The duchess smiled, and said, “No one could extricate himself better from an embarrassing question:  and you are, I must confess, a clever man.”

“I see no cleverness in what I have had the honor of telling you, madame.”

“Well, monsieur,” said the duchess, impatiently, “I see clearly that you will tell nothing.  You do not reflect that gratitude is a heavy burden for one of my house to bear; that you have twice rendered me a service, and that if I wished to know your name, or rather who you are—­”

“I know, madame, you would learn it easily; but you would learn it from some one else, and I should have told nothing.”

“He is always right,” cried the duchess, with a look which gave Ernanton more pleasure than ever a look had done before.  Therefore he asked no more, but like the gourmand who leaves the table when he thinks he has had the best bit, he bowed, and prepared to take leave.

“Then, monsieur, that is all you have to tell me?” asked the duchess.

“I have executed my commission, and it only remains for me to present my humble respects to your highness.”

The duchess let him go, but when the door shut behind him, she stamped her foot impatiently.

“Mayneville,” said she, “have that young man followed.”

“Impossible, madame; all our household are out, I myself am waiting for the event.  It is a bad day on which to do anything else than what we have decided to do.”

“You are right, Mayneville; but afterward—­”

“Oh! afterward, if you please, madame.”

“Yes; for I suspect him, as my brother does.”

“He is a brave fellow, at all events; and really we are lucky, a stranger coming to render us such a service.”

“Nevertheless, Mayneville, have him watched.  But night is falling, and Valois must be returning from Vincennes.”

“Oh! we have time before us; it is not eight o’clock, and our men have not arrived.”

“All have the word, have they not?”

“All.”—­“They are trustworthy?”

“Tried, madame.”

“How many do you expect?”

“Fifty; it is more than necessary, for besides them we have two hundred monks, as good as soldiers, if not better.”

“As soon as our men have arrived, range your monks on the road.”

“They are all ready, madame; they will intercept the way, our men will push the carriage toward them, the gates of the convent will be open, and will have but to close behind the carriage.”

“Let us sup, then, Mayneville, it will pass the time.  I am so impatient, I should like to push the hands of the clock.”

“The hour will come; be easy.”

“But our men?”

“They will be here; it is hardly eight.”

“Mayneville, my poor brother asks for his surgeon; the best surgeon, the best cure for his wound, will be a lock of the Valois’s shaved head, and the man who should carry him that present, Mayneville, would be sure to be welcome.”