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the duke hung the crawfish up by a thread. Then he placed
the gibbet in the middle of the room, bursting with
laughter.
La Ramee laughed also and the guards laughed in chorus;
Grimaud, however, did not even smile. He approached La Ramee
and showing him the crawfish hung up by the thread:
“Cardinal,” he said.
“Hung by order of his Highness the Duc de Beaufort!” cried
the prisoner, laughing violently, “and by Master Jacques
Chrysostom La Ramee, the king’s commissioner.”
La Ramee uttered a cry of horror and rushed toward the
gibbet, which he broke at once and threw the pieces out of
the window. He was going to throw the crawfish out also,
when Grimaud snatched it from his hands.
“Good to eat!” he said, and put it in his pocket.
This scene so enchanted the duke that at the moment he
forgave Grimaud for his part in it; but on reflection he
hated him more and more, being convinced he had some evil
motive for his conduct.
But the story of the crab made a great noise through the
interior of the donjon and even outside. Monsieur de
Chavigny, who at heart detested the cardinal, took pains to
tell the story to two or three friends, who put it into
immediate circulation.
The prisoner happened to remark among the guards one man
with a very good countenance; and he favored this man the
more as Grimaud became the more and more odious to him. One
morning he took this man on one side and had succeeded in
speaking to him, when Grimaud entered and seeing what was
going on approached the duke respectfully, but took the
guard by the arm.
“Go away,” he said.
The guard obeyed.
“You are insupportable!” cried the duke; “I shall beat you.”
Grimaud bowed.
“I will break every bone in your body!” cried the duke.
Grimaud bowed, but stepped back.
“Mr. Spy,” cried the duke, more and more enraged, “I will
strangle you with my own hands.”
And he extended his hands toward Grimaud, who merely thrust
the guard out and shut the door behind him. At the same time
he felt the duke’s arms on his shoulders like two iron
claws; but instead either of calling out or defending
himself, he placed his forefinger on his lips and said in a
low tone:
“Hush!” smiling as he uttered the word.
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A gesture, a smile and a word from Grimaud, all at once,
were so unusual that his highness stopped short, astounded.
Grimaud took advantage of that instant to draw from his vest
a charming little note with an aristocratic seal, and
presented it to the duke without a word.
The duke, more and more bewildered, let Grimaud loose and
took the note.
“From Madame de Montbazon?” he cried.
Grimaud nodded assent.
The duke tore open the note, passed his hands over his eyes,
for he was dazzled and confused, and read:
“My Dear Duke, — You may entirely confide in the brave lad
who will give you this note; he has consented to enter the
service of your keeper and to shut himself up at Vincennes
with you, in order to prepare and assist your escape, which
we are contriving. The moment of your deliverance is at
hand; have patience and courage and remember that in spite
of time and absence all your friends continue to cherish for
you the sentiments they have so long professed and truly
entertained.
“Yours wholly and most affectionately
“Marie de Montbazon.
“P.S. — I sign my full name, for I should be vain if I
could suppose that after five years of absence you would
remember my initials.”
The poor duke became perfectly giddy. What for five years he
had been wanting — a faithful servant, a friend, a helping
hand — seemed to have fallen from Heaven just when he
expected it the least.
“Oh, dearest Marie! she thinks of me, then, after five years
of separation! Heavens! there is constancy!” Then turning to
Grimaud, he said:
“And thou, my brave fellow, thou consentest thus to aid me?”
Grimaud signified his assent.