LITMIR.BIZ

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that it was impossible to reach the regent until the following morning, however urgent might be the necessity.

      Dubois was seldom of the number, his bad health forbade it; and this was the time chosen to pick him to pieces, at which the regent would laugh as heartily as any one. Dubois knew that he often furnished the amusement of these suppers, but he also knew that by the morning the regent invariably forgot what had been said the night before, and so he cared little about it.

      Dubois, however, watched while the regent supped or slept, and seemed indefatigable; he appeared to have the gift of ubiquity.

      When he returned from Rambouillet, he called Maitre Tapin, who had returned on horseback, and talked with him for an hour, after which he slept for four or five, then, rising, he presented himself at the door of his royal highness; the regent was still asleep.

      Dubois approached the bed and contemplated him with a smile which at once resembled that of an ape and a demon.

      At length he decided to wake him.

      "Hola, monseigneur, wake up!" he cried.

      The duke opened his eyes, and seeing Dubois, he turned his face to the wall, saying —

      "Ah! is that you, abbe; go to the devil!"

      "Monseigneur, I have just been there, but he was too busy to receive me, and sent me to you."

      "Leave me alone; I am tired."

      "I dare say, the night was stormy."

      "What do you mean?" asked the duke, turning half round.

      "I mean that the way you spent the night does not suit a man who makes appointments for seven in the morning."

      "Did I appoint you for seven in the morning?"

      "Yes, yesterday morning, before you went to St. Germains."

      "It is true," said the regent.

      "Monseigneur did not know that the night would be so fatiguing."

      "Fatiguing! I left table at seven."

      "And afterward?"

      "Well! what afterward?"

      "Are you satisfied, monseigneur, and was the young person worth the journey?"

      "What journey?"

      "The journey you took after you left the table at seven."

      "One would think, to hear you, that from St. Germains here, was a long distance."

      "No, monseigneur is right; it is but a few steps, but there is a method of prolonging the distance."

      "What is that?"

      "Going round by Rambouillet."

      "You are dreaming, abbe."

      "Possibly, monseigneur. I will tell you my dream; it will at least prove to your highness that even in my dreams I do not forget you."

      "Some new nonsense."

      "Not at all. I dreamed that monseigneur started the stag at Le Treillage, and that the animal, after some battling, worthy of a stag of high birth, was taken at Chambourcy."

      "So far, your dream resembles the truth; continue, abbe."

      "After which, monseigneur returned to St. Germains, sat down to table at half-past five, and ordered that the carriage without arms should be prepared and harnessed, with four horses, at half-past seven."

      "Not bad, abbe, not bad; go on."

      "At half-past seven, monseigneur dismissed every one except Lafare, with whom he entered the carriage. Am I right?"

      "Go on; go on."

      "The carriage went toward Rambouillet, and arrived there at a quarter to ten, but at the entrance of the town it stopped, Lafare went on in the carriage to the Tigre-Royal, monseigneur following as an outrider."

      "Here your dream becomes confused, abbe."

      "No, no, not at all."

      "Continue, then."

      "Well, while Lafare pretended to eat a bad supper, which was served by waiters who called him Excellency, monseigneur gave his horse to a page and went to a little pavilion."

      "Demon, where were you hidden?"

      "I, monseigneur, have not left the Palais Royal, where I slept like a dormouse, and the proof is, that I am telling you my dream."

      "And what was there in the pavilion?"

      "First, at the door, a horrible duenna, tall, thin, dry, and yellow."

      "Dubois, I will recommend you to Desroches, and the first time she sees you, she will tear your eyes out."

      "Then inside, mon Dieu! inside."

      "You could not see that, even in a dream, abbe."

      "Monseigneur, you may take away the 300,000 francs which you allow me for my secret police, if – by their aid – I did not see into the interior."

      "Well, what did you see?"

      "Ma foi, monseigneur, a charming little Bretonne, sixteen or seventeen years old, beautiful, coming direct from the Augustine convent at Clisson, accompanied to Rambouillet by one of the sisters, whose troublesome presence was soon dispensed with, was it not?"

      "Dubois, I have often thought you were the devil, who has taken the form of an abbe to ruin me."

      "To save you, monseigneur, to save you."

      "To save me; I do not believe it."

      "Well," said Dubois, "are you pleased with her?"

      "Enchanted, Dubois; she is charming."

      "Well, you have brought her from so far, that if she were not, you would be quite cheated."

      The regent frowned, but, reflecting that probably Dubois did not know the rest, the frown changed to a smile.

      "Dubois," said he, "certainly, you are a great man."

      "Ah, monseigneur, no one but you doubts it, and yet you disgrace me – "

      "Disgrace you!"

      "Yes, you hide your loves from me."

      "Come, do not be vexed, Dubois."

      "There is reason, however, you must confess, monseigneur."

      "Why?"

      "Why did you not tell me you wanted a Bretonne. Could not I have sent for one?"

      "Yes."

      "Yes, of course I could."

      "As good?"

      "Yes, and better. You think you have found a treasure, perhaps?"

      "Hola, hola!"

      "Well, when you know what she is, and to what you expose yourself."

      "Do not jest, abbe, I beg."

      "Ah! monseigneur, you distress me."

      "What do you mean?"

      "That you are taken by a glance, a single night fascinates you, and there is no one to compare to the new comer. Is she then very pretty?"

      "Charming."

      "And discreet: virtue itself, I suppose."

      "You are right."

      "Well, I tell you, monseigneur, you are lost."

      "I?"

      "Yes; your Bretonne is a jade."

      "Silence, abbe."

      "Why silence?"

      "I forbid you to say another word."

      "Monseigneur, you, too, have had a dream – let me explain it."

      "Monsieur Joseph, I will send you to the Bastille."

      "As you please, monseigneur, but still you must know that this girl – "

      "Is my daughter, abbe."

      Dubois drew back stupefied.

      "Your daughter; and who is her mother?"

      "An

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