Twenty Years Later by Dumas, Alexandre. Part two

that the queen is a tyrant; and repeat often and loudly, so

that all may know it, that the misfortunes of France are

caused by Mazarin, her lover and her destroyer; begin this

work to-day, this instant even, and in three days I shall

expect the result. For the rest, if any one of you have

further or better counsel to expound, I will listen to him

with the greatest pleasure.”

Three curates remained — those of St. Merri, St. Sulpice

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and St. Eustache. The others withdrew.

“You think, then, that you can help me more efficaciously

than your brothers?” said Gondy.

“We hope so,” answered the curates.

“Let us hear. Monsieur de St. Merri, you begin.”

“My lord, I have in my parish a man who might be of the

greatest use to you.”

“Who and what is this man?”

“A shopkeeper in the Rue des Lombards, who has great

influence upon the commerce of his quarter.”

“What is his name?”

“He is named Planchet, who himself also caused a rising

about six weeks ago; but as he was searched for after this

emeute he disappeared.”

“And can you find him?”

“I hope so. I think he has not been arrested, and as I am

his wife’s confessor, if she knows where he is I shall know

it too.”

“Very well, sir, find this man, and when you have found him

bring him to me.”

“We will be with you at six o’clock, my lord.”

“Go, my dear curate, and may God assist you!”

“And you, sir?” continued Gondy, turning to the curate of

St. Sulpice.

“I, my lord,” said the latter, “I know a man who has

rendered great services to a very popular prince and who

would make an excellent leader of revolt. Him I can place at

your disposal; it is Count de Rochefort.”

“I know him also, but unfortunately he is not in Paris.”

“My lord, he has been for three days at the Rue Cassette.”

“And wherefore has he not been to see me?”

“He was told — my lord will pardon me —- ”

“Certainly, speak.”

“That your lordship was about to treat with the court.”

Gondy bit his lips.

“They are mistaken; bring him here at eight o’clock, sir,

and may Heaven bless you as I bless you!”

“And now ’tis your turn,” said the coadjutor, turning to the

last that remained; “have you anything as good to offer me

as the two gentlemen who have left us?”

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“Better, my lord.”

“Diable! think what a solemn engagement you are making; one

has offered a wealthy shopkeeper, the other a count; you are

going, then, to offer a prince, are you?”

“I offer you a beggar, my lord.”

“Ah! ah!” said Gondy, reflecting, “you are right, sir; some

one who could raise the legion of paupers who choke up the

crossings of Paris; some one who would know how to cry aloud

to them, that all France might hear it, that it is Mazarin

who has reduced them to poverty.”

“Exactly your man.”

“Bravo! and the man?”

“A plain and simple beggar, as I have said, my lord, who

asks for alms, as he gives holy water; a practice he has

carried on for six years on the steps of St. Eustache.”

“And you say that he has a great influence over his

compeers?”

“Are you aware, my lord, that mendacity is an organized

body, a kind of association of those who have nothing

against those who have everything; an association in which

every one takes his share; one that elects a leader?”

“Yes, I have heard it said,” replied the coadjutor.

“Well, the man whom I offer you is a general syndic.”

“And what do you know of him?”

“Nothing, my lord, except that he is tormented with

remorse.”

“What makes you think so?”

“On the twenty-eighth of every month he makes me say a mass

for the repose of the soul of one who died a violent death;

yesterday I said this mass again.”

“And his name?”

“Maillard; but I do not think it is his right one.”