Pierre Pevel - By The Alchemist in the Shadows Page 0,76

a covert military operation. But even without that, the region was filled with dangers.

War was raging there. Imperial and Swedish troops were contending for control of the cities while mercenary bands pillaged the countryside.

'Francois could not reveal more than that,' the marquis explained. 'Knowing that he was bound to secrecy, I did not ask any questions. Indeed, he probably told me more than he ought to have done . . . But it was precisely because of this that I suspected it was an important matter and one which was causing him great concern. And I understood just how accurate my suspicions were when I learned that, on the eve of his departure, Francois spent a long while praying at his brother's tomb . . .'

Visibly overcome by emotion, d'Aubremont fell silent.

'Since then,' said La Fargue, taking up the account from his friend, 'the chevalier has not sent any news. And as for the enquiries that the marquis has recently made of the Sisters of Saint Georges, they have yielded no results. He has received no answers. Or very evasive ones.'

'It's always the same closed doors, the same silences and the same lies,' said d'Aubremont in a voice vibrant with contained anger. 'Because I know they are lying. Or at least hiding something from me . . . But don't I have the right to know what has become of Francois?'

Agnes gazed deeply into the eyes of this old gentleman who had already lost one son and now feared for the life of the second.

'Yes,' she said. 'You have the right.'

'Of course,' the captain of the Blades pointed out, 'it would be fruitless to call on the cardinal . . .'

'. . . since the Mother Superior General of the Chatelaines is his cousin,' the young baronne concluded for him.

'And as for speaking directly to the king . . .'

'As a last recourse only!' decreed the marquis. 'Kings are to be served, not solicited. Besides, what would I say to him?'

There was a moment of silence.

Agnes turned to La Fargue who, without pressuring her to do anything, waited for her to come to a decision.

'Monsieur,' she said to the marquis, 'I can promise you nothing. But since my novitiate I have kept up several acquaintances among the Sisters of Saint Georges. I will go see them and perhaps I can obtain the answers you are seeking.'

D'Aubremont gave her a smile of sincere gratitude.

'Thank you, madame.'

'However, do not harbour any great hopes for I do not—'

'It would be enough to know that my son is still alive, madame. Just so long as he is still alive . . .'

Immediately after the marquis d'Aubremont took his leave, Agnes ordered a horse to be saddled for her. She would have to make haste indeed in order to reach her destination before nightfall. La Fargue joined her in the stable while Andre finished preparing Vaillante, the fiery young baronne's favourite mare.

'I know how much this costs you, Agnes.'

They stood side by side, watching the groom busying himself with her mount.

The young woman nodded lightly.

'I know what it costs you to resume contact under these circumstances with the White Ladies,' La Fargue continued. 'And I wanted to thank you.'

Because they dressed entirely in white, 'White Ladies' was one of the nicknames given to the Sisters of Saint Georges. They were also known as the 'Chatelaines', after their founder, Saint Marie de Chastel.

'No need to thank me, captain.'

'Of course, the marquis cannot know how great a favour you are doing him, but—'

'The Blades owe him this service at least, don't you think?'

'True.'

Out in the courtyard, one of the horses Almades still held by the bridle snorted.

'I must go to the Palais-Cardinal,' La Fargue said. 'Have a safe journey, Agnes.'

'Thank you, captain. I'll be back tomorrow.'

The duchesse de Chevreuse had been born Marie de Rohan-Montbazon.

In 1617, at the age of fifteen, she married Charles de Luynes, the marquis d'Albert. Twenty-two years older than her, at the time Luynes enjoyed the king's favours and accumulated responsibilities, wealth and honours, despite his mediocre intelligence. Soon appointed superintendent of the queen's household herself, the young, beautiful and joyful marquise de Luynes knew how to please Anne d'Autriche, who was already growing bored with life at the French court. A sincere friendship grew up between them, but the king began to turn away from his wife and he deemed that Marie had a bad influence upon her. It was true that the superintendent was by no means unsociable and willingly partook