“What do you mean? Have you seen him lately?”
“He sent for me to-day.”
“Really! to speak to you about me?”
“Of what else do you imagine he would speak to me? Really,
my lord, you are his nightmare.”
The duke smiled with bitterness.
“Ah, La Ramee! if you would but accept my offers! I would
make your fortune.”
“How? you would no sooner have left prison than your goods
would be confiscated.”
“I shall no sooner be out of prison than I shall be master
of Paris.”
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“Pshaw! pshaw! I cannot hear such things said as that; this
is a fine conversation with an officer of the king! I see,
my lord, I shall be obliged to fetch a second Grimaud!”
“Very well, let us say no more about it. So you and the
cardinal have been talking about me? La Ramee, some day when
he sends for you, you must let me put on your clothes; I
will go in your stead; I will strangle him, and upon my
honor, if that is made a condition I will return to prison.”
“Monseigneur, I see well that I must call Grimaud.”
“Well, I am wrong. And what did the cuistre [pettifogger]
say about me?”
“I admit the word, monseigneur, because it rhymes with
ministre [minister]. What did he say to me? He told me to
watch you.”
“And why so? why watch me?” asked the duke uneasily.
“Because an astrologer had predicted that you would escape.”
“Ah! an astrologer predicted that?” said the duke, starting
in spite of himself.
“Oh, mon Dieu! yes! those imbeciles of magicians can only
imagine things to torment honest people.”
“And what did you reply to his most illustrious eminence?”
“That if the astrologer in question made almanacs I would
advise him not to buy one.”
“Why not?”
“Because before you could escape you would have to be turned
into a bird.”
“Unfortunately, that is true. Let us go and have a game at
tennis, La Ramee.”
“My lord — I beg your highness’s pardon — but I must beg
for half an hour’s leave of absence.”
“Why?”
“Because Monseigneur Mazarin is a prouder man than his
highness, though not of such high birth: he forgot to ask me
to breakfast.”
“Well, shall I send for some breakfast here?”
“No, my lord; I must tell you that the confectioner who
lived opposite the castle — Daddy Marteau, as they called
him —- ”
“Well?”
“Well, he sold his business a week ago to a confectioner
from Paris, an invalid, ordered country air for his health.”
“Well, what have I to do with that?”
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“Why, good Lord! this man, your highness, when he saw me
stop before his shop, where he has a display of things which
would make your mouth water, my lord, asked me to get him
the custom of the prisoners in the donjon. `I bought,’ said
he, `the business of my predecessor on the strength of his
assurance that he supplied the castle; whereas, on my honor,
Monsieur de Chavigny, though I’ve been here a week, has not
ordered so much as a tartlet.’ `But,’ I then replied,
`probably Monsieur de Chavigny is afraid your pastry is not
good.’ `My pastry not good! Well, Monsieur La Ramee, you
shall judge of it yourself and at once.’ `I cannot,’ I
replied; `it is absolutely necessary for me to return to the
chateau.’ `Very well,’ said he, `go and attend to your
affairs, since you seem to be in a hurry, but come back in
half an hour.’ `In half an hour?’ `Yes, have you
breakfasted?’ `Faith, no.’ `Well, here is a pate that will
be ready for you, with a bottle of old Burgundy.’ So, you
see, my lord, since I am hungry, I would, with your
highness’s leave —- ” And La Ramee bent low.
“Go, then, animal,” said the duke; “but remember, I only
allow you half an hour.”
“May I promise your custom to the successor of Father
Marteau, my lord?”
“Yes, if he does not put mushrooms in his pies; thou knowest
that mushrooms from the wood of Vincennes are fatal to my