"Cecile, or whatever her name may be, is simply a victim in this whole affair. She deserves to be left in peace."
"No doubt. But you haven't answered my question."
"And I won't answer it." The man's tone led Rochefort to understand that it would be futile to insist.
"As you will," the comte said resignedly. "But I have to tell you, Mar-ciac, you're hardly earning your wages."
4
In the courtyard of the splendid Hotel de Tournon, an escort of gentlemen sat on their horses near a luxurious coach. They were waiting for the comte de Pontevedra, who was about to take the road back to Spain. The secret negotiations had lately taken an unexpected turn, and having been prematurely interrupted, failed to reach any conclusion. It only remained for the ambassador to return to Madrid in order to inform the king and his minister Olivares.
Pontevedra was finishing preparing for his journey when a last visitor was announced. He displayed a certain astonishment on learning his name, hesitated, thinking, and then indicated that he would receive him unattended in a salon.
La Fargue was already standing there when he entered.
The two men stared at one another for a long time. They were roughly the same age, but one had become a gentleman of court and intrigue while the other remained a gentleman of war and honour. It was not, however, the comte de Pontevedra, ambassador extraordinary of Spain and favourite of His Majesty Felipe IV, that the old captain regarded so impassively. It was Lou-veciennes, his former brother-in-arms and in bloodshed, the sole true friend that he had ever had and the man who had betrayed him.
"What do you want?"
"I came to tell you that Anne, my daughter, is safe and well. It seemed to me that you deserved to know that."
Pontevedra gave a twisted, mocking smile.
'"Your daughter?"
"She is my daughter and you know it. Indeed, you have always known it. As have I. As did Oriane. And now Anne knows it as well. Just as she knows who you are."
A hateful mask disfigured the ambassador's face.
"What have you told her?" he spat.
"Nothing. I am not that kind of a man."
"So how does she know?"
"A letter from her mother. Oriane, who you never loved as much as she deserved. ..."
"A reproach that cannot be made of you," retorted the comte.
He had venom on his lips and a (lame in his eyes.
"I have long regretted our conduct that night," admitted La Fargue.
"A handsome excuse!"
"Oriane also regretted it as well. But that was before La Rochelle, before you revealed your true nature, before you turned traitor."
"I made a choice. The right one. And to convince myself of that all I need to do is look at you. You have nothing. You are nothing. While as for me . . ."
"You are merely rich. And Bretteville is dead because of you, Louveciennes."
"I AM THE COMTE DE Pontevedra!" shouted the former Blade.
"We both know who you are," said La Fargue in a calm voice.
Turning away, he already had his hand on the doorknob, when Pontevedra, crimson-faced, cried out: "I will find Anne. Wherever you are hiding her, I will find her!"
The captain spared a thought for his daughter, whom he did not know and even dreaded meeting. For now, she was where no one would be looking for her, in rue de la Grenouillere, entrusted thanks to Marciac to the good graces of the beautiful Gabrielle and her comely lodgers.
That, however, could not last.
"No," declared La Fargue. "You will not find her. You are going to forget about her."
The ambassador burst out laughing.
"How are you going to force me? You can't do anything against me, La Fargue! Nothing!"
"Oh, but I can. You have used your post as ambassador to pursue a personal ambition. You have schemed and you have lied. In doing so, you have seriously compromised your mission and betrayed the trust placed in you by your . . . king. You have even, in demanding that the Blades and I search for the so-called chevalier d'Ireban, gathered together men who will soon, no doubt, be a source of complaint for Spain. You wanted us because we are the best? Well, here we are. Do you believe that Richelieu will now wish to deprive himself of our services? No, Louveciennes. The Cardinal's Blades are back, a development that your masters will have cause to regret before long. . . . So, think about it. Do you really want this to become known?"
"Don't threaten me."
"I exchange my silence for my daughter. You have no choice. . . . Oh, and one last thing ..."
"Which is?"
"The next time we meet, I will kill you. Have a safe journey back to Spain."
La Fargue left without closing the door.
Epilogue
Night had fallen when La Fargue returned to the Hotel de l'Epervier
that evening.
He led his horse to the stable, unsaddled it, and carefully rubbed it down, then crossed the courtyard to the main building. The sound of laughter, snatches of song, and joyful conversations reached his ears as he went up the front steps. He smiled, entered, and, from the shadows in the front hall, watched the spectacle that presented itself to him through a wide-open doorway.