Александр Дюма
The Conspirators
"That will do."
"Adieu, monseigneur the archbishop."
"Adieu, gossip."
La Fillon was going toward the door, when at that moment an usher entered.
"Monseigneur," said he, "here is a man who wants to speak to your eminence."
"And who is he, idiot?"
"An employé of the royal library, who, in his spare time, makes copies."
"And what does he want?"
"He says that he has an important revelation to make to your eminence."
"Oh! it is some poor fellow begging."
"No, monseigneur; he says that it is a political affair."
"Diable! about what?"
"Relative to Spain."
"Send him in; and you, gossip, go into this closet."
"What for?"
"Suppose my writer and your captain should know each other?"
"Ah, that would be droll."
"Come, get in quickly."
La Fillon entered the closet which Dubois showed her.
An instant afterward, the usher opened the door and announced Monsieur Jean Buvat.
We must now show how this important personage came to be received in private audience by the archbishop of Cambray.
CHAPTER XXIX.
THE PRINCE DE LISTHNAY'S ACCOMPLICE
We left Buvat going up to his own room, with his papers in his hand, to fulfill his promise to the Prince de Listhnay, and this promise was so scrupulously kept, that by seven o'clock the next evening the copy was finished and taken to the Rue du Bac. He then received from the same august hands some more work, which he returned with the same punctuality; so that the Prince de Listhnay, feeling confidence in a man who had given such proofs of exactitude, gave him at once sufficient papers to necessitate an interval of three or four days between this interview and the next. Buvat was delighted with this mark of confidence, and, on his return, set himself gayly to his work; and, although he found that he did not understand a word of Spanish, he could now read it fluently, and had become so accustomed to it, that he felt quite disappointed when he found among the copies one all in French. It had no number, and almost appeared to have slipped in by mistake; but he resolved, nevertheless, to copy it. He began with these lines:
"Confidential.
"For his Excellency Monsieur Alberoni in person.
"Nothing is more important than to make sure of the places near the Pyrenees, and of the noblemen who reside in these cantons."
"In these cantons!" repeated Buvat, after having written it; then, taking a hair from his pen, he continued:
"To gain or master the garrison of Bayonne."
"What is that?" said Buvat. "Is not Bayonne a French town? Let us see – let us see;" and he continued:
"The Marquis de P – is governor of D – . One knows the intentions of that nobleman; when it is decided, it will be necessary for him to triple his expenditure, in order to attract the aristocracy: he ought to scatter rewards.
"In Normandy, Charenton is an important post. Pursue the same course with the governor of that town as with the Marquis of P – ; go further – promise his officers suitable rewards.
"Do the same in all the provinces."
"Hallo!" cried Buvat, re-reading what he had just written; "what does this mean? It seems to me that it would be prudent to read it all before going further."
"He read:
"To supply this expenditure one ought to be able to reckon on at least three hundred thousand francs the first month, and afterward a hundred thousand per month, paid to the day."
"Paid to the day!" murmured Buvat, breaking off. "It is evidently not by France that these payments are to be made, since France is so poor that she has not paid me my nine hundred francs' salary for five years. Let us see – let us see;" and he recommenced:
"That expenditure, which will cease at the peace, will enable his Catholic majesty to act with certainty in case of war.
"Spain will only be an auxiliary. The army of Philip V. is in France."
"What! what! what!" cried Buvat; "and I did not even know that it had crossed the frontier."
"The army of Philip V. is in France. A body of about ten thousand Spaniards is more than sufficient, with the presence of the king.
"But we must be able to count on being able to seduce over at least half of the Duc d'Orleans' army (Buvat trembled). This is the most important, and cannot be done without money. A present of one hundred thousand francs is necessary for each battalion or squadron.
"Twenty battalions would be two millions; with that sum one might form a trustworthy army, and destroy that of the enemy.
"It is almost certain, that the subjects most devoted to the king of Spain will not be employed in the army which will march against him. Let them disperse themselves through the provinces; there they will act usefully. To resupply them with a character – if they have none – it will be necessary for his Catholic majesty to send his orders in blank, for his minister in Paris to fill up.
"In consequence of the multiplicity of orders, it would be better if the ambassador had the power to sign for the king of Spain.
"It would be well, moreover, if his majesty were to sign his orders as a French prince; the title is his own.
"Prepare funds for an army of thirty thousand men, whom his majesty will find brave, skillful, and disciplined.
