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When he awoke, D'Harmental jumped from his bed and ran to the window. The day appeared already advanced; the sun was shining brilliantly; yet Bathilde's window remain hermetically closed. The chevalier looked at his watch; it was ten o'clock, and he began to dress.
This ill-judged maneuver ruined him. The mistress of the little room, surprised in the act of curiosity, let the curtain fall. D'Harmental, wounded by this prudery, closed his window. The evening passed in reading, drawing, and playing. The chevalier could not have believed that there were so many minutes in an hour, or so many hours in a day.
Dubois had hoped, by the revelations of D'Harmental, to entangle Monsieur and Madame de Maine in a new trial, more serious than the first; for this time it was a question of a direct attempt, if not on the life, at least on the liberty of the regent; but the obstinacy of the chevalier destroyed all his hopes.
"Monseigneur," said Bathilde, "it is the life of a man who has deserved death." "Is it the Chevalier d'Harmental?" "Alas, monseigneur, it is." The regent's brow became pensive, while Bathilde, seeing the impression produced by her demand, felt her heart beat and her knees tremble. "Is he your relation, your ally, your friend?" "He is my life, he is my soul, monseigneur; I love him."
"I thought it very beautiful, abbe, and as I have a very good memory for sounds, I retained it." "And then it was so admirably sung. Was it not?" "Yes," said D'Harmental; "Mademoiselle Berry has an exquisite voice, and the first time she sings I shall go incognito to the opera." "Is it that voice you want to hear?" asked Brigaud. "Yes." "Then you must not go to the opera for that."
Fortunately for D'Harmental, the young ladies were occupied with a drawing lesson, and Boniface was at his office, so that he saw no one but his hostess. The conversation fell naturally on the order and neatness of his room during his absence; from this the transition was easy to the question if the opposite lodging had changed tenants.
As to the walkers, who, seeing D'Harmental, approached the vehicle, it is needless to say that they were Brigaud and Pompadour. The chevalier, without naming Roquefinette, or enlarging on the character of the illustrious captain, told them in a few words what had passed. This recital was welcomed by a general exclamation of joy. The duchess gave D'Harmental her hand to kiss; the men pressed his.
"You see in me the grandson of Hippocrates, the god of silence. So do not be uneasy." "That is well, captain," answered D'Harmental, "for I confess that what I have to say to you is of sufficient importance for me to claim your discretion beforehand." "It is granted, chevalier.
One can see that you have never looked the thing in the face, since you have such an aversion to it. Besides, on proving our noble descent, we shall have our heads cut off, like Monsieur de Rohan. Did you see Monsieur de Rohan's head cut off?" continued the captain, looking at D'Harmental. "He was a handsome young man, like you, and about your age. He conspired, but the thing failed.
"At six o'clock, the regent, the Chevalier de Simiane, and the Chevalier de Ravanne, will sup with Madame de Sabran." "Ah, ah!" said D'Harmental; and he read the last sentence, weighing every word. "Well, what do you think of this paragraph?" asked the abbe. "There is my answer," said he. "What the devil does that mean?"
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