Pierre Pevel - By The Alchemist in the Shadows Page 0,92
in chorus, hands were clapped in time with the beat and glasses were raised only to be swiftly drained. Most of those present were soldiers, enjoying a last night of debauchery before rejoining their regiments, and here they found everything they desired: wine, drinking companions and women. There were not very many of the latter, but they did not mind being shared. Bawdy and drunk, they went from arm to arm, dancing a turn with every man, sitting on every knee, willingly allowing themselves to be rudely handled, laughing when a hand grasped their waist or a face plunged into their bosom. Anything more than that had to be paid for, however, and couples went off, out of sight from the lanterns and voyeurs, for brief fumbling embraces.
Mirebeau knew the place and was known here. Summoning the stable boy, who responded with the promptness reserved for good customers, he asked that their horses be tended to but not unsaddled.
'Keep them ready for us,' he said, giving the boy a generous tip. 'We won't be here for long.'
'Very good, monsieur.'
'This way,' he then indicated to Leprat.
'No,' Rauvin intervened. 'He stays here.'
He and Mirebeau stared at one another for a moment and then the gentleman gave in.
'All right.' And turning to Leprat, he said, 'Wait for us here, please. We'll be back soon.' .
The musketeer nodded.
He had resolved to appear docile, if only to avoid giving Rauvin any opportunity to tell him to shut up and obey. He wondered whether the man was once again demonstrating his excessive sense of wariness or was simply seeking to humiliate him. But he said nothing and, from the stable's threshold, watched the two men cross the courtyard and enter the big house that constituted the inn's main building.
He thus stood waiting, pretending to watch the dancers and to be enjoying the music, while he discreetly observed the courtyard and kept track of comings and goings without anything seeming out of the ordinary . . .
... at least, not until he saw Rauvin come hurtling out of a first-storey window.
That evening, La Fargue, alone in his office, asked for monsieur Guibot to come see him.
'Any news of Leprat?' he asked.
'None, monsieur.'
'And of Laincourt?'
'Nothing from him, either.'
'Very good. Thank you.'
As he was leaving the office, the old porter passed Marciac who knocked on the open door by way of announcing himself.
'Yes, Marciac?' asked La Fargue.
The Gascon seemed embarrassed. He entered, shut the door behind him and sat down.
'Captain . . .'
'What is it, Marciac?'
'I have something to tell you. It's about your daughter . . . I'm not sure of anything, but I think she may be in danger.'
Having been thrown, with a tremendous crash, through a first-storey window of the inn, Rauvin landed in the courtyard under the astonished eyes of the dancers, who came to a standstill, and of the musicians on their stage, who stopped playing. He immediately ran off, as a furious-looking comte de Rochefort stuck his head out of the wreckage above.
'Stop!' shouted the cardinal's henchman, before firing his pistol.
But he missed his target and Rauvin disappeared into the darkness.
'After him!' Rochefort ordered, and a group of red-caped guards suddenly issued forth from the inn's front door and set off in pursuit of the fugitive.
Out of instinct, Leprat had taken a step backward into the stable, and concealed himself from view.
Evidently Mirebeau and Rauvin had come here for a clandestine meeting, a meeting that Rochefort had gotten wind of and decided to attend, along with a detachment of Richelieu's men. An ambush had been set up. But if Rochefort and the Cardinal's Guards had arrived first to organise this mousetrap, they must have seen the duchesse de Chevreuse's agents arrive.
Which made Leprat wonder why he had not yet been apprehended himself.
'Don't make a move!' a voice behind him suddenly said. 'You are under arrest.'
In spite of the pistol whose barrel was now touching the back of his neck, Leprat smiled.
'You are going to be surprised, Biscarat,' he replied, extending his arms away from his body and turning around slowly.
After even a few months' service, the King's Musketeers and the Cardinals' Guards all knew one another by sight, if not by name and reputation. Leprat had earned considerable renown when he wore the blue cape, while Biscarat had been a member of the Guards for at least eight years and had achieved some fame of his own by crossing swords with Porthos in a celebrated duel.
The guard's eyes widened upon recognising his prisoner.