“You are quite sure you did not overhear their destination? Think.” “I am quite sure, Monsieur le Marquis.” “And no one else heard it?” “No, no one. O Monseigneur,” burst out the old man, clasping his hands, “what will become of Monsieur le Vicomte? Nobody knows what a kind master he was—always was. And it seems but the other day he was a little boy, and I used——” Château-Foix went up to him and laid a hand on his shoulder. “Because your master is arrested, Jasmin,” he said kindly, “there is no need to preach his funeral sermon. He is in prison; we must find out where, and then we must get him out again. Sit down”—for the old man was shaking all over—“and tell me clearly the whole story from beginning to end. The more you can recollect, the easier you will make it for me to know what to do.” But sit down the old servant would not. “I brought Monsieur le Vicomte his coffee at the usual hour,” he began feverishly, “and soon afterwards he got up. He was very merry, and ordered me to lay out the new _carmélite_ suit, because it was such a fine morning, and he thought that very likely he should not wear it where he was going. It was like Fate, Monsieur le Marquis, for of course he did not mean prison.” Jasmin faltered, and then proceeded. “When he was half dressed, he sat down before the glass in his _peignoir_ as usual, and I dressed his hair. I remember, I had just tied the ribbon, when we heard a great knock at the door downstairs. ‘I wonder what that is,’ I said, and I stopped to listen. ‘Never mind,’ says Monsieur le Vicomte. ‘It may be the devil, from the fashion of his announcing himself, but I must be shaved all the same.’ So I had everything ready, and the very brush in my hand, when we heard loud voices downstairs, and then people coming up fast and noisily. ‘You can wait a little,’ says Monsieur le Vicomte very quietly, ‘for I think it _is_ the devil.’ And then he throws back his head, and says, laughing, ‘Open the door to him, Jasmin.’ But before I could get to it, it was thrown wide, and there were six or seven men in the vile red and blue uniform, and others behind, scum with pikes. They tumbled in as if they expected Monsieur le Vicomte to be getting out of the window, but there he sat leaning back in his chair, with his legs crossed, quite cool, looking at them with that way he has sometimes, Monsieur le Marquis.” “I know,” said Gilbert, who was well acquainted with the polish and insolence of his cousin's sang-froid. “Go on.” “After a moment a man in front pulled out a paper. ‘You are the _ci-devant_ Vicomte de Saint-Ermay,’ he says, ‘and I hold a warrant to arrest you for conspiracy on behalf of Capet against the nation. In the name of the sovereign people, I command you to follow me.’ “‘I know of only one sovereign in France,’ says Monsieur le Vicomte, ‘and he does not spell his name with those letters. Let me see your warrant.’