Saint-Aignan, who had only been seeking for information, had met with an adventure. This was indeed a piece of good luck. Curious to learn why, and particularly what about, this man and woman were conversing at such an hour, and in such a singular position, Saint-Aignan made himself as small as he possibly could, and approached almost under the rounds of the ladder. And taking measures to make himself as comfortable as possible, he leaned his back against a tree and listened, and heard the following conversation. The woman was the first to speak.
”Really, Monsieur Manicamp,” she said, in a voice which, notwithstanding the reproaches she addressed to him, preserved a marked tone of coquetry, ”really your indiscretion is of a very dangerous character. We cannot talk long in this manner without being observed.”
”That is very probable,” said the man, in the calmest and coolest of tones.
”In that case, then, what would people say? Oh! if any one were to see me, I declare I should die of very shame.”
”Oh! that would be very silly; I do not believe you would.”
”It might have been different if there had been anything between us; but to injure myself gratuitously is really very foolish of me; so, adieu, Monsieur Manicamp.”
”So far so good; I know the man, and now let me see who the woman is,” said Saint-Aignan, watching the rounds of the ladder, on which were standing two pretty little feet covered with blue satin shoes.
”Nay, nay, for pity’s sake, my dear Montalais,” cried Manicamp, ”deuce take it, do not go away; I have a great many things to say to you, of the greatest importance, still.”
”Montalais,” said Saint-Aignan to himself, ”one of the three. Each of the three gossips had her adventure, only I imagined the hero of this one’s adventure was Malicorne and not Manicamp.”
At her companion’s appeal, Montalais stopped in the middle of her descent, and Saint-Aignan could observe the unfortunate Manicamp climb from one branch of the chestnut-tree to another, either to improve his situation or to overcome the fatigue consequent upon his inconvenient position.
”Now, listen to me,” said he; ”you quite understand, I hope, that my intentions are perfectly innocent?”
”Of course. But why did you write me a letter stimulating my gratitude towards you? Why did you ask me for an interview at such an hour and in such a place as this?”
”I stimulated your gratitude in reminding you that it was I who had been the means of your becoming attached to Madame’s household; because most anxiously desirous of obtaining the interview you have been kind enough to grant me, I employed the means which appeared to me most certain to insure it. And my reason for soliciting it, at such an hour and in such a locality, was, that the hour seemed to me to be the most prudent, and the locality the least open to observation. Moreover, I had occasion to speak to you upon certain subjects which require both prudence and solitude.”
”Monsieur Manicamp!”
”But everything I wish to say is perfectly honourable, I assure you.”
”I think, Monsieur Manicamp, it will be more becoming in me to take my leave.”
”No, no! - listen to me, or I will jump from my perch here to yours; and be careful how you set me at defiance, for a branch of this chestnut-tree causes me a good deal of annoyance, and may provoke me to extreme measures. Do not follow the example of this branch, then, but listen to me.”
”I am listening, and I agree to do so; but be as brief as possible, for if you have a branch of the chestnut-tree which annoys you, I wish you to understand that one of the rounds of the ladder is hurting the soles of my feet, and my shoes are being cut through.”
”Do me the kindness to give me your hand.”
”Why?”
”Will you have the goodness to do so?”
”There is my hand, then; but what are you going to do?”
”To draw you towards me.”
”What for? You surely do not wish me to join you in the tree?”
”No; but I wish you to sit down upon the wall; there, that will do; there is quite room enough, and I would give a great deal to be allowed to sit down beside you.”
”No, no; you are very well where you are; we should be seen.”
”Do you really think so?” said Manicamp, in an insinuating voice.
”I am sure of it.”
”Very well, I remain in my tree, then, although I cannot be worse placed.”
”Monsieur Manicamp, we are wandering away from the subject.”
”You are right, we are so.”
”You wrote me a letter?”
”I did.”
”Why did you write?”
”Fancy, at two o’clock to-day, De Guiche left.”
”What then?”
”Seeing him set off, I followed him, as I usually do.”
”Of course, I see that, since you are here now.”
”Don’t be in a hurry. You are aware, I suppose, that De Guiche is up to his very neck in disgrace?”
”Alas! yes.”
”It was the very height of imprudence on his part, then, to come to Fontainebleau to seek those who had at Paris sent him away into exile, and particularly those from whom he had been separated.”
”Monsieur Manicamp, you reason like Pythagoras.”
