LITMIR.BIZ

      Chapter XLIV.

       The Plan Of Action.

       Table of Contents

      Sartines had allowed himself to sleep late, as he had managed the multitude very well during the dauphiness' reception, and he was trying on new wigs at noon as a kind of holiday when Chevalier Jean Dubarry was announced.

      The minister of police was sure that nothing unpleasant had occurred, as the favorite's brother was smiling.

      "What brings you so early?"

      "To begin with," replied Jean, always ready to flatter those of whom he wanted to make use, "I am bound to compliment you on the admirable way in which you regulated the processions."

      "Is this official?"

      "Quite, so far as Luciennes is concerned."

      "Is not that ample—does not the Sun rise in that quarter?"

      "It goes down there very often, eh?" and the pair laughed. "But, the compliments apart, I have a service to ask of you."

      "Two, if you like."

      "Tell me if anything lost in Paris can be found?"

      "Yes, whether worthless or very valuable."

      "My object of search is not worth much," responded Jean, shaking his head. "Only a young fellow of eighteen, named Gilbert, who was in the service of the Taverneys in Lorraine, but was picked up on the road by my sister Chon. She took him to Luciennes, where he abused the hospitality."

      "Stole something?"

      "I do not say so, but he took flight in a suspicious manner."

      "Have you any clue to his hiding place?"

      "I met him at the fountain at the corner of Plastrière Street, where I suppose he is living, and I believe I could lay my hand on the very house."

      "All right, I will send a sure agent, who will take him out of it!"

      "The fact is, this is a special affair, and I should like you to manage it without a third party."

      "Oh, in that case, let me pick out a becoming wig and I am with you."

      "I have a carriage below."

      "Thank you, I prefer my own; it gets a new coat of paint every month, so as not to betray me."

      He had tried on his twentieth peruke when the carriage was waiting at the door.

      "There it is, the dirty house," said Jean, pointing in the direction of a dwelling in Plastrière street.

      "Whew!" said Sartines, "dash me if I did not suspect this. You are unlucky, for that is the dwelling of Rousseau, of Geneva."

      "The scribbler? What does that matter?"

      "It matters that Rousseau is a man to be dreaded."

      "Pooh! it is not likely my little man will be harbored by a celebrity."

      "Why not, as you nicknamed him a philosopher? Birds of a feather—you know——"

      "Suppose it is so. Why not put this Rousseau in the Bastille if he is in our way?"

      "Well, he would be more in our way there than here. You see the mob likes to throw stones at him, but they would pelt us if he was no longer their target, and they want him for themselves. But let us see into this. Sit back in the carriage."

      He referred to a notebook.

      "I have it. If your young blade is with Rousseau, when would he have met him?"

      "Say, on the sixteenth instant."

      "Good! he returned from botanizing in Meudon Wood on the seventeenth with a youth, and this stranger stayed all night under his roof. You are crossed by luck. Give it up or you would have all the philosophers against us in riot."

      "Oh, Lord! what will sister Jeanne say?"

      "Oh, does the countess want the lad? Why not coax him out, and then we would nab him, anywhere not inside Rousseau's house?"

      "You might as well coax a hyena."

      "I doubt it is so difficult. All you want is a go-between. Let me see; a prince will not do; better one of these writers, a poet, a philosopher or a bota—stay, I have him!"

      "Gilbert?"

      "Yes, through a botanist friend of Rousseau's. You know Jussieu?"

      "Yes, for the countess lets him prowl in her gardens and rifle them."

      "I begin to believe that you shall have your Gilbert, without any noise. Rousseau will hand him over, pinioned, so to say. So you go on making a trap for philosophers, according to a plan I will give you, on vacant ground out Meudon or Marly way. Now, let us be off, as the passengers are beginning to stare at us. Home, coachman!"