Pierre Pevel - By The Alchemist in the Shadows Page 0,98

reached the Right Bank by the Pont au Change and ended up in front of the Grand Chatelet.

Leprat still did not know where they were going.

That morning when, after several days of idleness, Mirebeau had suddenly announced that they needed to be in Paris that afternoon, he had refused to say anything more. But he had refused in a playful manner. It was no longer a matter of distrusting Leprat, but of offering him a surprise.

A pleasant surprise.

Going along with the game, the musketeer had cherished the hope that they might be going to the Hotel de Chevreuse to meet the duchesse. But he was forced to abandon this notion once they continued beyond Le Chatelet. Instead of going west along the quays or following rue Saint-Honore to rue Saint-Thomas-du-Louvre, they first took rue Saint-Denis northwards, turning off once they reached the Saints-Innocents cemetery, then passed Les Halles and, keeping the Saint-Eustache church on their right, entered rue Trainee.

Mirebeau smiled as he watched Leprat out of the corner of his eye. In fact, the former musketeer had no idea of their destination until the last moment.

And it was only when they were in front of the monumental gate that he understood.

'The Hotel de Chateauneuf?' exclaimed Marciac.

I le turned to La Fargue and then looked again at Leprat, who confirmed the information:

'To the home of the marquis de Chateauneuf, yes.'

They were meeting this evening in rue Cocatrix, on the Ile de la Cite.

The place didn't look like much: a rented bedchamber beneath the rafters with cracked walls and a rough wooden floor, containing a bed without a canopy or a curtain, a clothing chest, a small dressing table, a chair in considerable need of being re-stuffed, a stained mirror and a crucifix. It was fairly wretched, but a musketeer's pay did not allow for anything better. However, the landlord was friendly, the neighbours were discreet and the street was quiet.

And Leprat felt more at home here than anywhere else.

'The truth,' he explained, 'is that Mirebeau does not belong to madame de Chevreuse or even to her husband. He belongs to Chateauneuf, who has placed him at the duchesse's disposal for her . . .

affairs.'

Although night had not yet fallen, the three men had already lit a candle so they could see one another within the dark bedchamber. Leprat was sitting on his chest, La Fargue was straddling the chair backwards and Marciac was leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, next to a crookedly hung crucifix.

'Chateauneuf and La Chevreuse are lovers, as practically everyone knows,' observed the captain of the Blades. 'But what you have discovered, Leprat, is something else again . . .'

Born of a lineage that had produced several royal councillors and secretaries of state, Charles de l'Aubespine, marquis de Chateauneuf, had been the ambassador of France in Holland, Italy and England. He was reputed to be subservient to Richelieu, who, in 1630, had rewarded his loyalty and devotion by making him Keeper of the Seals. Now fifty-three years old, he was one of the most important figures in the kingdom. But he was also a somewhat ridiculous old fop who had an eye for the ladies and who, despite his age, persisted in behaving like some young Romeo.

'It would seem that La Chevreuse only likes old codgers,' observed Marciac. 'The duc de Luynes was already forty when he married her, I believe. The duc de Chevreuse was forty-four. And now Chateauneuf. . .'

'It is one thing for Chateauneuf to make the horns on the duc de Chevreuse's brow grow a little longer,' said La Fargue. 'He is not the first man to do so and, knowing the duchesse, there will be others after him. But in placing Mirebeau at La Chevreuse's disposal for her schemes, he has made himself her accomplice. And who knows what State secrets he may have let slip during their bedchamber conversations?'

'And all this has been taking place on the eve of a war against Lorraine,' added Leprat.

'Yet I thought Chateauneuf was completely devoted to the cardinal,' said the Gascon.

'No doubt that ceased to be the case the day he caught sight of the duchesse's beautiful eyes,' the captain of the Blades surmised. 'God only knows what ideas the she-devil has put in his head . . .

And you may recall the ball where Chateauneuf danced all night while the cardinal lay at death's door.'

The musketeer nodded.

'It was shortly after Montmorency's execution. It was said that Chateauneuf could already see himself succeeding his