”Moreover, De Guiche is as obstinate as a man in love can be, and he refused to listen to any of my remonstrances. I begged, I implored him, but he would not listen to anything. Oh, the deuce!”
”What’s the matter?”
”I beg your pardon, Mademoiselle Montalais, but this confounded branch, about which I have already had the honour of speaking to you, has just torn a certain portion of my dress.”
”It is quite dark,” replied Montalais, laughing; ”so, pray continue, M. Manicamp.”
”De Guiche set off on horseback as hard as he could, I following him, at a slower pace. You quite understand that to throw one’s self into the water, for instance, with a friend, at the same headlong rate as he himself would do it, would be the act either of a fool or a madman. I therefore allowed De Guiche to get in advance, and I proceeded on my way with a commendable slowness of pace, feeling quite sure that my unfortunate friend would not be received, or, if he had been, that he would ride off again at the very first cross, disagreeable answer; and that I should see him returning much faster than he went, without having, myself, gone much farther than Ris or Melun - and that even was a good distance you will admit, for it is eleven leagues to get there and as many to return.”
Montalais shrugged her shoulders.
”Laugh as much as you like; but if, instead of being comfortably seated on the top of the wall as you are, you were sitting on this branch as if you were on horseback, you would, like Augustus, aspire to descend.”
”Be patient, my dear M. Manicamp; a few minutes will soon pass away; you were saying, I think, that you had gone beyond Ris and Melun.”
”Yes, I went through Ris and Melun, and I continued to go on, more and more surprised that I did not see him returning; and here I am at Fontainebleau; I look for and inquire after De Guiche everywhere, but no one has seen him, no one in the town has spoken to him; he arrived riding at full gallop, he entered the chateau; and there he has disappeared. I have been here at Fontainebleau since eight o’clock this evening inquiring for De Guiche in every direction, but no De Guiche can be found. I am dying with uneasiness. You understand that I have not been running my head into the lion’s den, in entering the chateau, as my imprudent friend has done; I came at once to the servants’ offices, and I succeeded in getting a letter conveyed to you; and now, for Heaven’s sake, my dear young lady, relieve me from my anxiety.”
”There will be no difficulty in that, my dear M. Manicamp; your friend De Guiche has been admirably received.”
”Bah!”
”The king made quite a fuss over him.”
”The king, who exiled him!”
”Madame smiled upon him, and Monsieur appears to like him better than ever.”
”Ah! ah!” said Manicamp, ”that explains to me, then, why and how he has remained. And did he not say anything about me?”
”Not a word.”
”That is very unkind. What is he doing now?”
”In all probability he is asleep, or, if not asleep, dreaming.”
”And what have they been doing all the evening?”
”Dancing.”
”The famous ballet? How did De Guiche look?”
”Superb!”
”Dear fellow! And now, pray forgive me, Mademoiselle Montalais; but all I now have to do is pass from where I now am to your apartment.”
”What do you mean?”
”I cannot suppose that the door of the chateau will be opened for me at this hour; and as for spending the night upon this branch, I possibly might not object to do so, but I declare it is impossible for any other animal than a boa-constrictor to do it.”
”But, M. Manicamp, I cannot introduce a man over the wall in that manner.”
”Two, if you please,” said a second voice, but in so timid a tone that it seemed as if its owner felt the utter impropriety of such a request.
”Good gracious!” exclaimed Montalais, ”who is that speaking to me?”
”Malicorne, Mademoiselle Montalais.”
And as Malicorne spoke, he raised himself from the ground to the lowest branches, and thence to the height of the wall.
”Monsieur Malicorne! why, you are both mad!”
”How do you do, Mademoiselle Montalais?” inquired Malicorne.
”I needed but this!” said Montalais, in despair.
”Oh! Mademoiselle Montalais,” murmured Malicorne; ”do not be so severe, I beseech you.”
”In fact,” said Manicamp, ”we are your friends, and you cannot possibly wish your friends to lose their lives; and to leave us to pass the night on these branches is in fact condemning us to death.”
”Oh!” said Montalais, ”Monsieur Malicorne is so robust that a night passed in the open air with the beautiful stars above him will not do him any harm, and it will be a just punishment for the trick he has played me.”
