LITMIR.BIZ

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you an eagle with outstretched wings, holding in its claws a prey which tries in vain to escape, and bearing this device — Tenax.”

      “Sire, I listen,” said De Blacas, biting his nails with impatience.

      “I wish to consult you on this passage, `Molli fugiens anhelitu,’ you know it refers to a stag flying from a wolf. Are you not a sportsman and a great wolf-hunter? Well, then, what do you think of the molli anhelitu?”

      “Admirable, sire; but my messenger is like the stag you refer to, for he has posted two hundred and twenty leagues in scarcely three days.”

      “Which is undergoing great fatigue and anxiety, my dear duke, when we have a telegraph which transmits messages in three or four hours, and that without getting in the least out of breath.”

      “Ah, sire, you recompense but badly this poor young man, who has come so far, and with so much ardor, to give your majesty useful information. If only for the sake of M. de Salvieux, who recommends him to me, I entreat your majesty to receive him graciously.”

      “M. de Salvieux, my brother’s chamberlain?”

      “Yes, sire.”

      “He is at Marseilles.”

      “And writes me thence.”

      “Does he speak to you of this conspiracy?”

      “No; but strongly recommends M. de Villefort, and begs me to present him to your majesty.”

      “M. de Villefort!” cried the king, “is the messenger’s name M. de Villefort?”

      “Yes, sire.”

      “And he comes from Marseilles?”

      “In person.”

      “Why did you not mention his name at once?” replied the king, betraying some uneasiness.

      “Sire, I thought his name was unknown to your majesty.”

      “No, no, Blacas; he is a man of strong and elevated understanding, ambitious, too, and, pardieu, you know his father’s name!”

      “His father?”

      “Yes, Noirtier.”

      “Noirtier the Girondin? — Noirtier the senator?”

      “He himself.”

      “And your majesty has employed the son of such a man?”

      “Blacas, my friend, you have but limited comprehension. I told you Villefort was ambitious, and to attain this ambition Villefort would sacrifice everything, even his father.”

      “Then, sire, may I present him?”

      “This instant, duke! Where is he?”

      “Waiting below, in my carriage.”

      “Seek him at once.”

      “I hasten to do so.” The duke left the royal presence with the speed of a young man; his really sincere royalism made him youthful again. Louis XVIII. remained alone, and turning his eyes on his half-opened Horace, muttered, —“Justum et tenacem propositi virum.”

      M. de Blacas returned as speedily as he had departed, but in the antechamber he was forced to appeal to the king’s authority. Villefort’s dusty garb, his costume, which was not of courtly cut, excited the susceptibility of M. de Breze, who was all astonishment at finding that this young man had the audacity to enter before the king in such attire. The duke, however, overcame all difficulties with a word — his majesty’s order; and, in spite of the protestations which the master of ceremonies made for the honor of his office and principles, Villefort was introduced.

      The king was seated in the same place where the duke had left him. On opening the door, Villefort found himself facing him, and the young magistrate’s first impulse was to pause.

      “Come in, M. de Villefort,” said the king, “come in.” Villefort bowed, and advancing a few steps, waited until the king should interrogate him.

      “M. de Villefort,” said Louis XVIII., “the Duc de Blacas assures me you have some interesting information to communicate.”

      “Sire, the duke is right, and I believe your majesty will think it equally important.”

      “In the first place, and before everything else, sir, is the news as bad in your opinion as I am asked to believe?”

      “Sire, I believe it to be most urgent, but I hope, by the speed I have used, that it is not irreparable.”

      “Speak as fully as you please, sir,” said the king, who began to give way to the emotion which had showed itself in Blacas’s face and affected Villefort’s voice. “Speak, sir, and pray begin at the beginning; I like order in everything.”

      “Sire,” said Villefort, “I will render a faithful report to your majesty, but I must entreat your forgiveness if my anxiety leads to some obscurity in my language.” A glance at the king after this discreet and subtle exordium, assured Villefort of the benignity of his august auditor, and he went on: —“Sire, I have come as rapidly to Paris as possible, to inform your majesty that I have discovered, in the exercise of my duties, not a commonplace and insignificant plot, such as is every day got up in the lower ranks of the people and in the army, but an actual conspiracy — a storm which menaces no less than your majesty’s throne. Sire, the usurper is arming three ships, he meditates some project, which, however mad, is yet, perhaps, terrible. At this moment he will have left Elba, to go whither I know not, but assuredly to attempt a landing either at Naples, or on the coast of Tuscany, or perhaps on the shores of France. Your majesty is well aware that the sovereign of the Island of Elba has maintained his relations with Italy and France?”

      “I am, sir,” said the king, much agitated; “and recently we have had information that the Bonapartist clubs have had meetings in the Rue Saint-Jacques. But proceed, I beg of you. How did you obtain these details?”

      “Sire, they are the results of an examination which I have made of a man of Marseilles, whom I have watched for some time, and arrested on the day of my departure. This person, a sailor, of turbulent character, and whom I suspected of Bonapartism, has been secretly to the Island of Elba. There he saw the grand-marshal, who charged him with an oral message to a Bonapartist in Paris, whose name I could not extract from him; but this mission was to prepare men’s minds for a return (it is the man who says this, sire) — a return which will soon occur.”

      “And where is this man?”

      “In prison, sire.”

      “And the matter seems serious to you?”

      “So serious, sire, that when the circumstance surprised me in the midst of a family festival, on the very day of my betrothal, I left my bride and friends, postponing everything, that I might hasten to lay at your majesty’s feet the fears which impressed me, and the assurance of my devotion.”

      “True,” said Louis XVIII., “was there not a marriage engagement between you and Mademoiselle de Saint-Meran?”

      “Daughter of one of your majesty’s most faithful servants.”

      “Yes, yes; but let us talk of this plot, M. de Villefort.”

      “Sire, I fear it is more than a plot; I fear it is a conspiracy.”

      “A conspiracy in these times,” said Louis XVIII., smiling, “is a thing very easy to meditate, but more difficult to conduct to an end, inasmuch as, re-established so recently on the throne of our ancestors, we have our eyes open at once upon the past, the present, and the future. For the last ten months my ministers have redoubled their vigilance, in order to watch the shore of the Mediterranean. If Bonaparte landed at Naples, the whole coalition would be on foot before he could even reach Piomoino; if he land in Tuscany, he will be in an unfriendly territory; if he land in France, it must be with a handful of men, and the result of that is easily foretold, execrated as he is by the population. Take courage,

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