“‘Bring me my coat and waistcoat, Jasmin,’ he says then. ‘The citizen seems unfortunate in his game of hide-and-seek.’ I asked him if he would still have the _carmélite_, and he says, ‘Why not?’ so I brought it. But first the men turned out the pockets, and after that I thought that Monsieur le Vicomte would not put it on—but he did.” Jasmin stopped. “And then?” “Then they took him away—in a coach,” replied the old man, his lips trembling, and suddenly, unconsciously, he sat down on the sofa behind him and bent forward, burying his face in his hands. To Jasmin this was evidently the end, the tragic, overmastering end, of the story, but the Marquis had not time to taste this finality. “You cannot have told me everything, Jasmin,” he said. “Surely Monsieur le Vicomte left some instructions, some——” He broke off, rather startled, for the old man had sprung up. “Holy Virgin! I had forgotten for the moment. Heaven send we have not disturbed him! Pardon me, Monseigneur.” He went on tip-toe to the far side of the room, and Gilbert followed him, suddenly uncertain as to his sanity. And in a deep chair by the window, on one of Louis’ handsomest coats, slumbered the object of this solicitude, the beautiful Persian cat which Château-Foix had seen on his bed. “He has been so restless since Monsieur Louis went,” explained Jasmin, coming softly away. “At last I brought him this coat to lie on. Poor Lucidor! it has soothed him. But”—he looked back—“I see that he has not touched his cream; how vexed Monsieur le Vicomte would be! I was to be sure that he had it at his usual time.” “Were those my cousin's last instructions?” asked Gilbert sarcastically. “Yes, Monseigneur,” responded the old servant, quite oblivious of the sneer. The Marquis muttered under his breath something uncomplimentary to his kinsman. Such levity was incomprehensible to him. “Are you sure there was nothing else?” he demanded impatiently. “No message for me—even though I am not a cat?” Jasmin looked at him with a sort of reproachful astonishment. “Monsieur le Marquis, how could there be? We were not alone for a single moment. Do you think Monsieur le Vicomte would wish to implicate you? Indeed,” he finished nervously, “he would not think it safe for you to be here now, in case they return.” “You need not alarm yourself, my good Jasmin,” returned Château-Foix. “I shall not stay, if you can give me no more information.” He walked musingly to the door. “By the way, would not the name of the prison have been in the warrant?” “If it had been, Monsieur le Vicomte would not have asked it,” replied Jasmin, shaking his head. “He did ask it—so that I might hear, I suppose—but they would not tell him.”