An indecisive moment passed, as though the man were nerving himself for
an ordeal of courage and cunning. With a gesture resigning himself to
whatever might befall, he entered the court, careful to observe that
the way out was no more intricate than the way in.

"Now for the ladder. If that is missing, it's horse and away to Spain,
or feel the edge of Monsieur Caboche. Will the lackey be true? False
or true, I must trust him. Bernouin would sell Mazarin for twenty
louis, and that is what I have paid. Monsieur le Comte's lackey. It
will be a clever trick. Mazarin will pay as many as ten thousand
livres for that paper. That fat fool of a Gaston, to conspire at his
age! Bah; what a muddled ass I was, in faith! I, to sign my name in
writing to a cabal! Only the devil knows what yonder old fool will do
with the paper. Let him become frightened, let that painted play-woman
coddle him; and it's the block for us all, all save Gaston and Condé
and Beaufort. Ah, Madame, Madame, loveliest in all France, 'twas your
beautiful eyes. For the joy of looking into them, I have soiled a
fresh quill, tumbled into a pit, played the fool! And a silver crown
against a golden louis, you know nothing about politics or intrigue,
nor that that old fool of a husband is making a decoy of your beauty.
But my head cleared this morning. That paper must be mine. First,
because it is a guaranty for my head, and second, because it is likely
to fatten my purse. It will be simple to erase my name and substitute
another's. And this cloak! My faith, it is a stroke. To the devil
with Gaston and Condé and Beaufort; their ambitions are nothing to me,
since my head is everything."

He tiptoed across the stone flags.

"Faith, this is a delicate operation; and the paper may be hidden