Pierre Pevel - By The Alchemist in the Shadows Page 0,96

entrusted with Anne d'Autriche's security — were now claiming they could no longer carry out their sacred duty.

'What exactly is the problem?' the Blades' captain wanted to know.

And Agnes was regretfully forced to admit:

'It is true that the queen does nothing to make the Sisters' task any easier. You might even think she is trying to hamper them—'

'But the queen's dislike for the Sisters of Saint Georges didn't start yesterday.'

'Oh, as far as that goes, she spares the unhappy wretches assigned to her protection nothing. She gives them the cold shoulder, openly expresses her scorn and never misses an opportunity to humiliate them. From what I have been able to learn, there is nothing new there. What has changed, however, is the fact that the queen now avoids them whenever she is permitted to do so. And sometimes more. Last Friday, for example, she forbade them to accompany her to the Val-de-Grace.'

The Val-de-Grace, on rue Saint-Honore, was a convent for which Anne d'Autriche had laid the first stone and was one of her favourite retreats.

'That's extremely imprudent,' commented La Fargue.

'The queen's resentment towards the White Order seems to have redoubled . . .'

'Then perhaps you are the best choice, after all. You almost completed your novitiate with the Sisters and came close to taking the veil yourself—'

'That page has been turned, captain,' the young woman said brusquely.

'I know, Agnes. I'm only asking you to trust your instincts and act for the best. You are capable of detecting things that escape the rest of us.'

Pensive for a moment, Agnes turned towards the window and then asked:

'Has Mere Emmanuelle de Cernay tried to contact me?'

Out of affection for Agnes, Emmanuelle de Cernay, formerly Superior General of the Sisters of Saint Georges, had promised to help her uncover what had happened to a certain lieutenant serving in the Black Guards. The young officer was both the son of an old friend of La Fargue and the brother of a Blade who had died in the course of a mission.

'No,' the old gentleman admitted.

'Will you let me know right away if—?'

'1 promise, Agnes.'

'I must go . . . Any news of Leprat?'

'Nothing from him, either.'

'Or of the Alchemist?'

This time, La Fargue remained silent and the young woman judged it best not to press him any further. She left.

When he arrived that afternoon, Laincourt found the Hotel de Chevreuse in a state of upheaval. Out in the courtyard, beneath the hot sun, the servants were loading wagons with furniture, boxes, chests and rolled-up tapestries. The duchesse was not emptying the premises, but she was preparing to live elsewhere for a while. On her estate at the Chateau de Dampierre, as it happened.

Laincourt joined the duchesse's maitre d'hotel on the front steps, where the head servant was very busy giving orders and supervising the move. As Laincourt was now a familiar figure at the mansion the young man did not need to present himself but simply asked if he might see madame de Saint-Avoid. He was informed that as she was about to go out, she was not receiving visitors.

Laincourt insisted: he would wait on the terrace and only desired a short interview with her. The maitre d'hotel finally consented to this request.

'Very well, monsieur.'

And with a snap of his fingers, he summoned a lackey whom he charged with delivering the message.

Laincourt waited on the terrace, admiring the magnificent garden that stretched as far as rue Saint-Nicaise.

So, madame de Chevreuse was leaving Paris . . .

She would soon be emulated by others. As wild and welcome as it had been, the nocturnal storm that had been unleashed over the capital had merely offered a brief respite. The hot weather had resumed and, after a few days, had become an ordeal, especially with the disease and foul odours which accompanied the stifling heat. Paris had become a cesspit. Beneath a merciless sun, a nauseating muck polluted the ditches, manure baked at the stable gates, blood simmered on the pavement in front of the butchers' shops and faecal matter fermented in the latrines. This pestilence caused headaches, nausea and respiratory disorders in weaker persons and the only effective relief was flight. Soon, as occurred each year

at this time, the wealthy would begin to desert the capital. It was the season when loved ones were sent to the country or whole families emigrated, along with their baggage and servants, to some favoured retreat or ancestral castle. The king himself set an example by leaving the Louvre every summer while