"True. Yet seeing the jeopardy in which you have placed yourself for me, I cannot bring myself to leave you."
De la Tour d'Auvergne shook his head impatiently. "I mean to seek sanctuary on my father's estates; as, once there, 'tis most unlikely that anything less than a charge of treason would be pressed against me. But the roads to Brittany and England are divergent, so we would have to part company in another hour or two in any event. I beg, nay, I insist, that you should use the time to the best possible advantage. Otherwise, if you are caught, I'll always believe that but for me you would have got away, and have your death upon my conscience."
"In that case you leave me no option," Roger replied with a feeling of relief that he could not repress. "But I pray you make what haste you can, so as to be well clear of Paris before morning."
" 'Twill be hours yet before warrants can be issued for us."
"I trust so. But since you are in no condition to ride hard 'tis doubly important that you should set out for Brittany with a minimum of delay."
"I shall not ride," the Vicomte announced, "but travel by post-chaise with a team of six; and while my man is making the necessary arrangements I intend to call at the Hotel de Rochambeau."
"You plan, then, to wait on Athehais and tell her what has occurred?" said Roger; and, as de la Tour d'Auvergne nodded, he went on quickly: I'm mighty glad of that. I had been racking my wits without avail, for some means of getting our news to her. I pray you make my adieus and explain the necessity under which I he to depart without taking leave of her in person."
The Vicomte hesitated. "I intended only to make my own adieus and, whilst doing so, offer formal condolences on her fiance having been killed in a duel, as though I had but just heard it. Since she knew of your intentions she will realise immediately who killed him."
"Heavens, manl Why stick at that?" Roger expostulated. " 'Tis but half the tale and will not give her warning of the storm which is about to break above her lovely head as a result of her brother's malice and stupidity. 'Twas to prepare her to meet her father's wrath on my account that I was seeking some way to get news to her; and, since you've a mind to say farewell to her before setting out for Brittany, 'tis the perfect opportunity."
"That's sound enough and, could I see her alone, I would willingly both tell her all and give her your messages. But you seem to forget that Madame Marie-Ange is certain to be present at our interview."
"What if she is! She, too, will be in full possession of the truth by to-morrow morning. There is naught to be gained by withholding it from her overnight. I beg you to speak openly before both of them, so that at least Athenais may have a little time to take stock of her situation."
"I had not looked at it that way before, but you are right," the Vicomte declared. "Now you must tarry no longer. God speed you, and a safe journey."
"And to you, dear friend!" replied Roger feelingly. "I'll ne'er forget your kindness, and I trust we'll meet again in happier circumstances."
The two young men clasped hands firmly, then Roger pressed his knees into his horse and urged it forward.
It was nearly half-past nine and darkness had fallen. The conference had been called for ten o'clock, and Roger doubted if he could get to it much before half-past. He no longer cared a straw if the Marquis should be angry at his lateness, but he was desperately anxious now lest the meeting should prove a short one and the decision be taken before his arrival. Since he could not have galloped his horse for the best part of nine miles he had so far lost little time unavoidably; but in an endeavour to make up some of the leeway caused by de Caylus's reluctance to fight, he dug his heels into his horse's flanks and forced him to go all out.
In spite of the semi-darkness he made good going all through the outskirts of Paris, and even when he reached the cobbled streets still did not spare his fast-failing mount. A church clock was striking the quarter after ten as he passed the Tuilleries. Five minutes later, he clattered past a long line of waiting coaches outside the Hotel de Rochambeau, and turned into its courtyard.
Flinging himself off the steaming horse he threw the bridle to a groom, who had come running out of the stable at the sound of the hoof-beats on the pave, then he ran to the door of the mansion.
As he reached it a sudden thought struck him. It was now too late to go up to his room and tidy himself before the meeting, as he had planned, and, although he could do that downstairs, he could not appear before the Marquis wearing a sword. Swiftly unbuckling his weapon he leant it against the stonework in a dark corner of the porch, where it would be easy for him to reclaim it on his way out.
On his entering the hall the two footmen on duty exclaimed in dismay at the blood on his face, but with a muttered Word to them that his injury was nothing to worry about, he dived into the powder-closet. Having washed his face and hands and tidied his hair he called to one of the men to brush the dust off his clothes, then dashed upstairs.
In his office he found his assistant in a state of excited apprehension on his behalf. The Marquis had been furious at Roger's disappearance and had ordered Paintendre to prepare the conference table but refused his offer to take notes.
As the easiest explanation for his lateness, the abrasion on his forehead and the rip in the shoulder of his coat where de Caylus's sword had torn it, Roger said abruptly that he had been set upon by footpads, then asked: "Are they all inside? How long have they been assembled?"
"No more than a quarter of an hour," Paintendre replied. "Most of them were here and arguing well before ten, but the Archbishop of Toulouse was a little late."
That the new Prime Minister had kept the appointment was all Roger wished to know. Taking a piece of paper he hastily scrawled upon it.
Monseigneur,
My service and most humble apologies for such inconvenience as my absence may have caused you. I had the misfortune to be attacked by footpads and was rendered incapable of returning to attend you earlier.
He would not have bothered, but for a sudden fear that unless he offered some explanation the Marquis might, in a fit of cold anger, send him from the room as soon as he appeared. With the paper in his hand he opened the door of the council chamber as noiselessly as he could, slipped quietly inside, and gave a swift look round.
The fifteen nobles who had attended the previous afternoon's gathering were all present and with them, seated on the Marquis's right, was Lomenie de Brienne, Archbishop of Toulouse, now Prime Minister of France. The prelate was wearing the violet robes of his ecclesiastical dignity and, with one alabaster hand, was toying with a great diamond and sapphire cross suspended from his neck by a satin ribbon.
As Roger entered de Castries was giving details of the naval preparations at Brest for the seizure of the Dutch ports. The Archbishop was listening to him attentively, but the Marquis was drawing figures on the wad of paper that lay before him and, looking up as the door opened, glowered at Roger. Tiptoeing round the big oval table Roger placed the note he had written by the Marquis's hand, made a low bow, and tiptoed away again towards his own little table beside the door.
On sitting down he was conscious of a sudden wave of relief. It was the last time that he would ever make his "humble service" to this frigid and heartless aristocrat. In another hour or two he would be his own master again, for a time at least; and, within a week, either free for good of this hateful subservience or occupying a condemned cell. Brushing the thought aside he gave all his attention to the meeting.
Within a few minutes he realised that it was, so far, no more than a repetition of that held the previous day. Evidently de Rayneval and the Comte de Maillebois had already made their reports on the situation in the United Provinces, and now the Ministers were outlining the state of immediate readiness of the French armed forces to undertake a lightning stroke.