“Well, my lord! this famous invention of yours?”
“Must I tell you,” replied the duke, “on what I most reckon and what I determine to try first?”
“Yes, that’s the thing, my lord!” cried his custodian, gaily.
“Well, I should hope, in the first instance, to have for keeper an honest fellow like you.”
“And you have me, my lord. Well?”
“Having, then, a keeper like La Ramee, I should try also to have introduced to him by some friend or other a man who would be devoted to me, who would assist me in my flight.”
“Come, come,” said La Ramee, “that’s not a bad idea.”
“Capital, isn’t it? for instance, the former servingman of some brave gentleman, an enemy himself to Mazarin, as every gentleman ought to be.”
“Hush! don’t let us talk politics, my lord.”
“Then my keeper would begin to trust this man and to depend upon him, and I should have news from those without the prison walls.”
“Ah, yes! but how can the news be brought to you?”
“Nothing easier; in a game of tennis, for example.”
“In a game of tennis?” asked La Ramee, giving more serious attention to the duke’s words.
“Yes; see, I send a ball into the moat; a man is there who picks it up; the ball contains a letter. Instead of returning the ball to me when I call for it from the top of the wall, he throws me another; that other ball contains a letter. Thus we have exchanged ideas and no one has seen us do it.”
“The devil it does! The devil it does!” said La Ramee, scratching his head; “you are in the wrong to tell me that, my lord. I shall have to watch the men who pick up balls.”
The duke smiled.
“But,” resumed La Ramee, “that is only a way of corresponding.”
“And that is a great deal, it seems to me.”
“But not enough.”
“Pardon me; for instance, I say to my friends, ‘Be on a certain day, on a certain hour, at the other side of the moat with two horses.’ ”
“Well, what then?” La Ramee began to be uneasy; “unless the horses have wings to mount the ramparts and come and fetch you.”
“That’s not needed. I have,” replied the duke, “a way of descending from the ramparts.”
“What?”
“A rope ladder.”
“Yes, but,” answered La Ramee, trying to laugh, “a ladder of ropes can’t be sent around a ball, like a letter.”
“No, but it may be sent in something else.”
“In something else—in something else? In what?”
“In a pâté, for example.”
“In a pâté?” said La Ramee.
“Yes. Let us suppose one thing,” replied the duke “let us suppose, for instance, that my maître d’hôtel, Noirmont, has purchased the shop of Père Marteau—”
“Well?” said La Ramee, shuddering.
“Well, La Ramee, who is a gourmand, sees his pâtés, thinks them more attractive than those of Père Marteau and proposes to me that I shall try them. I consent on condition that La Ramee tries them with me. That we may be more at our ease, La Ramee removes the guards, keeping only Grimaud to wait on us. Grimaud is the man whom a friend has sent to second me in everything. The moment for my escape is fixed—seven o’clock. Well, at a few minutes to seven—”
“At a few minutes to seven?” cried La Ramee, cold sweat upon his brow.
“At a few minutes to seven,” returned the duke (suiting the action to the words), “I raise the crust of the pie; I find in it two poniards, a ladder of rope, and a gag. I point one of the poniards at La Ramee’s breast and I say to him, ‘My friend, I am sorry for it, but if thou stirrest, if thou utterest one cry, thou art a dead man!’ ”
The duke, in pronouncing these words, suited, as we have said, the action to the words. He was standing near the officer and he directed the point of the poniard in such a manner, close to La Ramee’s heart, that there could be no doubt in the mind of that individual as to his determination. Meanwhile, Grimaud, still mute as ever, drew from the pie the other poniard, the rope ladder and the gag.
La Ramee followed all these objects with his eyes, his alarm every moment increasing.
“Oh, my lord,” he cried, with an expression of stupefaction in his face; “you haven’t the heart to kill me!”
“No; not if thou dost not oppose my flight.”
“But, my lord, if I allow you to escape I am a ruined man.”
“I will compensate thee for the loss of thy place.”
“You are determined to leave the château?”
“By Heaven and earth! This night I am determined to be free.”
“And if I defend myself, or call, or cry out?”
“I will kill thee, on the honor of a gentleman.”
At this moment the clock struck.
“Seven o’clock!” said Grimaud, who had not spoken a word.
La Ramee made one movement, in order to satisfy his conscience. The duke frowned, the officer felt the point of the poniard, which, having penetrated through his clothes, was close to his heart.
“Let us dispatch,” said the duke.
“My lord, one last favor.”
“What? speak, make haste.”
“Bind my arms, my lord, fast.”
“Why bind thee?”
“That I may not be considered as your accomplice.”
“Your hands?” asked Grimaud.
“Not before me, behind me.”
“But with what?” asked the duke.
“With your belt, my lord!” replied La Ramee.
The duke undid his belt and gave it to Grimaud, who tied La Ramee in such a way as to satisfy him.
“Your feet, too,” said Grimaud.
La Ramee stretched out his legs, Grimaud took a tablecloth, tore it into strips and tied La Ramee’s feet together.
“Now, my lord,” said the poor man, “let me have the poire d’angoisse. I ask for it; without it I should be tried in a court of justice because I did not raise the alarm. Thrust it into my mouth, my lord, thrust it in.”
Grimaud prepared to comply with this request, when the officer made a sign as if he had something to say.
“Speak,” said the duke.
“Now, my lord, do not forget, if any harm happens to me
