It was exactly—arguing from the reason—the thing that Rochefort might be expected to do. “But did you not consider that for the sake of keeping this confounded appointment you were risking everything—losing everything. _Mon Dieu_! it makes me shudder. Did you not think, my dear man, did you not think?” “Ah, think!” said the other, “a lot you would think were you in that position. Had he deputed any man for the business but Camus, it might have been different; but to be told, in effect, by Camus, a man I despise, that I was not to go to Paris, but to remain at Versailles, a prisoner of Choiseul’s, well, it was too much! No, I did not think. There is no use in saying to me what I ought to have done. I ought, of course, to have followed Camus like a lamb, faced Choiseul like a lion, and cleared the matter up. As it was, I showed the front of a lion to Camus and the tail of a fox to Choiseul. That was bad policy—but it was inevitable. It seems to me, Chartres, that the whole of this was like a play written by Fate for me to act in. Camus had been my friend. After I had rescued that girl, of whom I told you, from Choiseul’s ruffianly agent, Camus tried to assault her and I struck him in the face. That was Fate. He did not return the blow or seek a duel, he wanted revenge, and behold, when Choiseul put out his hand for someone to arrest me, whom should he employ but Camus—that also was Fate. The girl I served is the servant of the woman I spoke of, and the woman was the friend of Choiseul’s dearest enemy, the Comtesse Dubarry. That was Fate. To serve the woman I mixed myself up with the business of the Presentation, and so have given Choiseul an extra grudge against me. That was Fate. And stay—just before my row with Camus, he had imparted to me a plot which Choiseul was preparing against the Dubarry, a plot which I refused to mix myself with and the gist of which I disclosed to the Dubarry. There again was Fate.” “_Mon Dieu_!” said Chartres, “what a tangle you have got yourself into. But tell me this, does Choiseul know that you disclosed this plot of his to the Dubarry?” “He is sure to know. Camus is certain to have told him that he disclosed the business to me, and as I visited the Dubarry’s house that same night, and as I believe his agents were watching the house—there you are.” “You visited the house of the Dubarry the same night that Camus told you of the plot—why did you do such a foolish thing?” “Fate. I escorted the girl I had rescued home to see her safe—and what house did she bring me to but the house of the Dubarrys. I was giving her a kiss in the passage when Jean Dubarry appeared, he invited me in, I came, the woman I spoke of was there, and at the sight of her, knowing that she was the Countess’ friend, I flung in my part with the Dubarrys and told of the plot. I was not breaking a trust, I had made no promise of secrecy, the thing had disgusted me—and I told.”