so that I dreamed that I was trying to escape and broke my
neck in doing so.”
La Ramee laughed.
“Come,” he said, “’tis a warning from Heaven. Never commit
such an imprudence as to try to escape, except in your
dreams.”
“And you are right, my dear La Ramee,” said the duke, wiping
away the sweat that stood on his brow, wide awake though he
was; “after this I will think of nothing but eating and
drinking.”
“Hush!” said La Ramee; and one by one he sent away the
guards, on various pretexts.
“Well?” asked the duke when they were alone.
“Well!” replied La Ramee, “your supper is ordered.”
“Ah! and what is it to be? Monsieur, my majordomo, will
there be a pie?”
“I should think so, indeed — almost as high as a tower.”
“You told him it was for me?”
“Yes, and he said he would do his best to please your
highness.”
“Good!” exclaimed the duke, rubbing his hands.
“Devil take it, my lord! what a gourmand you are growing; I
haven’t seen you with so cheerful a face these five years.”
The duke saw that he had not controlled himself as he ought,
but at that moment, as if he had listened at the door and
comprehended the urgent need of diverting La Ramee’s ideas,
Grimaud entered and made a sign to La Ramee that he had
something to say to him.
La Ramee drew near to Grimaud, who spoke to him in a low
voice.
The duke meanwhile recovered his self-control.
“I have already forbidden that man,” he said, “to come in
here without my permission.”
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“You must pardon him, my lord,” said La Ramee, “for I
directed him to come.”
“And why did you so direct when you know that he displeases
me?”
“My lord will remember that it was agreed between us that he
should wait upon us at that famous supper. My lord has
forgotten the supper.”
“No, but I have forgotten Monsieur Grimaud.”
“My lord understands that there can be no supper unless he
is allowed to be present.”
“Go on, then; have it your own way.”
“Come here, my lad,” said La Ramee, “and hear what I have to
say.”
Grimaud approached, with a very sullen expression on his
face.
La Ramee continued: “My lord has done me the honor to invite
me to a supper to-morrow en tete-a-tete.”
Grimaud made a sign which meant that he didn’t see what that
had to do with him.
“Yes, yes,” said La Ramee, “the matter concerns you, for you
will have the honor to serve us; and besides, however good
an appetite we may have and however great our thirst, there
will be something left on the plates and in the bottles, and
that something will be yours.”
Grimaud bowed in thanks.
“And now,” said La Ramee, “I must ask your highness’s
pardon, but it seems that Monsieur de Chavigny is to be away
for a few days and he has sent me word that he has certain
directions to give me before his departure.”
The duke tried to exchange a glance with Grimaud, but there
was no glance in Grimaud’s eyes.
“Go, then,” said the duke, “and return as soon as possible.”
“Does your highness wish to take revenge for the game of
tennis yesterday?”
Grimaud intimated by a scarcely perceptible nod that he
should consent.
“Yes,” said the duke, “but take care, my dear La Ramee, for
I propose to beat you badly.”
La Ramee went out. Grimaud looked after him, and when the
door was closed he drew out of his pocket a pencil and a
sheet of paper.
“Write, my lord,” he said.
“And what?”
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Dumas, Alexandre – Twenty Years After
Grimaud dictated.
“All is ready for to-morrow evening. Keep watch from seven
to nine. Have two riding horses ready. We shall descend by
the first window in the gallery.”
“What next?”
“Sign your name, my lord.”
The duke signed.
“Now, my lord, give me, if you have not lost it, the ball —
that which contained the letter.”
The duke took it from under his pillow and gave it to