“Monsieur le Chevalier,” said one of the musketeers, waking the Chevalier from his stupor, “pardon us a disagreeable duty.”

The other musketeer restored the Chevalier’s rapier.

“Proceed, Messieurs,” said the Chevalier, picking up his hat and thrusting his sword into its scabbard; “I dare say this moment is distasteful to us all.”

The musketeers conducted him through the secret staircase to the court below.  The Duc de Beaufort, who had been waiting, came forward.

“Stand back, Messieurs,” said the prince; “I have a word to say to Monsieur le Chevalier.”

Mazarin’s word was much, but the soldier loved his Beaufort.  The two musketeers withdrew a dozen paces.

“Monsieur,” said the duke lowly, “that paper, and my word as a gentleman, you shall go free.”

“Paper?  I do not understand your Highness.”

“Come, come, Monsieur,” said the duke impatiently; “it is your liberty.  Besides, I am willing to pay well.”

“Your Highness,” coldly, “you are talking over my head.  I do not understand a word you say.”

Beaufort stared into the Chevalier’s face.  “Why did you enter De Brissac’s . . . ?”

“I have explained all that to monseigneur, the cardinal.  Is everybody mad in Paris?” with a burst of anger.  “I arrive in Paris at six this evening, and straightway I am accused of having killed a man I have seen scarce a half dozen times in my life.  And now your Highness talks of papers!  I know nothing about papers.  Ask Mazarin, Monsieur.  Mazarin knows that I was not in Paris yesterday.”

“What!” incredulously.

“Messieurs,” called the Chevalier.  The musketeers returned.  “Tell his Highness for me that monseigneur acquits me of all connection with the De Brissac affair, and that I am being punished and exiled because I happen to possess a grey cloak.”

“It is true, your Highness.”

“Whom are you shielding?” demanded the prince with an oath.  He was alarmed.

“Since I refused to tell his Eminence it is not probable that I shall tell your Highness.”

Beaufort left in a rage.  The prince’s lackey spent a most uncomfortable hour that night when his Highness, son of Monsieur le Duc de Vendome, retired.

The Chevalier espied a yellow caleche, Mademoiselle de Longueville herself in the act of entering it.  Mademoiselle was the only person he knew to be in the confidence of Diane.

“Messieurs, will you permit me to speak to Mademoiselle de Longueville?” he asked.

“Do you think that monsieur can see mademoiselle?” said one to the other, humorously.

“It is too dark for him to see her.  His Eminence said nothing about Monsieur le Chevalier speaking to any one he could not see.”

“Thanks, Messieurs, thanks!” And the Chevalier hastened to the caleche.  “Mademoiselle . . .”

“Monsieur,” she interrupted, “I have a message for you.  A certain lady whom we both know requests me to say that she forbids you further to address her.  Her reasons . . .  Well, she gives none.  As for me, Monsieur, I believe you to be a gentleman and a man of honor who is above exile and calumny.”