hands of four bandits who tried with all their might to murder me, or at least I think they did.”
Marguerite repressed a quick gesture of terror.
“Oh! tell me about it!” said she.
“Nothing is easier, madame. It was, as I have had the honor to tell your majesty, about five o’clock in the morning.”
“And you were already out at five o’clock in the morning?” interrupted Marguerite.
“Your majesty will excuse me,” said La Mole, “I had not yet returned.”
“Ah! Monsieur de la Mole! you returned at five o’clock in the morning!” said Marguerite with a smile which was fatal for every one, and which La Mole was unfortunate enough to find adorable; “you returned so late, you merited this punishment!”
“Therefore I do not complain, madame,” said La Mole, bowing respectfully, “and I should have been cut to pieces had I not considered myself a hundred times more fortunate than I deserve to be. But I was returning late, or early, as your majesty pleases, from that fortunate house in which I had spent the night in retreat, when four cut-throats rushed from the Rue de la Mortellerie and pursued me with indescribably long knives. It is grotesque, is it not, madame? but it is true — I had to run away, for I had forgotten my sword.”
“Oh! I understand,” said Marguerite, with an admirably naïve manner, “and you have come back to find your sword?”
La Mole looked at Marguerite as though a suspicion flashed through his mind.
“Madame, I would return to some place and very willingly too, since my sword is an excellent blade, but I do not know where the house is.”
“What, monsieur?” exclaimed Marguerite. “You do not know where the house is in which you passed the night?”
“No, madame, and may Satan exterminate me if I have any idea!”
“Well this is strange! your story, then, is a romance?”
“A true romance, as you say, madame.”
“Tell it to me.”
“It is somewhat long.”
“Never mind, I have time.”
“And, above all, it is improbable.”
“Never mind, no one could be more credulous than I.”
“Does your majesty command me?”
“Why, yes; if necessary.”
“In that case I obey. Last evening, having left two adorable women with whom we had spent the evening on the Saint Michel bridge, we took supper at Maître La Hurière’s.”
“In the first place,” said Marguerite, perfectly naturally, “who is Maître La Hurière?”
“Maître La Hurière, madame,” said La Mole, again glancing at Marguerite with the suspicion he had already felt, “Maître La Hurière is the host of the inn of the Belle Étoile in the Rue de l’Arbre Sec.”
“Yes, I can see it from here. You were supping, then, at Maître La Hurière’s with your friend Coconnas, no doubt?”
“Yes, madame, with my friend Coconnas, when a man entered and handed us each a note.”
“Were they alike?” asked Marguerite.
“Exactly alike. They contained only a single line:
“‘You are awaited in the Rue Saint Antoine, opposite the Rue Saint Jouy.’”
“And had the note no signature?” asked Marguerite.
“No; only three words — three charming words which three times promised the same thing, that is to say, a three-fold happiness.”
“And what were these three words?”
“Eros, Cupido, Amor.”
“In short, three sweet words; and did they fulfil what they promised?”
“Oh! more, madame, a hundred times more!” cried La Mole with enthusiasm.
“Continue. I am curious to know who was waiting for you in the Rue Saint Antoine, opposite the Rue de Jouy.”
“Two duennas, each with a handkerchief in her hand. They said we must let them bandage our eyes. Your majesty may imagine that it was not a difficult thing to have done. We bravely extended our necks. My guide turned me to the left, my friend’s guide turned him to the right, and we were separated.”
“And then?” continued Marguerite, who seemed determined to carry out the investigation to the end.
“I do not know,” said La Mole, “where his guide led my friend. To hell, perhaps. As to myself, all I know is that mine led me to a place I consider paradise.”
“And whence, no doubt, your too great curiosity drove you?”
“Exactly, madame; you have the gift of divination. I waited, impatiently, for daylight, that I might see where I was, when at half-past four the same duenna returned, again bandaged my eyes, made me promise not to try to raise my bandage, led me outside, accompanied me for a hundred feet, made me again swear not to remove my bandage until I had counted fifty more. I counted fifty, and found myself in the Rue Saint Antoine, opposite the Rue de Jouy.”
“And then”—
“Then, madame, I returned so happy that I paid no attention to the four wretches, from whose clutches I had such difficulty in escaping. Now, madame,” continued La Mole, “in finding a piece of my plume here, my heart trembled with joy, and I picked it up, promising myself to keep it as a souvenir of this glad night. But in the midst of my happiness, one thing troubles me; that is, what may have become of my companion.”
“Has he not returned to the Louvre?”
“Alas! no, madame! I have searched everywhere, in the Étoile d’Or, on the tennis courts, and in many other respectable places; but no Annibal, and no Coconnas”—
As La Mole uttered these words he accompanied them with a gesture of hopelessness, extended his arms and opened his cloak, underneath which at various points his doublet was seen, the lining of which showed through the rents like so many elegant slashes.
“Why, you were riddled through and through!” exclaimed Marguerite.
“Riddled is the word!” said La Mole, who was not sorry to turn to his account the danger he had run. “See, madame, see!”
“Why did you not change your doublet at the Louvre, since you returned there?” asked the queen.
“Ah!” said La Mole, “because some one was in my room.”
“Some one in your room?” said Marguerite, whose eyes expressed the greatest astonishment; “who was in your room?”
“His