”Be it so, then; let Malicorne arrange matters with you in the best way he can; I pass over,” said Manicamp. And bending down the famous branch against which he had directed such bitter complaints, he succeeded, by the assistance of his hands and feet, in seating himself side by side with Montalais, who tried to push him back, while he endeavoured to maintain his position, and, moreover, he succeeded. Having taken possession of the ladder, he stepped on it, and then gallantly offered his hand to his fair antagonist. While this was going on, Malicorne had installed himself in the chestnut-tree, in the very place Manicamp had just left, determining within himself to succeed him in the one he now occupied. Manicamp and Montalais descended a few rounds of the ladder, Manicamp insisting, and Montalais laughing and objecting.
Suddenly Malicorne’s voice was heard in tones of entreaty:
”I entreat you, Mademoiselle Montalais, not to leave me here. My position is very insecure, and some accident will be certain to befall me, if I attempt unaided to reach the other side of the wall; it does not matter if Manicamp tears his clothes, for he can make use of M. de Guiche’s wardrobe; but I shall not be able to use even those belonging to M. Manicamp, for they will be torn.”
”My opinion,” said Manicamp, without taking any notice of Malicorne’s lamentations, ”is that the best thing to be done is to go and look for De Guiche without delay, for, by and by, perhaps, I may not be able to get to his apartments.”
”That is my own opinion, too,” replied Montalais; ”so, go at once, Monsieur Manicamp.”
”A thousand thanks. Adieu Mademoiselle Montalais,” said Manicamp, jumping to the ground; ”your condescension cannot be repaid.”
”Farewell, M. Manicamp; I am now going to get rid of M. Malicorne.”
Malicorne sighed. Manicamp went away a few paces, but returning to the foot of the ladder, he said, ”By the by, how do I get to M. de Guiche’s apartments?”
”Nothing easier. You go along by the hedge until you reach a place where the paths cross.”
”Yes.”
”You will see four paths.”
”Exactly.”
”One of which you will take.”
”Which of them?”
”That to the right.”
”That to the right?”
”No, to the left.”
”The deuce!”
”No, no, wait a minute - ”
”You do not seem to be quite sure. Think again, I beg.”
”You take the middle path.”
”But there are four.”
”So there are. All I know is, that one of the four paths leads straight to Madame’s apartments; and that one I am well acquainted with.”
”But M. de Guiche is not in Madame’s apartments, I suppose?”
”No, indeed.”
”Well, then the path which leads to Madame’s apartments is of no use to me, and I would willingly exchange it for the one that leads to where M. de Guiche is lodging.”
”Of course, and I know that as well; but as for indicating it from where we are, it is quite impossible.”
”Well, let us suppose that I have succeeded in finding that fortunate path.”
”In that case, you are almost there, for you have nothing else to do but cross the labyrinth.”
”Nothing more than that? The deuce! so there is a labyrinth as well.”
”Yes, and complicated enough too; even in daylight one may sometimes be deceived, - there are turnings and windings without end: in the first place, you must turn three times to the right, then twice to the left, then turn once - stay, is it once or twice, though? at all events, when you get clear of the labyrinth, you will see an avenue of sycamores, and this avenue leads straight to the pavilion in which M. de Guiche is lodging.”
”Nothing could be more clearly indicated,” said Manicamp; ”and I have not the slightest doubt in the world that if I were to follow your directions, I should lose my way immediately. I have, therefore, a slight service to ask of you.”
”What may that be?”
”That you will offer me your arm and guide me yourself, like another like another - I used to know mythology, but other important matters have made me forget it; pray come with me, then?”
”And am I to be abandoned, then?” cried Malicorne.
”It is quite impossible, monsieur,” said Montalais to Manicamp; ”if I were to be seen with you at such an hour, what would be said of me?”
”Your own conscience would acquit you,” said Manicamp, sententiously.
”Impossible, monsieur, impossible.”
”In that case, let me assist Malicorne to get down; he is a very intelligent fellow, and possesses a very keen scent; he will guide me, and if we lose ourselves, both of us will be lost, and the one will save the other. If we are together, and should be met by any one, we shall look as if we had some matter of business in hand; whilst alone I should have the appearance either of a lover or a robber. Come, Malicorne, here is the ladder.”
Malicorne had already stretched out one of his legs towards the top of the wall, when Manicamp said, in a whisper, ”Hush!”
”What’s the matter?” inquired Montalais.
”I hear footsteps.”
”Good heavens!”
