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Updated: June 15, 2025
All the avenues leading toward the Tuileries were guarded by detachments of musketeers and light horse, and the people, expelled from the court and gardens of the Tuileries, crowded into the Place du Carrousel. D'Harmental and Brigaud mixed with the mob.
Is it as a foretaste of the Bastille?" "Holla! abbe," said D'Harmental, in a cheerful voice, "no such jokes, I beg; they might bring misfortune." "But look! look!" said Brigaud, throwing his eyes round him, "would not any one suppose they were visiting a conspirator? Pistols on the table, a sword on the pillow, and a hat and cloak on the chair.
'Tis true that the Abbe Brigaud, in the name of his pupil's family, had paid her a quarter in advance. A minute after, the abbe went down to Madame Denis's room and completed her good opinion of his young protege by telling her that he received absolutely nobody but himself and an old friend of his father's.
Nevertheless, even in this short time the chevalier had finished the young girl's head, and the likeness was perfect. There was her waving hair, her fine transparent skin, the graceful curve of her swan-like neck; in fact, all to which art can attain with one of those inimitable models which are the despair of artists. When night closed in, the Abbe Brigaud arrived.
Try and see the duchesse, who must be at the Tuileries, and tell her that I am retiring to Rambouillet, where I shall wait for the turn of events. "Your affectionate, "The coward," said Valef. "And these are the men for whom we risk our heads," murmured Pompadour. "You are mistaken, my dear marquis," said Brigaud, "we risk our heads on our own account I hope, and not for others.
Having arrived at the place where the triumphal arch now stands, they were accosted by an officer of Gray Musketeers, wrapped in a large cloak like themselves. It was Valef. "Well, baron," asked Brigaud, "what news?" "Ah! it is you, abbe," said Valef; "we have been looking for you, Laval, Malezieux, and myself. I have just left them; they must be somewhere near.
As to the usher, who, after having carefully closed all the doors, came and mixed familiarly with all this noble assembly, he was no other than our old friend the Abbe Brigaud. Things now began to take their true form, and the fete, as the ambassadors had done, threw off mask and costume, and turned openly to conspiracy.
Some time before the period of which we are writing, he met the Marquis de Pompadour, who was seeking a man of spirit and enterprise as the secretary of Madame de Maine. He told him to what the situation would expose him at the present time. Brigaud weighed for an instant the good and evil chances, and, as the former appeared to predominate, he accepted it.
"My dear abbe," cried D'Harmental, "you have saved my life!" "Stop, stop," said Brigaud; "you do not even ask me where the good man must go for the papers in question." "To your house, pardieu!" "Certainly not, young man, certainly not." "Where then?" "At the Prince de Listhnay's, Rue du Bac, 110." "The Prince de Listhnay! And who is he?"
"Oh! by an unforeseen circumstance," replied Brigaud, in that strange manner which caused one to doubt if he was in jest or earnest. "All went off capitally, as you know, till the end of the cantata, and the proof is, that having only heard it once, you are able to remember it from one end to the other.
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