“All!” they replied.

“Gentlemen, you have been summoned to Paris as a special guard to the king; it is an honorable title, but it engages you to much.  Some of you seem not to have understood your duties; I will, therefore, recall them to you.  If you do not assist at the deliberations of the council, you will constantly be called upon to execute the resolutions passed there; therefore, the responsibility of those secrets rests upon you.  Suppose now that one of the officers on whom the safety of the state and the tranquillity of the crown reposes, betray the secrets of the council, or a soldier charged with a commission does not execute it, his life is the forfeit; you know that?”

“Doubtless,” replied many voices.

“Well, gentlemen, this very day a measure of his majesty’s has been betrayed, and a step which he wished to take rendered, perhaps, impossible.”

Terror began to replace pride in the minds of the Forty-five, and they looked at each other with suspicion and disquietude.

“Two of you, gentlemen,” continued De Loignac, “have been heard in the open street chattering like a couple of old women, and that about grave things.”

St. Maline advanced.  “Monsieur,” said he, “pray explain at once, that suspicion may not rest on us all.”

“That is easy.  The king heard to-day that one of his enemies—­precisely one of those whom we have been enrolled to guard him against—­had arrived in Paris to conspire against him.  This name was pronounced quietly, but was overheard by a soldier on guard, that is to say, by a man who should be regarded as a wall—­deaf, dumb, and immovable.  However, that man repeated this name in the street with a noise and boasting which attracted the attention of the passers-by and raised quite an emotion; I know it, for I was there, and heard and saw all, and had I not placed my hand on his shoulder to stop him, he would have compromised such grave interests, that, had he not been quiet at my touch, I should have been compelled to poniard him on the spot.”

Pertinax de Montcrabeau and Perducas de Pincornay turned deadly pale, and Montcrabeau tried to stammer out some excuses.  All eyes were turned toward them.

“Nothing can excuse you,” said De Loignac; “even if you were drunk you should be punished for that; and you shall be punished.”

A terrible silence ensued.  Then Pertinax said, “Pardon, monsieur! we are provincials, new to the court, and unaccustomed to politics.”

“You should not have accepted your posts without weighing their duties.”

“For the future we will be as mute as sepulchers, we swear to you.”

“Good; but can you repair the evil you have done to-day?”

“We will try.”

“It is impossible, I tell you.”

“Then, for this time, pardon us.”

“You live,” continued De Loignac, “with a sort of license which I must repress.  Those who find the terms too hard will return; I can easily replace them; but I warn you that justice will be done among us, secretly and expeditiously.  Traitors will be punished with death on the spot.”