In fact the fancied footsteps soon became a reality; the foliage was pushed aside, and Saint-Aignan appeared, with a smile on his lips, and his hand stretched out towards them, taking every one by surprise; that is to say, Malicorne upon the tree with his head stretched out, Montalais upon the round of the ladder and clinging to it tightly, and Manicamp on the ground with his foot advanced ready to set off. ”Good-evening, Manicamp,” said the comte, ”I am glad to see you, my dear fellow; we missed you this evening, and a good many inquiries have been made about you. Mademoiselle de Montalais, your most obedient servant.”
Montalais blushed. ”Good heavens!” she exclaimed, hiding her face in both her hands.
”Pray reassure yourself; I know how perfectly innocent you are, and I shall give a good account of you. Manicamp, do you follow me: the hedge, the cross-paths, and labyrinth, I am well acquainted with them all; I will be your Ariadne. There now, your mythological name is found at last.”
”Perfectly true, comte.”
”And take M. Malicorne away with you at the same time,” said Montalais.
”No, indeed,” said Malicorne; ”M. Manicamp has conversed with you as long as he liked, and now it is my turn, if you please; I have a multitude of things to tell you about our future prospects.”
”You hear,” said the comte, laughing; ”stay with him, Mademoiselle Montalais. This is, indeed, a night for secrets.” And, taking Manicamp’s arm, the comte led him rapidly away in the direction of the road Montalais knew so well, and indicated so badly. Montalais followed them with her eyes as long as she could perceive them.
Chapter L: How Malicorne Had Been Turned Out of the Hotel of the Beau Paon.
While Montalais was engaged in looking after the comte and Manicamp, Malicorne had taken advantage of the young girl’s attention being drawn away to render his position somewhat more tolerable, and when she turned round, she immediately noticed the change which had taken place; for he had seated himself, like a monkey, upon the wall, the foliage of the wild vine and honeysuckle curled around his head like a faun, while the twisted ivy branches represented tolerably enough his cloven feet. Montalais required nothing to make her resemblance to a dryad as complete as possible. ”Well,” she said, ascending another round of the ladder, ”are you resolved to render me unhappy? have you not persecuted me enough, tyrant that you are?”
”I a tyrant?” said Malicorne.
”Yes, you are always compromising me, Monsieur Malicorne; you are a perfect monster of wickedness.”
”I?”
”What have you to do with Fontainebleau? Is not Orleans your place of residence?”
”Do you ask me what I have to do here? I wanted to see you.”
”Ah, great need of that.”
”Not as far as concerns yourself, perhaps, but as far as I am concerned, Mademoiselle Montalais, you know very well that I have left my home, and that, for the future, I have no other place of residence than that which you may happen to have. As you, therefore, are staying at Fontainebleau at the present moment, I have come to Fontainebleau.”
Montalais shrugged her shoulders. ”You wished to see me, did you not?” she said.
”Of course.”
”Very well, you have seen me, - you are satisfied; so now go away.”
”Oh, no,” said Malicorne; ”I came to talk with you as well as to see you.”
”Very well, we will talk by and by, and in another place than this.”
”By and by! Heaven only knows if I shall meet you by and by in another place. We shall never find a more favourable one than this.”
”But I cannot this evening, nor at the present moment.”
”Why not?”
”Because a thousand things have happened to-night.”
”Well, then, my affair will make a thousand and one.”
”No, no; Mademoiselle de Tonnay-Charente is waiting for me in our room to communicate something of the very greatest importance.”
”How long has she been waiting?”
”For an hour at least.”
”In that case,” said Malicorne, tranquilly, ”she can wait a few minutes longer.”
”Monsieur Malicorne,” said Montalais, ”you are forgetting yourself.”
”You should rather say that it is you who are forgetting me, and that I am getting impatient at the part you make me play here indeed! For the last week I have been prowling about among the company, and you have not once deigned to notice my presence.”
”Have you been prowling about here for a week, M. Malicorne?”
”Like a wolf; sometimes I have been burnt by the fireworks, which have singed two of my wigs; at others, I have been completely drenched in the osiers by the evening damps, or the spray from the fountains, - half-famished, fatigued to death, with the view of a wall always before me, and the prospect of having to scale it perhaps. Upon my word, this is not the sort of life for any one to lead who is neither a squirrel, a salamander, nor an otter; and since you drive your inhumanity so far as to wish to make me renounce my condition as a man, I declare it openly. A man I am, indeed, and a man I will remain, unless by superior orders.”
”Well, then, tell me, what do you wish, - what do you require, - what do you insist upon?” said Montalais, in a submissive tone.
”Do you mean to tell me that you did not know I was at Fontainebleau?”
