Malicorne almost jumped off the wall. “Unhappy girl! did she really say that?”
“Word for word.”
“And she thinks so?”
“La Vallière always thinks what she says.”
“That positively cries aloud for vengeance. Why, women are the veriest serpents,” said Malicorne.
“Compose yourself, my dear Malicorne, compose yourself.”
“No, no; let us take the evil in time, on the contrary. There is time enough yet to tell Raoul of it.”
“Blunderer, on the contrary, it is too late,” replied Montalais.
“How so?”
“La Vallière’s remark, which was intended for the king, reached its destination.”
“The king knows it, then? The king was told of it, I suppose?”
“The king heard it.”
“Ahimè! as the cardinal used to say.”
“The king was hidden in the thicket close to the royal oak.”
“It follows, then,” said Malicorne, “that for the future, the plan which the king and Madame have arranged, will go as easily as if it were on wheels, and will pass over poor Bragelonne’s body.”
“Precisely so.”
“Well,” said Malicorne, after a moment’s reflection, “do not let us interpose our poor selves between a large oak-tree and a great king, for we should certainly be ground to pieces.”
“The very thing I was going to say to you.”
“Let us think of ourselves, then.”
“My own idea.”
“Open your beautiful eyes, then.”
“And you your large ears.”
“Approach your little mouth for a kiss.”
“Here,” said Montalais, who paid the debt immediately in ringing coin.
“Now let us consider. First, we have M. de Guiche, who is in love with Madame; then La Vallière, who is in love with the king; next, the king, who is in love both with Madame and La Vallière; lastly Monsieur, who loves no one but himself. Among all these loves, a noodle would make his fortune: a greater reason, therefore, for sensible people like ourselves to do so.”
“There you are with your dreams again.”
“Nay, rather with realities. Let me still lead you, darling. I do not think you have been very badly off hitherto?”
“No.”
“Well, the future is guaranteed by the past. Only, since all here think of themselves before anything else, let us do so too.”
“Perfectly right.”
“But of ourselves only.”
“Be it so.”
“An offensive and defensive alliance.”
“I am ready to swear it.”
“Put out your hand, then, and say, ‘All for Malicorne.’ ”
“All for Malicorne.”
“And I, ‘All for Montalais,’ ” replied Malicorne, stretching out his hand in his turn.
“And now, what is to be done?”
“Keep your eyes and ears constantly open; collect every means of attack which may be serviceable against others; never let anything lie about which can be used against ourselves.”
“Agreed.”
“Decided.”
“Sworn to. And now the agreement entered into, goodbye.”
“What do you mean by ‘goodbye?’ ”
“Of course you can now return to your inn.”
“To my inn?”
“Yes; are you not lodging at the sign of the Beau Paon?”
“Montalais, Montalais, you now betray that you were aware of my being at Fontainebleau.”
“Well; and what does that prove, except that I occupy myself about you more than you deserve?”
“Hum!”
“Go back, then, to the Beau Paon.”
“That is now quite out of the question.”
“Have you not a room there?”
“I had, but have it no longer.”
“Who has taken it from you, then?”
“I will tell you. Some little time ago I was returning there, after I had been running about after you; and having reached my hotel quite out of breath, I perceived a litter, upon which four peasants were carrying a sick monk.”
“A monk?”
“Yes, an old gray-bearded Franciscan. As I was looking at the monk, they entered the hotel; and as they were carrying him up the staircase, I followed, and as I reached the top of the staircase I observed that they took him into my room.”
“Into your room?”
“Yes, into my own apartment. Supposing it to be a mistake, I summoned the landlord, who said that the room which had been let to me for the past eight days was let to the Franciscan for the ninth.”
“Oh, oh!”
“That was exactly what I said; nay, I did even more, for I was inclined to get out of temper. I went upstairs again. I spoke to the Franciscan himself, and wished to prove to him the impropriety of the step; when this monk, dying though he seemed to be, raised himself upon his arm, fixed a pair of blazing eyes upon me, and, in a voice which was admirably suited for commanding a charge of cavalry, said, ‘Turn this fellow out of doors’; which was done immediately by the landlord and the four porters, who made me descend the staircase somewhat faster than was agreeable. This is how it happens, dearest, that I have no lodging.”
“Who can this Franciscan be?” said Montalais. “Is he a general?”
“That is exactly the very title that one of the bearers of the litter gave him as he spoke to him in a low tone.”
“So that—” said Montalais.
“So that I have no room, no hotel, no lodging; and I am as determined as my friend Manicamp was just now, not to pass the night in the open air.”
“What is to be done, then?” said Montalais.
“Nothing easier,” said a third voice; whereupon Montalais and Malicorne uttered a simultaneous cry, and Saint-Aignan appeared. “Dear Monsieur Malicorne,” said Saint-Aignan, “a very lucky accident has brought me back to extricate you from your embarrassment. Come, I can offer you a room in my own apartments, which, I can assure you, no Franciscan will deprive you of. As for you, my dear lady, rest easy. I already knew Mademoiselle de La Vallière’s secret, and that of Mademoiselle de Tonnay-Charente; your own you have just been kind enough to confide to me; for which I thank you. I can keep three quite as well as one.” Malicorne and Montalais looked at each other, like children detected in a theft; but as Malicorne saw a great advantage in the proposition which had been made to him, he gave Montalais a sign of assent, which she returned. Malicorne then descended the ladder,
