Through dirty courts and fetid alleys where the sun never shone, my guide led the way, bringing me at last to the familiar Rue de Roi. My distrust had vanished by now, and I followed him unhesitatingly.

Crossing the road and walking rapidly through a private pa.s.sage, we reached the back of the inn. The yard was in partial darkness, but I made out an old building which communicated by a covered way with the hostelry. Lighting a candle, Pillot entered this pa.s.sage and stood listening intently. No sound could be heard; all was silent as the grave.

"Too late!" he exclaimed sadly, and, heedless of me, sprang up the stairs two at a time, the flame of the candle flickering violently. I heard him turn the handle of the door, and, running up quickly, pa.s.sed in with him.

The evening shadows were relieved only by the glimmer of the candle, but I gave no more than a pa.s.sing glance at the wretched room. Somehow I had felt convinced almost from the first that Pillot was telling the truth, and now the proof was before me.

The dwarf, who had placed the candle on the table, was bending over a figure close by. It was my cousin, wrapped in an old dressing-gown and seated in a deep arm-chair. He looked wasted and white, his mouth was drawn at the corners, his eyes burned deep in their sockets with a red glow, I could almost see through the thin white hands that lay loosely on his lap.

Pillot, as I have mentioned, bent over him, and called softly, "Monsieur, monsieur, your cousin has come; I have fetched your cousin."

"Henri!" I cried--for the dying man apparently took no notice--"I am your cousin, your cousin Albert. Do you not wish to speak to me?"

There was a faint gleam of recognition in his eyes, and it appeared as if he were trying to brace himself; then he extended one hand, and said quietly, "Albert!"

I urged him to let me send for a skilful surgeon, but he shook his head impatiently, saying, "No, no, he could do nothing. Pillot has been my doctor and nurse. Good little man!"

One could perceive that he was dying, and I would not disturb him further, though the dwarf wished to carry him to his bed.

Presently he looked at me with a faint smile whispering, "The elder branch will lead again. It is well; you are a better De Lalande than I. At one time I hoped we might have been friends, but you had chosen your part."

"We can be friends yet."

"No, no; it is too late. What I have done I have done; but there is one matter pressing on my mind. Will you forgive me for--for----"

"The plot?" I put in cheerfully. "Of course, I forgive you freely; it was all in the game."

"You did not believe I meant to kill you?"

"Not for an instant," I answered honestly.

He lay back in his chair, and a gratified smile flickered across his face.

"Maubranne did not tell me," he said feebly. "He knew I would not--not consent. I only intended to keep you shut up for a few weeks. What have you done with Peleton?"

"He is in the Bastille! He informed Conde of all that he knew."

"Pah! I warned the Abbe against him, but he refused to listen. Tell Raoul not to worry about me. I should have recovered but for the soldiers. Pillot had to move me. It was horrible, but the end is near now. Ask the Abbe to bury me in Paris."

He stopped exhausted; his eyes closed; his head fell forward, and I thought that life was gone. Pillot stood near me choking back his sobs. I had not given him credit for such feeling.

"Oh, monsieur," he whispered, "your cousin was good to me; I would have given my life freely to save his!"

"Hush! He is speaking again!"

Very low and faint were the words, but we heard him say, "Pillot, are you there? Good little man, I will not forget. Fetch my cousin, Pillot. Quick, do you hear? Ah, _monsieur le prince_, you are too late! It is a pity!" and he laughed derisively.

There was silence for a time, and then I whispered softly, "Henri!" but he made no answer.

The feeble light played on his face, half hiding, half revealing the ghastliness of it; and we, without speech or movement, stood watching him, till the candle sputtering out left us in darkness. Pillot would have fetched another from the inn, but he feared to stir lest the sound should disturb the dying man. How long we remained thus I cannot tell, but shortly before morning broke there came a strange, convulsive rattle from the huddled figure in the chair, and we knew that Henri de Lalande had pa.s.sed from the power of man.

"May his soul rest in peace!" said Pillot simply.

"Amen," I replied, and, moving softly, closed the dead man's eyes.

I was scarcely more than a lad then, and Henri's melancholy death in this wretched room made a deep impression on me. It was a sad ending to what might have been a brilliant career. The early dawn, creeping into the room, cast fantastic shadows everywhere, and the light falling on my cousin's face imparted to it a strange appearance of life. I could almost have thought he was smiling at me.

"I have lost a good master," said Pillot. "You and he were not the best of friends, monsieur, but there are many worse men in Paris than the one who has just died."

"I am sure of it," said I somewhat absently, for my thoughts had turned to the previous night's rioting.

"The King is dead; live the King!" What a world of meaning lies in those simple words! I was really sorry for my cousin's death, but there was no leisure to indulge in grief; the living were in need of my a.s.sistance.

Paris was up in arms! The mob had already broken loose, and, unless the ruffians were quickly checked, no one could foretell how the tumult might end. As yet only a house or two had been plundered, but within twenty-four hours Paris might be reduced to ashes. I thought of Marie and her aunt, and determined by some means to get them from the city.

It seemed pitiful to leave my cousin lying dead there, but I could do him no good, and Pillot would carry his message to De Retz.

"Pillot," I exclaimed, "I must leave you to attend to your master's burial. The Abbe will not refuse his last request. I would stay, but it is necessary for me to attend the ladies in the Rue Crillon. If the mob rises there may be danger."

"You are right, monsieur! Paris is no place for them at present. Take them out of it as quickly as possible. As to your cousin, I will see that he has proper burial; I will go to De Retz at once."

"What will you do afterwards? You will not care to serve the Abbe again?"

"Ah, no! I would wring his neck with pleasure, monsieur!"

"I do not wish that. Come, let me make you an offer. I am not rich like my cousin, but if you will take service with me, I will arrange that you are properly paid."

"After all that has pa.s.sed? Monsieur is exceedingly trustful."

"Because I am aware how loyal you have been to M. de Lalande."

"Very well, monsieur; let it be so. You will find that I shall serve you faithfully."

"I am sure of that. Now listen. As soon as my cousin is buried, start for Aunay--you know the road. If you do not find me there I shall have gone to join the Cardinal and you can follow. Here is some money; you will need it before we meet again."

As soon as these matters were arranged we went out, and Pillot carefully secured the door. The morning had broken cold and gray, a drizzling rain fell, the streets were deserted; the night-owls, wearied by their exertions, had returned to their roosts.

"There is still time to see Raoul," I muttered; so, bidding Pillot go straight to the Abbe, I turned off in the direction of the Luxembourg.

At the Palace the change from the stillness of the city was startling.

The gates were closed and guarded; soldiers, fully equipped, stood at their posts; the courtyard was filled with n.o.bles in a state of excitement. Happily for my purpose Raoul observed me and came to the gate.

"What has alarmed you so down here?" I inquired. "Is the Duke afraid of a siege?"

"Have you not heard the news? Come inside where we can talk. It has all happened just as we reckoned it would. Conde has thrown off the mask and broken with the Court. It is rumoured that Spain has offered him a body of troops, and that he intends to tempt fortune in a Civil War. The Queen is firm and does not mean to let him back out; it is do or die for him now."

"All the better; we shall be able to distinguish friends from enemies.

It will be an awful thing, but once Conde is well beaten the country will stand a chance of peace. The Duke of Orleans will join forces with the Queen?"

"I cannot say," answered Raoul shamefacedly; "he is pulled this way and that, by both parties. Most probably he will wait to find how things go."