"This money should arrive in France at the end of May, or the commencement of June, and be distributed directly in the capitals of provinces, such as Nantes, Bayonne, etc.
"Do not allow the French ambassador to leave Spain. His presence will answer for the safety of those who declare themselves."
"Sabre de bois!" cried Buvat, rubbing his eyes; "but this is a conspiracy – a conspiracy against the person of the regent, and against the safety of the kingdom. Oh! oh!"
Buvat fell into profound meditation.
Indeed the position was critical. Buvat mixed up in a conspiracy – Buvat charged with a state secret – Buvat holding in his hands, perhaps, the fate of nations: a smaller thing would have thrown him into a state of strange perplexity.
Thus seconds, minutes, hours flowed away, and Buvat remained on his chair, his head drooping, his eyes fixed on the floor, and perfectly still. From time to time, however, a deep breath – like an expression of astonishment – escaped his breast.
Ten o'clock, eleven – midnight sounded. Buvat thought that the night would bring him aid, and he determined to go to bed. It is needless to say that his copying came to an end, when he saw that the original was assuming an illegal character.
Buvat could not sleep; the poor fellow tossed from side to side, but scarcely had he shut his eyes, before he saw this horrible plan of the conspiracy written upon the wall in letters of fire. Once or twice, overcome by fatigue, he fell asleep; but he had no sooner lost consciousness, than he dreamed, the first time that he was arrested by the watch as a conspirator; the second that he was stabbed by the conspirators themselves. The first time Buvat awoke trembling; the second time bathed in perspiration. These two impressions had been so terrible, that he lighted his candle, and determined to wait for day, without another attempt to sleep.
The day came, but, far from dispelling the phantoms of the night, it only gave a more terrific reality. At the least noise Buvat trembled. Some one knocked at the street-door. Buvat thought he should faint. Nanette opened his room door, and he uttered a cry. Nanette ran to him, and asked what was the matter, but he contented himself with shaking his head, and answering, with a sigh —
"Ah, my poor Nanette, we live in very sad times."
He stopped directly, fearing he had said too much. He was too preoccupied to go down to breakfast with Bathilde; besides, he feared lest the young girl should perceive his uneasiness, and ask the cause; and as he did not know how to keep anything from her, he would have told her all, and she would then have become his accomplice. He had his coffee sent up to him, under pretext of having an overwhelming amount of work to do, and that he was going to work during breakfast. As Bathilde's love profited by this absence, she was rather pleased at it than otherwise.
A few minutes before ten, Buvat left for his office; his fears had been strong in his own house, but once in the street, they changed into terrors. At every crossing, at the end of every court, behind every angle, he thought that he saw the police-officers waiting for him. At the corner of the Place des Victoires a musketeer appeared, coming from the Rue Pagevin, and Buvat gave such a start on seeing him, that he almost fell under the wheels of a carriage. At last, after many alarms, he reached the library, bowed almost to the ground before the sentinel, darted up the stairs, gained his office, and falling exhausted on his seat, he shut up in his drawer all the papers of the Prince de Listhnay, which he had brought with him, for fear the police should search his house during his absence; and finding himself in safety, heaved a sigh, which would not have failed in denouncing him to his colleagues as being a prey to the greatest agitation, if he had not, as usual, arrived the first.
Buvat had a principle, which was, that no personal preoccupation, whether grave or gay, ought to disturb a clerk in the execution of his duty. Therefore he set himself to his work, apparently as if nothing had happened, but really in a state of moral perturbation impossible to describe.
This work consisted, as usual, in classifying and arranging books. There having been an alarm of fire three or four days before, the books had been thrown on the floor, or carried out of the reach of the flames, and there were consequently four or five thousand volumes to be reinstated in their proper places; and, as it was a particularly tedious business, Buvat had been selected for it, and had hitherto acquitted himself with an intelligence and assiduity which had merited the commendations of his superiors, and the raillery of his colleagues.
In spite of the urgency of the work, Buvat rested some minutes to recover himself; but as soon as he saw the door open, he rose instinctively, took a pen, dipped it in the ink, took a handful of parchment labels, and went toward the remaining books, took the first which came to hand, and continued his classification, murmuring between his teeth, as was his habit under similar circumstances.
"The 'Breviary of Lovers,' printed at Liege in 1712; no printer's name. Ah, mon Dieu! what amusement can Christians possibly find in reading such books? It would be better if they were all burned in the Place de Grève by the hand of the public hangman! Chut! What name have I been pronouncing there! I wonder who this Prince de Listhnay, who has made me copy such things, is; and the young man who, under pretense of doing me a service, introduced me to such a scoundrel. Come, come, this is not the place to think about that. How pleasant it is writing on parchment; the pen glides as if over silk. What is the next?"
