Ange Pitou by Alexandre Dumas part two

“Do you mean to imply by this that I must in no way attribute my imprisonment to you?”

“Most certainly, I do.”

“But still, Monsieur le Baron,” said Gilbert, smiling, “you understand my motives for being so curious; it is absolutely necessary that I should know to whom I am indebted for my captivity. Be good enough, therefore, to tell me.”

“Oh! there is nothing easier. I have always taken the precaution never to leave my letters at the ministry, and every evening I brought them back here. Those of this month are in the drawer B of this chiffonnier; let us look for the letter G in the bundle.”

Necker opened the drawer, and looked over an enormous file, which might have contained some five or six hundred letters.

“I only keep those letters,” said the ex-minister, “which are of such a nature as to cover my responsibility. Every arrest that I order insures me another enemy. I had therefore to guard myself against such a contingency. An omission to do so would surprise me greatly. Let us see—G—G, that is the one. Yes, Gilbert—your arrest was brought about by some one in the queen’s household, my dear sir. Ah—ah!—in the queen’s household—yes, here is a request for a warrant against a man named Gilbert. Profession not mentioned; black eyes, black hair. The description of your person follows. Travelling from Havre to Paris. That is all. Then the Gilbert mentioned in the warrant must have been you.”

“It was myself. Can you trust me with that letter?”

“No; but I can tell you by whom it is signed.”

“Please to do so.”

“By the Countess de Charny.”

“The Countess de Charny,” repeated Gilbert. “I do not know her. I have done nothing to displease her.”

And he raised his head gently, as if endeavoring to recall to mind the name of the person in question.

“There is, moreover, a small postscript,” continued Necker, “without any signature, but written in a hand I know.”

Gilbert stooped down and read in the margin of the letter:—

“Do what the Countess de Charny demands immediately.”

“It is strange,” said Gilbert. “I can readily conceive why the queen should have signed it, for I mentioned both her and the Polignacs in my essays. But Madame de Charny—”

“Do you not know her?”

“It must be an assumed name. Besides, it is not at all to be wondered at that the notabilities of Versailles should be unknown to me. I have been absent from France for fifteen years, during which time I only came back twice; and I returned after my second visit to it, some four years ago. Who is this Countess de Charny?”

“The friend, the bosom companion of the queen; the much beloved wife of the Count de Charny; a woman who is both beautiful and virtuous,—a prodigy, in short.”

“Well, then, I do not know this prodigy.”

“If such be the case, doctor, be persuaded of this, that you are the victim of some political intrigue. Have you never spoken of Count Cagliostro?”

“Yes.”

“Were you acquainted with him?”

“He was my friend. He was even more than my friend; he was my master, my saviour.”

“Well, then, either Austria or the Holy See must have demanded your incarceration. You have published some pamphlets, have you not?”

“Alas! yes.”

“That is it, precisely. All their petty revenges point towards the queen, like the magnetic needle which points towards the pole,—the iron towards the loadstone. They have been conspiring against you; they have had you followed. The queen has ordered Madame de Charny to sign the letter, in order to prevent any suspicion; and now all the mystery is cleared up.”

Gilbert reflected for a moment. This moment of reflection reminded him of the box which had been stolen from Billot’s house; and with which neither the queen, nor Austria, nor the Holy See had any connection. This recollection led his mind to consider the matter in its right point of view.

“No,” said he, “it is not that; it cannot be that. But it matters not. Let us talk of something else.”

“Of what?”

“Of you.”

“Of me? What can you have to say of me?”