“On what day do they intend to do it?”

“The first time that his majesty goes to Vincennes in his litter.”

“How will they do it?”

“By killing his two attendants.”

“And who will do it?”

“Madame de Montpensier.”

D’Epernon began to laugh.  “That poor duchess; what things are attributed to her!”

“Less than she projects, monsieur.”

“And she occupies herself with that at Soissons?”

“No; she is in Paris.”

“In Paris!”

“I can answer for it.”

“Have you seen her?”

“Yes.”

“You thought you did?”

“I have had the honor of speaking to her.”

“The honor.”

“I am wrong; the misfortune.”

“But, my dear lieutenant, the duchess cannot carry off the king.”

“With her associates, of course.”

“And where will she be when this takes place?”

“At a window of the Jacobin Priory, which is, as you know, on the road to Vincennes.”

“What the devil do you tell me?”

“The truth, monsieur:  all is prepared to stop the litter at the gate of the priory.”

“And who made the preparations?”

“Alas!—­”

“Finish quickly.”

“I did, monsieur.”

D’Epernon started back.  “You, who denounce them!”

“Monsieur, a good servant should risk all in the service of the king.”

“Mordieu! you risk hanging.”

“I prefer death to infamy, or to the death of the king, therefore I came; and I thought, M. le Duc, that you, the friend of the king, would not betray me, and would turn my news to good account.”

The duke looked fixedly at Poulain.  “There must be more in it,” said he; “resolute as the duchess is, she would not attempt such an enterprise alone.”

“She expects her brother.”

“The Duke Henri?”

“No, monsieur; only the Duc de Mayenne.”

“Ah! good,” said d’Epernon; “now I must set to work to counteract these fine projects.”

“Doubtless, monsieur; it was for that I came.”

“If you have spoken the truth you shall be rewarded.”

“Why should I lie, monsieur; where is my interest—­I, who eat the king’s bread?  If you do not believe me, I will go to the king himself.”

“No, parfandious, you shall not go to the king:  you shall have to deal with me, alone.”

“I only said it because you seemed to hesitate.”

“No, I do not hesitate; and, first, here are a thousand crowns for you, and you shall keep this secret between you and me.”

“I have a family, monsieur.”

“Well! a thousand crowns, parfandious.”

“If they knew in Lorraine that I had spoken, each word would cost me a pint of blood; and in case of any misfortune, my family must be able to live, therefore I accept the thousand crowns.”

The duke approached a coffer.  Poulain thought it was for the money, and held out his hand, but he only drew out a little book and wrote, “Three thousand livres to M. Nicholas Poulain.”