ived; but 'Dieu me
pardonne', I think he is there himself! Who the devil would have known
him?"

And here a little man without a cassock, dressed as a soldier of the
French guards, and wearing a very black false moustache, slipped between
them. He danced about with a joyous air, and rubbed his hands.

"Vive Dieu! all goes on well, my friend. Fiesco could not do better;" and
rising upon his toes to tap Olivier upon the shoulder, he continued:

"Do you know that for a man who has just quitted the rank of pages, you
don't manage badly, Sire Olivier d'Entraigues? and you will be among our
illustrious men if we find a Plutarch. All is well organized; you arrive
at the very moment, neither too soon nor too late, like a true party
chief. Fontrailles, this young man will get on, I prophesy. But we must
make haste; in two hours we shall have some of the archbishops of Paris,
my, uncle's parishioners. I have instructed them well; and they will cry,
'Long live Monsieur! Long live the Regency! No more of the Cardinal!'
like madmen. They are good devotees, thanks to me, who have stirred them
up. The King is very ill. Oh, all goes well, very well! I come from
Saint-Germain. I have seen our friend Cinq-Mars; he is good, very good,
still firm as a rock. Ah, that is what I call a man! How he has played
with them with his careless and melancholy air! He is master of the court
at present. The King, they say, is going to make him duke and peer. It is
much talked of; but he still hesitates. We must decide that by our
movement this evening. The will of the people! He must do the will of the
people; we will make him hear it. It will be the death of Richelieu,
you'll see. It is, above all, hatred of him which is to predominate in
the cries, for that is the essential thing. That will at last decide our
Gaston, who is still uncertain, is he not?"

"And how can he be anything else?" said Fontrailles. "If he were to take
a resolution to-day in our favor it would be unfortunate."

"Why so?"

"Because we should be sure that to-morrow morning he would be against
us."

"Never mind," replied the Abbe; "the Queen is firm."

"And she has heart also," said Olivier; "that gives me some hope for
Cinq-Mars, who, it seems to me, has sometimes dared to frown when he
looked at her."

"Child that you are, how little do you yet know of the court! Nothing can
sustain him but the hand of the King, who loves him as a son; and as for
the Queen, if her hear