"Well, monsieur," said the head clerk, "and what have you been doing for the last five minutes, with your arms crossed and your eyes fixed?"
"Nothing, M. Ducoudray, nothing. I was planning a new mode of classification."
"A new mode of classification! Are you turned reformer? Do you wish to commence a revolution, M. Buvat?"
"I! a revolution!" cried Buvat, with terror. "A revolution, monsieur! – never, oh, never! Good heavens, my devotion to monseigneur the regent is known; a disinterested devotion, since he has not paid me for five years, as you know."
"Well, go on with your work."
Buvat continued: – "'Conspiracy of Monsieur de Cinq Mars' – diable! diable! I have heard of that. He was a gallant gentleman, who was in correspondence with Spain; that cursed Spain. What business has it to mix itself up eternally with our affairs? It is true that this time it is said that Spain will only be an auxiliary; but an ally who takes possession of our towns, and who debauches our soldiers, appears to me very much like an enemy. 'Conspiracy of Monsieur de Cinq-Mars, followed by a History of his Death, and that of Monsieur de Thou, condemned for not revealing it. By an Eye-Witness.' For not revealing! It is true, no doubt, for the law is positive. Whoever does not reveal is an accomplice – myself, for instance. I am the accomplice of the Prince de Listhnay; and if they cut off his head, they will cut off mine too. No, they will only hang me – I am not noble. Hanged! – it is impossible; they would never go to such extremities in my case: besides, I will declare all. But then I shall be an informer: never! But then I shall be hanged – oh, oh!"
"What is the matter, Buvat?" said a clerk: "you are strangling yourself by twisting your cravat."
"I beg your pardon, gentlemen," said Buvat, "I did it mechanically; I did not mean to offend you."
Buvat stretched out his hand for another book. "'Conspiracy of the Chevalier Louis de Rohan.' Oh, I come to nothing but conspiracies! 'Copy of a Plan of Government found among the Papers of Monsieur de Rohan, and entirely written by Van der Enden.' Ah, mon Dieu! yes. That is just my case. He was hanged for having copied a plan. Oh, I shall die! 'Procès-verbal of the Torture of Francis-Affinius Van der Enden.' If they read one day, at the end of the conspiracy of the Prince de Listhnay, 'Procès-verbal of the Torture of Jean Buvat!'" Buvat began to read.
"Well, well, what is the matter, Buvat?" said Ducoudray, seeing the good man shake and grow pale: "are you ill?"
"Ah, M. Ducoudray," said Buvat, dropping the book, and dragging himself to a seat, "ah, M. Ducoudray, I feel I am going to faint."
"That comes of reading instead of working," said an employé.
"Well, Buvat, are you better?" asked Ducoudray.
"Yes, monsieur, for my resolution is taken, taken irrevocably. It would not be just, by Heaven, that I should bear the punishment for a crime which I never committed. I owe it to society, to my ward, to myself. M. Ducoudray, if the curator asks for me, you will tell him that I am gone out on pressing business."
And Buvat drew the roll of paper from the drawer, pressed his hat on to his head, took his stick, and went out with the majesty of despair.
"Do you know where he has gone?" asked the employé.
"No," answered Ducoudray.
"I will tell you; – to play at bowls at the Champs-Elysées, or at Porcherons."
The employé was wrong; he had neither gone to the Champs-Elysées nor to Porcherons. He had gone to Dubois.
CHAPTER XXX.
THE FOX AND THE GOOSE
"M. Jean Buvat," said the usher. Dubois stretched out his viper's head, darted a look at the opening which was left between the usher and the door, and, behind the official introducer, perceived a little fat man, pale, and whose legs shook under him, and who coughed to give himself assurance. A glance sufficed to inform Dubois the sort of person he had to deal with.
"Let him come in," said Dubois.
The usher went out, and Jean Buvat appeared at the door.
"Come in, come in," said Dubois.
"You do me honor, monsieur," murmured Buvat, without moving from his place.
"Shut the door, and leave us," said Dubois to the usher.
The usher obeyed, and the door striking the posterior part of Buvat, made him bound a little way forward. Buvat, shaken for an instant, steadied himself on his legs, and became once more immovable, looking at Dubois with an astounded expression.
