“And now, my dear fellow,” said Chartres, “tell me all about yourself, where have you been, what have you been doing, and what is this nonsense you are saying about hunting for M. de Choiseul.” “Well, as to what I have been doing, I can answer you simply that I have been in retirement in the country.” “Where?” “In the Castle of Vincennes.” “The Castle of Vincennes!” “Precisely. Sartines put me there to hide me from Choiseul. I would not tell you this only that I know you are entirely to be trusted. He did not want Choiseul to lay his hands on me, so he arrested me under another name, but with my consent, and popped me into Vincennes, where I have been for the last few days.” “Yes?” “Well, my dear Chartres, no sooner did I find myself in prison there than I found that I did not like it.” “I can understand that.” “And though Sartines had put me there for my own good—so he said—and to keep me from being imprisoned by Choiseul, it began to dawn on me that I had been a fool.” “Ah, that began to dawn on you.” “I said to myself, ‘Sartines is no doubt the best soul in the world, but the best souls are sometimes selfish.’ I said to myself, ‘Sartines has compromised himself in a way by playing this game with Choiseul, and hiding me from him.’ I said to myself, ‘Sartines, however kind he may be, is not the man to compromise himself by letting me out whilst Choiseul has any power in France.’ In fact, I felt that were I to remain passive, I would be saved from M. de Choiseul, but I would still be a prisoner, and that, perhaps, for years, so I determined to escape, to go straight to Choiseul and to tell him frankly the truth about the business for which he wished to apprehend me.” “I have heard that you killed a man,” said Chartres. “I did. And that man was one of Choiseul’s agents, but he was a ruffian who was molesting a girl, and whom I caught in the act. I followed him, he attacked me and I killed him in fair fight.” “Can the girl give evidence?” “Yes.” “Then why on earth, my dear fellow, did you resist arrest that night when M. Camus was deputed to arrest you? I had the whole story from Monpavon.” “I resisted arrest because I wanted to go to Paris to meet a woman who had given me an appointment.” The Vicomte de Chartres, who was five years older than Rochefort in time, and fifty in discretion, moved in his chair uneasily. He was fond of Rochefort, and nothing had surprised him more in the last few days than the Rochefort episode. The fact that Rochefort had killed a man was easily understandable, but that Rochefort had evaded arrest instead of facing the business was an action that he could not understand, simply because it was an action unlike Rochefort. Here had a man gone against his true nature and placed himself in the last position, that of a murderer flying from justice—for what reason? To keep an appointment with a woman. Unhappily the reason cleared everything up.