”I?”
”Nay, be frank.”
”I suspected so.”
”Well, then, could you not have contrived during the last week to have seen me once a day, at least?”
”I have always been prevented, M. Malicorne.”
”Fiddlesticks!”
”Ask my companion, if you do not believe me.”
”I shall ask no one to explain matters, I know better than any one.”
”Compose yourself, M. Malicorne: things will change.”
”They must indeed.”
”You know that, whether I see you or not, I am thinking of you,” said Montalais, in a coaxing tone of voice.
”Oh, you are thinking of me, are you? well, and is there anything new?”
”What about?”
”About my post in Monsieur’s household.”
”Ah, my dear Malicorne, no one has ventured lately to approach his royal highness.”
”Well, but now?”
”Now it is quite a different thing; since yesterday he has left off being jealous.”
”Bah! how has his jealousy subsided?”
”It has been diverted into another channel.”
”Tell me all about it.”
”A report was spread that the king had fallen in love with some one else, and Monsieur was tranquillized immediately.”
”And who spread the report?”
Montalais lowered her voice. ”Between ourselves,” she said, ”I think that Madame and the king have come to a secret understanding about it.”
”Ah!” said Malicorne; ”that was the only way to manage it. But what about poor M. de Guiche?”
”Oh, as for him, he is completely turned off.”
”Have they been writing to each other?”
”No, certainly not; I have not seen a pen in either of their hands for the last week.”
”On what terms are you with Madame?”
”The very best.”
”And with the king?”
”The king always smiles at me whenever I pass him.”
”Good. Now tell me whom have the two lovers selected to serve as their screen?”
”La Valliere.”
”Oh, oh, poor girl! We must prevent that!”
”Why?”
”Because, if M. Raoul Bragelonne were to suspect it, he would either kill her or kill himself.”
”Raoul, poor fellow! do you think so?”
”Women pretend to have a knowledge of the state of people’s affections,” said Malicorne, ”and they do not even know how to read the thoughts of their own minds and hearts. Well, I can tell you that M. de Bragelonne loves La Valliere to such a degree that, if she deceived him, he would, I repeat, either kill himself or kill her.”
”But the king is there to defend her,” said Montalais.
”The king!” exclaimed Malicorne; ”Raoul would kill the king as he would a common thief.”
”Good heavens!” said Montalais; ”you are mad, M. Malicorne.”
”Not in the least. Everything I have told you is, on the contrary, perfectly serious; and, for my own part, I know one thing.”
”What is that?”
”That I shall quietly tell Raoul of the trick.”
”Hush!” said Montalais, mounting another round of the ladder, so as to approach Malicorne more closely, ”do not open your lips to poor Raoul.”
”Why not?”
”Because, as yet you know nothing at all.”
”What is the matter, then?”
”Why, this evening - but no one is listening, I hope?”
”No.”
”This evening, then, beneath the royal oak, La Valliere said aloud, and innocently enough, ’I cannot conceive that when one has once seen the king, one can ever love another man.’”
Malicorne almost jumped off the wall. ”Unhappy girl! did she really say that?”
”Word for word.”
”And she thinks so?”
”La Valliere always thinks what she says.”
”That positively cries aloud for vengeance. Why, women are the veriest serpents,” said Malicorne.
”Compose yourself, my dear Malicorne, compose yourself.”
”No, no; let us take the evil in time, on the contrary. There is time enough yet to tell Raoul of it.”
”Blunderer, on the contrary, it is too late,” replied Montalais.
”How so?”
”La Valliere’s remark, which was intended for the king, reached its destination.”
”The king knows it, then? The king was told of it, I suppose?”
”The king heard it.”
”Ahime! as the cardinal used to say.”
”The king was hidden in the thicket close to the royal oak.”
”It follows, then,” said Malicorne, ”that for the future, the plan which the king and Madame have arranged, will go as easily as if it were on wheels, and will pass over poor Bragelonne’s body.”
”Precisely so.”
”Well,” said Malicorne, after a moment’s reflection, ”do not let us interpose our poor selves between a large oak-tree and a great king, for we should certainly be ground to pieces.”
”The very thing I was going to say to you.”
”Let us think of ourselves, then.”
”My own idea.”
”Open your beautiful eyes, then.”
”And you your large ears.”
”Approach your little mouth for a kiss.”
”Here,” said Montalais, who paid the debt immediately in ringing coin.