In truth, Dubois was a curious sight. Of his episcopal costume he had retained the inferior part; so that he was in his shirt, with black breeches and violet stockings. This disagreed with all Buvat's preconceived notions. What he had before his eyes was neither a minister nor an archbishop, but seemed much more like an orang-outang than a man.
"Well, monsieur," said Dubois, sitting down and crossing his legs, and taking his foot in his hand, "you have asked to speak to me. Here I am."
"That is to say," said Buvat, "I asked to speak to Monseigneur the Archbishop of Cambray."
"Well, I am he."
"How! you, monseigneur?" cried Buvat, taking his hat in both hands, and bowing almost to the ground: "excuse me, but I did not recognize your eminence. It is true that this is the first time I have had the honor of seeing you. Still – hum! at that air of majesty – hum, hum – I ought to have understood – "
"Your name?" asked Dubois, interrupting the good man's compliments.
"Jean Buvat, at your service."
"You are – ?"
"An employé at the library."
"And you have some revelations to make to me concerning Spain?"
"That is to say, monseigneur – This is how it is. As my office work leaves me six hours in the evening and four in the morning, and as Heaven has blessed me with a very good handwriting, I make copies."
"Yes, I understand," said Dubois; "and some one has given you suspicious papers to copy, so you have brought these suspicious papers to me, have you not?"
"In this roll, monseigneur, in this roll," said Buvat, extending it toward Dubois.
Dubois made a single bound from his chair to Buvat, took the roll, and sat down at a desk, and in a turn of the hand, having torn off the string and the wrapper, found the papers in question. The first on which he lighted were in Spanish; but as Dubois had been sent twice to Spain, and knew something of the language of Calderon and Lopez de Vega, he saw at the first glance how important these papers were. Indeed, they were neither more nor less than the protestation of the nobility, the list of officers who requested commissions under the king of Spain, and the manifesto prepared by the Cardinal de Polignac and the Marquis de Pompadour to rouse the kingdom. These different documents were addressed directly to Philip V.; and a little note – which Dubois recognized as Cellamare's hand writing – announced that the denouement of the conspiracy was near at hand; he informed his Catholic majesty, from day to day, of all the important events which could advance or retard the scheme. Then came, finally, that famous plan of the conspirators which we have already given to our readers, and which – left by an oversight among the papers which had been translated into Spanish – had opened Buvat's eyes. Near the plan, in the good man's best writing, was the copy which he had begun to make, and which was broken off at the words, "Act thus in all the provinces."
Buvat had followed all the working of Dubois's face with a certain anxiety; he had seen it pass from astonishment to joy, then from joy to impassibility. Dubois, as he continued to read, had passed, successively, one leg over the other, had bitten his lips, pinched the end of his nose, but all had been utterly untranslatable to Buvat, and at the end of the reading he understood no more from the face of the archbishop than he had understood at the end of the copy from the Spanish original. As to Dubois, he saw that this man had come to furnish him with the beginning of a most important secret, and he was meditating on the best means of making him furnish the end also. This was the signification of the crossed legs, the bitten lips, and the pinched nose. At last he appeared to have taken his resolution. A charming benevolence overspread his countenance, and turning toward the good man, who had remained standing respectfully —
"Take a seat, my dear M. Buvat," said he.
"Thank you, monseigneur," answered Buvat, trembling; "I am not fatigued."
"Pardon, pardon," said Dubois, "but your legs shake."
Indeed, since he had read the procès-verbal of the question of Van der Enden, Buvat had retained in his legs a nervous trembling, like that which may be observed in dogs that have just had the distemper.
"The fact is, monseigneur," said Buvat, "that I do not know what has come to me the last two hours, but I find a great difficulty in standing upright."
"Sit down, then, and let us talk like two friends."
Buvat looked at Dubois with an air of stupefaction, which, at any other time, would have had the effect of making him burst out laughing, but now he did not seem to notice it, and taking a chair himself, he repeated with his hand the invitation which he had given with his voice. There was no means of drawing back; the good man approached trembling, and sat down on the edge of his chair; put his hat on the ground, took his cane between his legs, and waited. All this, however, was not executed without a violent internal struggle as his face testified, which, from being white as a lily when he came in, had now become as red as a peony.
"My dear M. Buvat, you say that you make copies?"
"Yes, monseigneur."
"And that brings you in – ?"
"Very little, monseigneur, very little."
"You have, nevertheless, a superb handwriting, M. Buvat."
"Yes, but all the world does not appreciate the value of that talent as your eminence does."
