“Do not distress yourself about that, monsieur, but fulfil immediately the principal condition, of furnishing the order with a secret of importance, of such importance that one of the greatest courts of Europe will, by your instrumentality, forever be subjected to the order. Well! do you possess the secret which you promised, in your request, addressed to the grand council?” “Monseigneur--” “Let us proceed, however, in due order,” said the monk. “You are the Baron de Wostpur?” “Yes, monseigneur.” “And this letter is from you?” “Yes, monseigneur.” The general of the Jesuits drew a paper from his bundle, and presented it to the baron, who glanced at it, and made a sign in the affirmative, saying, “Yes, monseigneur, this letter is mine.” “Can you show me the reply which the secretary of the grand council returned to you?” “Here it is,” said the baron, holding towards the Franciscan a letter bearing simply the address, “To his excellency the Baron de Wostpur,” and containing only this phrase, “From the 15th to the 22nd May, Fontainebleau, the hotel of the Beau Paon.--A. M. D. G.” [7] “Right,” said the Franciscan, “and now speak.” “I have a body of troops, composed of 50,000 men; all the officers are gained over. I am encamped on the Danube. In four days I can overthrow the emperor, who is, as you are aware, opposed to the progress of our order, and can replace him by whichever of the princes of his family the order may determine upon.” The Franciscan listened, unmoved. “Is that all?” he said. “A revolution throughout Europe is included in my plan,” said the baron. “Very well, Monsieur de Wostpur, you will receive a reply; return to your room, and leave Fontainebleau within a quarter of an hour.” The baron withdrew backwards, as obsequiously as if he were taking leave of the emperor he was ready to betray. “There is no secret there,” murmured the Franciscan, “it is a plot. Besides,” he added, after a moment’s reflection, “the future of Europe is no longer in the hands of the House of Austria.” And with a pencil he held in his hand, he struck the Baron de Wostpur’s name from the list. “Now for the cardinal,” he said; “we ought to get something more serious from the side of Spain.” Raising his head, he perceived the confessor, who was awaiting his orders as respectfully as a school-boy. “Ah, ah!” he said, noticing his submissive air, “you have been talking with the landlord.” “Yes, monseigneur; and to the physician.” “To Grisart?” “Yes.” “He is here, then?” “He is waiting with the potion he promised.” “Very well; if I require him, I will call; you now understand the great importance of my confession, do you not?” “Yes, monseigneur.” “Then go and fetch me the Spanish Cardinal Herrebia. Make haste. Only, as you now understand the matter in hand, you will remain near me, for I begin to feel faint.” “Shall I summon the physician?” “Not yet, not yet... the Spanish cardinal, no one else. Fly.”