"Let us return to the matter at hand," said La Fargue. "What else do you know about Malencontre?"
"Nothing. I know his name, which he told me. And I know that he works for the enemies of France."
"Spain," suggested Marciac. "Who else but Spain would wish to know the content of France's dispatches from Brussels?"
"The whole world," retorted Agnes. "England, the Holy Roman Empire, Lorraine. Perhaps even Holland or Sweden. Not to mention supporters of the Queen Mother in exile. The whole world. Friends or enemies. . . ."
"Yes, but the whole world isn't looking for the chevalier d'Ireban . . ." said Ballardieu between sugared almonds.
"Malencontre," explained Leprat, "did not find rue de la Clef by chance. He was being pointed in the direction of Castilla's inn when I recognised him. It can't have been a coincidence."
There was silence, punctuated only by the sound of Ballardieu munching, while each of them reflected on what had been said. Then La Fargue placed his hand on the table and said: "It is useless to lose ourselves in conjecture. This business is more complex than it seems, that's plain. Let us hope that we learn more from Malencontre when he comes round. But for the moment we have a mission to accomplish."
"What's the next step?" asked Agnes.
"It all depends on Marciac."
"Me?" the Gascon was astonished.
"Yes, you. . . . Do you know a certain madame de Sovange?"
17
Urbain Gaget was speaking to one of the handlers who worked for his flourishing enterprise when he received word that his merchandise had arrived at the Saint-Honore gate. The information was transmitted to him by a gangling adolescent who came rushing into the courtyard.
"Finally!" snapped Gaget.
Evening was falling and the Paris gates would soon be closed.
Gaget gave a coin to the boy, went over the final preparations one last time with the handler, and called for his lackey. He was trading his shoes for a pair of clean boots to protect his stockings from the ravages of Parisian muck when Gros Frangois joined him.
"Take a stick," he told him. "We're going out."
Thus escorted by a solid-looking lackey armed with an equally solid stick, he hastened to go and make his payment to the tax collectors.
As he had taken care to add a few pistoles to the tax, the formalities were dealt with swiftly. Soon he was watching the heavy cart enter the queue of travellers and suppliers granted permission to enter the capital. A dense crowd blocked the area around the gate and stretched almost as thickly along rue Saint-Honore. This had been one of the main Paris roads even before the city's recent enlargement. Still as busy as ever, it had now been extended as far as the new fortified city wall—called "Yellow Ditches" by Parisians because of the colour of the earth that had been dug from the site—and was so full that it was difficult to make any progress here, with a noisy, restless multitude trying to advance up and down the street.
Loaded down with a dozen cages, each of which sheltered a dragonnet, the cart moved forward at a slow but steady pace behind the oxen pulling it. A peasant held the reins; his partner had given his place on the driver's bench up to Gaget and was guiding the beasts forward by their bits while Gros Frangois walked ahead and opened a path through the tightly packed mob with some difficulty. Fortunately, their destination spared them from having to follow rue Saint-Honore into the twisted, populous maze of the old heart of Paris. Instead, they turned onto rue de Gaillon and continued along the street for almost its entire length until they came to the porch of a building opposite rue ties Moineaux. In the shadow of Saint-Roch hill with its wind-
mills, it was one of the most attractive areas on the Right Bank—that is to say, the Ville, as it was designated by way of contrast to the Universite on the Left Bank and the Cite on its island between them. This new neighbourhood was still under construction in the spring of 1633, but it had already been divided up and was crisscrossed with regular streets and punctuated by numerous gardens as well as a vast esplanade that served as a horse market. As further proof of its success, many beautiful and prosperous-looking private mansions were now being built there.
If it had been located elsewhere in the capital, Urbain Gaget's property would easily have occupied an entire block. Several stone buildings were arranged around a cobbled courtyard that was strewn with straw. These included a round, slender tower capped with a conical slate roof that was pierced with several rows of semicircular openings. It resembled a dovecote— an oversized one, for inmates who made meals out of doves. Dragonnets could be heard moving around inside, mewling and sometimes spitting, accompanied by the brusque napping of wings.