"That is true, but you are employed at the library?" – "I have that honor."
"And your place brings you – ?"
"Oh, my place – that is another thing, monseigneur; it brings me in nothing at all, seeing that for five years the cashier has told us at the end of each month that the king was too poor to pay us."
"And you still remained in the service of his majesty? that was well done, M. Buvat; that was well done."
Buvat rose, saluted Dubois, and reseated himself.
"And, perhaps, all the while you have a family to support – a wife, children?"
"No, monseigneur; I am a bachelor."
"But you have parents, at all events?"
"No, monseigneur; but I have a ward, a charming young person, full of talent, who sings like Mademoiselle Berry, and who draws like Greuze."
"Ah, ah! and what is the name of your ward, M. Buvat?"
"Bathilde – Bathilde du Rocher, monseigneur; she is a young person of noble family, her father was squire to Monsieur the Regent, when he was still Duc de Chartres, and had the misfortune to be killed at the battle of Almanza."
"Thus I see you have your charges, my dear Buvat."
"Is it of Bathilde that you speak, monseigneur? Oh no, Bathilde is not a charge; on the contrary, poor dear girl, she brings in more than she costs. Bathilde a charge! Firstly, every month M. Papillon, the colorman at the corner of the Rue Clery, you know, monseigneur, gives her eighty francs for two drawings; then – "
"I should say, my dear Buvat, that you are not rich."
"Oh! rich, no, monseigneur, I am not, but I wish I was, for poor Bathilde's sake; and if you could obtain from monseigneur, that out of the first money which comes into the State coffers he would pay me my arrears, or at least something on account – "
"And to how much do your arrears amount?"
"To four thousand seven hundred francs, two sous, and eight centimes, monseigneur."
"Is that all?" said Dubois.
"How! is that all, monseigneur?"
"Yes, that is nothing."
"Indeed, monseigneur, it is a great deal, and the proof is that the king cannot pay it."
"But that will not make you rich."
"It will make me comfortable, and I do not conceal from you, monseigneur, that if, from the first money which comes into the treasury – "
"My dear Buvat," said Dubois, "I have something better than that to offer you."
"Offer it, monseigneur."
"You have your fortune at your fingers' ends."
"My mother always told me so, monseigneur."
"That proves," said Dubois, "what a sensible woman your mother was."
"Well, monseigneur! I am ready; what must I do?"
"Ah! mon Dieu! the thing is very simple, you will make me, now, and here, copies of all these."
"But, monseigneur – "
"That is not all, my dear Monsieur Buvat. You will take back to the person who gave you these papers, the copies and the originals, you will take all that that person gives you; you will bring them to me directly, so that I may read them, then you will do the same with other papers as with these, and so on indefinitely, till I say enough."
"But, monseigneur, it seems to me that in acting thus I should betray the confidence of the prince."
"Ah! it is with a prince that you have business, Monsieur Buvat! and what may this prince be called?"
"Oh, monseigneur, it appears to me that in telling you his name I denounce – "
"Well, and what have you come here for, then?"
"Monseigneur, I have come here to inform you of the danger which his highness runs, that is all."
"Indeed," said Dubois, in a bantering tone, "and you imagine you are going to stop there?"
"I wish to do so, monseigneur."
"There is only one misfortune, that it is impossible, my dear Monsieur Buvat."
"Why impossible?"
"Entirely."
"Monseigneur, I am an honest man."
"M. Buvat, you are a fool."
"Monseigneur, I still wish to keep silence."
"My dear monsieur, you will speak."
"And if I speak I shall be the informer against the prince."
"If you do not speak you are his accomplice."
"His accomplice, monseigneur! and of what crime?"
"Of the crime of high treason. Ah! the police have had their eyes on you this long time, M. Buvat!"
"On me, monseigneur?"
"Yes, on you; under the pretext that they do not pay you your salary, you entertain seditious proposals against the State."
"Oh! monseigneur, how can they say so?"
"Under the pretext of their not paying you your salary, you have been making copies of incendiary documents for the last four days."
"Monseigneur, I only found it out yesterday; I do not understand Spanish."
"You do understand it, monsieur?"
"I swear, monseigneur."
"I tell you you do understand it, and the proof is that there is not a mistake in your copies. But that is not all."
"How, not all?"
"No, that is not all. Is this Spanish? Look, monsieur," and he read:
"'Nothing is more important than to make sure of the places in the neighborhood of the Pyrenees, and the noblemen who reside in the cantons.'"
