"You ask me to weigh my words, Monseigneur?--to weigh my words?" with a

gesture which caused the musketeers to draw closer to Mazarin, "Oh, I

am calm, gentlemen; I am calm!" He threw his hat to the floor, drew

his sword and tossed it beside the hat, and folding his arms he said,

his voice full of sudden wrath--wrath, against the ironical turn of

fortune which had changed his cup of wine into salt:--"Now,

Monseigneur, I demand of you that privilege which belongs to and is

inseparable from my house: the right to face my accusers."

"I warn you, Monsieur," said Mazarin, "I like not this manner you

assume. There were witnesses, and trustworthy ones. Yon may rely upon

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that."

"Trustworthy? That is not possible. I did not know De Brissac. I

have never exchanged a word with him."

"It is not advanced that you knew Monsieur le Comte. But there was

madame, who, it is said, was at one time affianced to you." Mazarin

was a keen physiognomist; and as he read the utter bewilderment written

on the Chevalier's face, his own grew somewhat puzzled.

"Monseigneur, as our Lady is witness, I have never, to my knowledge,

set eyes upon Madame de Brissac, though it is true that at one time it

was my father's wish that I should wed Mademoiselle de Montbazon."

"Monsieur, when a man wears such fashionable clothes as you wear, he

naturally fixes the memory, becomes conspicuous. Do not forget the

grey cloak, Monsieur le Chevalier."

"The grey cloak?" The Chevalier's face brightened. "Why, Monseigneur,

the grey cloak . . ." He stopped. Victor de Saumaise, his friend, his

comrade in arms, Victor the gay and careless, who was without any

influence save that which his cheeriness and honesty and wit gave him!

Victor the poet, the fashionable Villon, with his ballade, his rondeau,

his triolet, his chant-royal!--Victor, who had put his own breast

before his at Lens! The Chevalier regained his composure, he saw his

way clearly, and said quietly: "I have not worn my grey cloak since the

king's party at Louvre. I can only repeat that I was not in Paris last

night. I slept at the Pineapple at Fontainebleau. Having no money, I

pawned my ring for a night's lodging. If you will send some gentleman

to make inquiries, the truth of my statement will be verified." There

was now no wrath in the Chevalier's voice; but there was a quality of

resignation in it which struck the acute ear of the cardinal and caused

him to raise his penciled brows.

"Monsieur, you are hiding something," he said quickly, even shrewdly.

"I?"

"You, Monsieur. I believe that you slept in Fontainebleau. But who

wore your grey cloak?"

"I can not say truthfully because I do not know."




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