; I
went to sleep in perfect peace.

At daybreak, even before the saddler opened the shop, Monsieur routed us
out.

"I'm off for Paris, lads. Felix comes with me. Gilles stays to guard
mademoiselle."

I felt not a little injured, deeming that I, whom mademoiselle knew
best, should not be the one chosen to stay by her. But the sting passed
quickly. After all, Paris was likely to be more exciting than St. Denis.

The day being Friday, we delayed not to eat, but straightway mounted the
two nags that a sunburnt Bearn pikeman had brought to the door. As we
walked them gently across the square, which at this rath hour we alone
shared with the twittering birds, we saw coming down one of the empty
streets the hurrying figure of M. de Rosny. My lord drew rein at once.

"You are no slugabed, St. Quentin," the young councillor called. "I
deserved to miss you. Fear not! I come not to hinder you, but to wish
you God-speed."

"Now, this is kind, Rosny," Monsieur answered, grasping his hand. "The
more that you don't approve me."

Rosny smiled, like a sudden burst of sunshine in a December day. Another
man's embrace would have meant less.

"I approve you so much, St. Quentin, that I cannot composedly see you
putting your head into the lion's jaws."

"My head is used to the pillow. Do the teeth close, I am no worse off
than my son."

"Your death makes your son's no easier."

"Why, what else to do, Rosny?" Monsieur exclaimed. "Mishandle the lady?
Storm Paris? Sell the Cause?"

"I would we could storm Paris," Rosny sighed. "It would suit me better
to seize the prisoner than to sue for him. But Paris is not ripe for us
yet. You know my plan--to send to Villeroi. I believe he could manage
this thing."

"I am second to none," Monsieur said politely, "in my admiration of M.
de Villeroi's abilities.