"But, monseigneur, it was just by that that I made the discovery."
"M. Buvat, they have sent men to the galleys for less than you have done."
"Monseigneur!"
"M. Buvat, men have been hanged who were less guilty than you."
"Monseigneur! monseigneur!"
"M. Buvat, they have been broken on the wheel."
"Mercy, monseigneur, mercy!"
"Mercy to a criminal like you, M. Buvat! I shall send you to the Bastille, and Mademoiselle Bathilde to Saint Lazare."
"To Saint Lazare! Bathilde at Saint Lazare, monseigneur! Bathilde at Saint Lazare! and who has the right to do that?" – "I, M. Buvat."
"No, monseigneur, you have not the right!" cried Buvat, who could fear and suffer everything for himself, but who, at the thought of such infamy, from a worm became a serpent. "Bathilde is not a daughter of the people, monseigneur! Bathilde is a lady of noble birth, the daughter of a man who saved the life of the regent, and when I represent to his highness – "
"You will go first to the Bastille, M. Buvat," said Dubois, pulling the bell so as nearly to break it, "and then we shall see about Mademoiselle Bathilde."
"Monseigneur, what are you doing?"
"You will see." (The usher entered.) "An officer of police, and a carriage."
"Monseigneur!" cried Buvat, "all that you wish – "
"Do as I have bid you," said Dubois.
The usher went out.
"Monseigneur!" said Buvat, joining his hands; "monseigneur, I will obey."
"No, M. Buvat. Ah! you wish a trial, you shall have one. You want a rope, you shall not be disappointed."
"Monseigneur," cried Buvat, falling on his knees, "what must I do?"
"Hang, hang, hang!" continued Dubois.
"Monseigneur," said the usher, returning, "the carriage is at the door, and the officer in the anteroom."
"Monseigneur," said Buvat, twisting his little legs, and tearing out the few yellow hairs which he had left, "monseigneur, will you be pitiless!"
"Ah! you will not tell me the name of the prince?"
"It is the Prince de Listhnay, monseigneur."
"Ah! you will not tell me his address?"
"He lives at No. 110, Rue du Bac, monseigneur."
"You will not make me copies of those papers?"
"I will do it, I will do it this instant," said Buvat; and he went and sat down before the desk, took a pen, dipped it in the ink, and taking some paper, began the first page with a superb capital. "I will do it, I will do it, monseigneur; only you will allow me to write to Bathilde that I shall not be home to dinner. Bathilde at the Saint Lazare?" murmured Buvat between his teeth, "Sabre de bois! he would have done as he said."
"Yes, monsieur, I would have done that, and more too, for the safety of the State, as you will find out to your cost, if you do not return these papers, and if you do not take the others, and if you do not bring a copy here every evening."
"But, monseigneur," cried Buvat, in despair, "I cannot then go to my office."
"Well then, do not go to your office."
"Not go to my office! but I have not missed a day for twelve years, monseigneur."
"Well, I give you a month's leave."
"But I shall lose my place, monseigneur."
"What will that matter to you, since they do not pay you?"
"But the honor of being a public functionary, monseigneur; and, moreover, I love my books, I love my table, I love my hair seat," cried Buvat, ready to cry; "and to think that I shall lose it all!"
"Well, then, if you wish to keep your books, your table, and your chair, I should advise you to obey me."
"Have I not already put myself at your service?"
"Then you will do what I wish?"
"Everything."
"Without breathing a word to any one?"
"I will be dumb."
"Not even to Mademoiselle Bathilde?"
"To her less than any one, monseigneur."
"That is well. On that condition I pardon you."
"Oh, monseigneur!"
"I shall forget your fault."
"Monseigneur is too good."
"And, perhaps, I will even reward you."
"Oh, monseigneur, what magnanimity!"
"Well, well, set to work."
"I am ready, monseigneur. I am ready."
And Buvat began to write in his most flowing hand, and never moving his eyes, except from the original to the copy, and staying from time to time to wipe his forehead, which was covered with perspiration. Dubois profited by his industry to open the closet for La Fillon, and signing to her to be silent, he led her toward the door.
"Well, gossip," whispered she, for in spite of his caution she could not restrain her curiosity; "where is your writer?"
"There he is," said Dubois, showing Buvat, who, leaning over his paper, was working away industriously.
"What is he doing?"
"Guess."
"How should I know?"
"Then you want me to tell you?"
"Yes."
"Well, he is making my cardinal's hat."
