Twenty years after
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.
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.
“And you have come here with that purpose?”
Grimaud repeated the sign.
“And I was ready to strangle you!” cried the duke.
Grimaud smiled.
“Wait, then,” said the duke, fumbling in his pocket. “Wait,” he
continued, renewing his fruitless search; “it shall not be said that
such devotion to a grandson of Henry IV. went without recompense.”
The duke’s endeavors evinced the best intention in the world, but one
of the precautions taken at Vincennes was that of allowing prisoners to
keep no money. Whereupon Grimaud, observing the duke’s disappointment,
drew from his pocket a purse filled with gold and handed it to him.
“Here is what you are looking for,” he said.
The duke opened the purse and wanted to empty it into Grimaud’s hands,
but Grimaud shook his head.
“Thank you, monseigneur,” he said, drawing back; “I am paid.”
The duke went from one surprise to another. He held out his hand.
Grimaud drew near and kissed it respectfully. The grand manner of Athos
had left its mark on Grimaud.
“What shall we do? and when? and how proceed?”
“It is now eleven,” answered Grimaud. “Let my lord at two o’clock ask
leave to make up a game at tennis with La Ramee and let him send two or
three balls over the ramparts.”
“And then?”
“Your highness will approach the walls and call out to a man who works
in the moat to send them back again.”
“I understand,” said the duke.
Grimaud made a sign that he was going away.
“Ah!” cried the duke, “will you not accept any money from me?”
“I wish my lord would make me one promise.”
“What! speak!”
“’Tis this: when we escape together, that I shall go everywhere and be
always first; for if my lord should be overtaken and caught, there’s
every chance of his being brought back to prison, whereas if I am
caught the least that can befall me is to be—hung.”
“True, on my honor as a gentleman it shall be as thou dost suggest.”
“Now,” resumed Grimaud, “I’ve only one thing more to ask—that your
highness will continue to detest me.”
“I’ll try,” said the duke.
At this moment La Ramee, after the interview we have described with the
cardinal, entered the room. The duke had thrown himself, as he was wont
to do in moments of dullness and vexation, on his bed. La Ramee cast an
inquiring look around him and observing the same signs of antipathy
between the prisoner and his guardian he smiled in token of his inward
satisfaction. Then turning to Grimaud:
“Very good, my friend, very good. You have been spoken of in a
promising quarter and you will soon, I hope, have news that will be
agreeable to you.”
Grimaud saluted in his politest manner and withdrew, as was his custom
on the entrance of his superior.
“Well, my lord,” said La Ramee, with his rude laugh, “you still set
yourself against this poor fellow?”
“So! ’tis you, La Ramee; in faith, ’tis time you came back again. I
threw myself on the bed and turned my nose to the wall, that I mightn’t
break my promise and strangle Grimaud.”
“I doubt, however,” said La Ramee, in sprightly allusion to the silence
of his subordinate, “if he has said anything disagreeable to your
highness.”
“_Pardieu!_ you are right—a mute from the East! I swear it was time for
you to come back, La Ramee, and I was eager to see you again.”
“Monseigneur is too good,” said La Ramee, flattered by the compliment.
“Yes,” continued the duke, “really, I feel bored today beyond the power
of description.”
“Then let us have a match in the tennis court,” exclaimed La Ramee.
“If you wish it.”
“I am at your service, my lord.”
“I protest, my dear La Ramee,” said the duke, “that you are a charming
fellow and that I would stay forever at Vincennes to have the pleasure
of your society.”
“My lord,” replied La Ramee, “I think if it depended on the cardinal
your wishes would be fulfilled.”
“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.”
“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?”
“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 château.’ ‘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 pâté 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 family.”
La Ramee went out, but in five minutes one of the officers of the guard
entered in compliance with the strict orders of the cardinal that the
prisoner should never be left alone a moment.
But during these five minutes the duke had had time to read again the
note from Madame de Montbazon, which proved to the prisoner that his
friends were concerting plans for his deliverance, but in what way he
knew not.
But his confidence in Grimaud, whose petty persecutions he now
perceived were only a blind, increased, and he conceived the highest
opinion of his intellect and resolved to trust entirely to his
guidance.
Chapter XIX.
Pâtés made by the Successor of Father Marteau are described.
In half an hour La Ramee returned, full of glee, like most men who have
eaten, and more especially drank to their heart’s content. The pâtés
were excellent, the wine delicious.
The weather was fine and the game at tennis took place in the open air.
At two o’clock the tennis balls began, according to Grimaud’s
directions, to take the direction of the moat, much to the joy of La
Ramee, who marked fifteen whenever the duke sent a ball into the moat;
and very soon balls were wanting, so many had gone over. La Ramee then
proposed to send some one to pick them up, but the duke remarked that
it would be losing time; and going near the rampart himself and looking
over, he saw a man working in one of the numerous little gardens
cleared out by the peasants on the opposite side of the moat.
“Hey, friend!” cried the duke.
The man raised his head and the duke was about to utter a cry of
surprise. The peasant, the gardener, was Rochefort, whom he believed to
be in the Bastile.
“Well? Who’s up there?” said the man.
“Be so good as to collect and throw us back our balls,” said the duke.
The gardener nodded and began to fling up the balls, which were picked