“No other than he, Sire.”
“Bragelonne, who was affianced to-”
“Yes, Sire.”
“He was in London, however.”
“Yes; but I can assure you, Sire, he is there no longer.”
“Is he in Paris?”
“He is at the Minimes, Sire, where he is waiting for me, as I have already had the honor of telling you.”
“Does he know all?”
“Yes; and many things besides. Perhaps your Majesty would like to look at the letter I have received from him”; and De Saint Aignan drew from his pocket the note with which we are already acquainted. “When your Majesty has read the letter, I will tell you how it reached me.”
The King read it in great agitation, and immediately said, “Well?”
“Well, Sire; your Majesty knows a certain carved lock, closing a certain door of ebony-wood, which separates a certain apartment from a certain blue and white sanctuary?”
“Of course! Louise’s boudoir.”
“Yes, Sire. Well, it was in the keyhole of that lock that I found that note. Who placed it there? Either M. de Bragelonne, or the devil himself; but inasmuch as the note smells of amber and not of sulphur, I conclude that it must be, not the devil, but M. de Bragelonne.”
Louis bent down his head, and seemed absorbed in sad and melancholy reflections. Perhaps something like remorse was at that moment passing through his heart. “Oh!” he said, “that secret discovered!”
“Sire, I shall do my utmost that the secret dies in the breast of the man who possesses it,” said De Saint-Aignan, in a tone of bravado, as he moved towards the door; but a gesture of the King made him pause.
“Where are you going?” he inquired.
“Where I am waited for, Sire.”
“What for?”
“To fight, in all probability.”
“You fight!” exclaimed the King. “One moment, if you please, Monsieur the Count!”
De Saint-Aignan shook his head, as a rebellious child does whenever any one interferes to prevent him from throwing himself into a well or playing with a knife.
“But yet, Sire-” he said.
“In the first place,” continued the King, “I require to be enlightened a little.”
“Upon that point, if your Majesty will be pleased to interrogate me,” replied De Saint-Aignan, “I will throw what light I can.”
“Who told you that M. de Bragelonne had penetrated into that room?”
“The letter which I found in the keyhole told me so.”
“Who told you that it was De Bragelonne who put it there?”
“Who but himself would have dared to undertake such a mission?”
“You are right. How was he able to get into your rooms?”
“Ah! that is very serious, inasmuch as all the doors were closed, and my lackey, Basque, had the keys in his pocket.”
“Your lackey must have been bribed.”
“Impossible, Sire; for if he had been bribed, those who did so would not have sacrificed the poor fellow, whom it is not unlikely they might want to turn to further use by and by, in showing so clearly that it was he of whom they had made use.”
“Quite true. And now there remains but one conjecture.”
“Let us see, Sire, if it is the same that has presented itself to my mind.”
“That he effected an entrance by means of the staircase.”
“Alas! Sire, that seems to me more than probable.”
“There is no doubt that some one sold the secret of the trap-door.”
“Either sold it or gave it.”
“Why do you make that distinction?”
“Because there are certain persons, Sire, who being above the price of a treason give, and do not sell.”
“What do you mean?”
“Oh, Sire, your Majesty’s mind is too clear-sighted not to guess what I mean, and you will save me the embarrassment of naming any one.”
“You are right: you mean Madame!”
“Ah!” said De Saint-Aignan.
“Madame, whose suspicions were aroused by your changing your lodgings.”
“Madame, who has keys of the apartments of her maids of honor, and is powerful enough to discover what no one but yourself or she would be able to discover.”
“And you suppose, then, that my sister has entered into an alliance with Bragelonne?”
“Eh! eh! Sire-”
“So far as to inform him of all the details of the affair?”