Pierre Pevel - By The Alchemist in the Shadows Page 0,13

He did seem tired.

But delighted nonetheless.

'I was in such a hurry to get here,' he explained, 'that I barely slept three hours last night. And the sun! The dust . . . ! Lord, I'm dying of thirst!'

At that very moment, sweet, timid Nai's arrived from the kitchen bearing a platter, a jug of wine, and two glasses. Agnes had to step aside to let her pass. Seeing the servant girl, Marciac joyfully leapt to his feet.

'It's a miracle. Nai's, I adore you. Will you marry me? Do you have any idea how much I thought of you, during my exile?'

The young woman set down her platter, and eyes cast downward, asked:

'Would you like me to make up the bed, monsieur?'

'How cruel! Asking me that, when I dream only of unmaking it with you . . .'

Blushing, Nai's giggled, curtseyed, and quickly withdrew.

'Keep on singing, you handsome blackbird!' Agnes said mockingly. 'You shall never pluck that fruit . . .'

Marciac was indeed handsome, fair-headed and full of charm. His hair was always in need of a comb, his cheeks could benefit from a razor, but he was endowed with a natural elegance that was perfectly suited to such neglect. He was more or less Gascon, more or less a gentleman, and more or less a physician. Above all, he was a formidable swordsman, an inveterate gambler, and an unrepentant seducer; a man who had lost count of his duels, his debts, and his conquests.

Shrugging his shoulders, he filled the glasses and handed one to Agnes. They clinked to mark their reunion.

Then Agnes perched on the window ledge while Marciac

returned to his armchair. He would have offered his seat to any other woman, but the baronne de Vaudreuil did not expect such attentions from her brothers-in-arms.

'Now, tell me everything that's happened here,' said the Gascon. 'First off, who's the fellow who took my horse on my arrival? I go away for a few days, and there are new faces when I get back.'

'That's our new groom, Andre. Formerly of the Picardy regiment, I believe.'

'I suppose we've made quite sure that—'

'Yes,' interrupted Agnes. 'The man is quite trustworthy. He was a stableman at the Palais-Cardinal before he was . . . recommended to us.'

'Good . . . And whafabout the others?'

'Others?'

'La Fargue, Saint-Lucq, Leprat . . . You remember them? We all formed a band before I left. Damn!

Have I been gone even longer than it seems?'

Since the jest was deserved and good-humoured, the young woman accepted it with good grace.

'Leprat is in Paris,' she informed him, 'but he tends to spend his mornings at monsieur de Treville's house. As for Saint-Lucq and Almades, they are off on a mission with La Fargue. If all goes well, they should be back today.'

Marciac merely cocked an inquisitive eyebrow at this news.

Agnes rose to close the chamber door, leaned against it for a moment, and then in a hushed tone she said:

'Lately, someone has been sending a few discreet signals to the cardinal. This individual claims to have very valuable information and proposed a meeting to discuss how this information might be—'

'Sold?'

'Negotiated.'

'And His Eminence assigned La Fargue to meet this mysterious person.'

'As a matter of urgency.'

'My word, this individual must really be someone. Who are we talking about, exactly?'

' "La Donna".'

'Ah . . . now I understand.'

La Donna was the nickname given to an adventuress well known in all the courts of Europe. A clever schemer, a mercenary spy and an expert seductress, she made her living from the secrets she discovered for her own benefit or on behalf of others. Beyond her beauty and intelligence, she was best characterised by her lack of scruples. She was venal, and her excellent services came at a high price. She always had several irons in the fire and was adept at playing them off against one another, making hers an exciting but highly dangerous existence. All those who became acquainted with this woman predicted a violent, premature death for her, but these same people did not hesitate to call upon her talents when needed. It was murmured that her ultimate loyalty lay with the Pope.

Others claimed she belonged to a secret society of dragons. All such surmises, however, overlooked her independent spirit and appetite for personal gain.

'But doesn't the cardinal have some grievance against her?' Marciac wondered aloud upon reflection. 'Remember that business at Ratisbon ... ?'

Agnes shrugged. Putting her hand on the doorknob, she said:

'What do you want me to say? There are some cases