”Now let us consider. First, we have M. de Guiche, who is in love with Madame; then La Valliere, who is in love with the king; next, the king, who is in love both with Madame and La Valliere; lastly Monsieur, who loves no one but himself. Among all these loves, a noodle would make his fortune: a greater reason, therefore, for sensible people like ourselves to do so.”
”There you are with your dreams again.”
”Nay, rather with realities. Let me still lead you, darling. I do not think you have been very badly off hitherto?”
”No.”
”Well, the future is guaranteed by the past. Only, since all here think of themselves before anything else, let us do so too.”
”Perfectly right.”
”But of ourselves only.”
”Be it so.”
”An offensive and defensive alliance.”
”I am ready to swear it.”
”Put out your hand, then, and say, ’All for Malicorne.’”
”All for Malicorne.”
”And I, ’All for Montalais,’” replied Malicorne, stretching out his hand in his turn.
”And now, what is to be done?”
”Keep your eyes and ears constantly open; collect every means of attack which may be serviceable against others; never let anything lie about which can be used against ourselves.”
”Agreed.”
”Decided.”
”Sworn to. And now the agreement entered into, good-bye.”
”What do you mean by ’good-bye?’”
”Of course you can now return to your inn.”
”To my inn?”
”Yes; are you not lodging at the sign of the Beau Paon?”
”Montalais, Montalais, you now betray that you were aware of my being at Fontainebleau.”
”Well; and what does that prove, except that I occupy myself about you more than you deserve?”
”Hum!”
”Go back, then, to the Beau Paon.”
”That is now quite out of the question.”
”Have you not a room there?”
”I had, but have it no longer.”
”Who has taken it from you, then?”
”I will tell you. Some little time ago I was returning there, after I had been running about after you; and having reached my hotel quite out of breath, I perceived a litter, upon which four peasants were carrying a sick monk.”
”A monk?”
”Yes, an old gray-bearded Franciscan. As I was looking at the monk, they entered the hotel; and as they were carrying him up the staircase, I followed, and as I reached the top of the staircase I observed that they took him into my room.”
”Into your room?”
”Yes, into my own apartment. Supposing it to be a mistake, I summoned the landlord, who said that the room which had been let to me for the past eight days was let to the Franciscan for the ninth.”
”Oh, oh!”
”That was exactly what I said; nay, I did even more, for I was inclined to get out of temper. I went up-stairs again. I spoke to the Franciscan himself, and wished to prove to him the impropriety of the step; when this monk, dying though he seemed to be, raised himself upon his arm, fixed a pair of blazing eyes upon me, and, in a voice which was admirably suited for commanding a charge of cavalry, said, ’Turn this fellow out of doors;’ which was done, immediately by the landlord and the four porters, who made me descend the staircase somewhat faster than was agreeable. This is how it happens, dearest, that I have no lodging.”
”Who can this Franciscan be?” said Montalais. ”Is he a general?”
”That is exactly the very title that one of the bearers of the litter gave him as he spoke to him in a low tone.”
”So that - ” said Montalais.
”So that I have no room, no hotel, no lodging; and I am as determined as my friend Manicamp was just now, not to pass the night in the open air.”
”What is to be done, then?” said Montalais.
”Nothing easier,” said a third voice; whereupon Montalais and Malicorne uttered a simultaneous cry, and Saint-Aignan appeared. ”Dear Monsieur Malicorne,” said Saint-Aignan, ”a very lucky accident has brought me back to extricate you from your embarrassment. Come, I can offer you a room in my own apartments, which, I can assure you, no Franciscan will deprive you of. As for you, my dear lady, rest easy. I already knew Mademoiselle de la Valliere’s secret, and that of Mademoiselle de Tonnay-Charente; your own you have just been kind enough to confide to me; for which I thank you. I can keep three quite as well as one.” Malicorne and Montalais looked at each other, like children detected in a theft; but as Malicorne saw a great advantage in the proposition which had been made to him, he gave Montalais a sign of assent, which she returned. Malicorne then descended the ladder, round by round, reflecting at every step on the means of obtaining piecemeal from M. de Saint-Aignan all he might possibly know about the famous secret. Montalais had already darted away like a deer, and neither cross-road nor labyrinth was able to lead her wrong. As for Saint-Aignan, he carried off Malicorne with him to his apartments, showing him a thousand attentions, enchanted to have so close at hand the very two men who, even supposing De Guiche were to remain silent, could give him the best information about the maids of honour.