“Oh, madame,” replied de Sartines, with a laugh, “I would never dream of imposing such a task upon the most beautiful lips in the world. I only ask you now to work with me, for this immediate end.” “And what can I do?” “Carry on all your preparations for to-morrow night. Monsieur Rochefort has explained to me the plot for the stealing of the carriage, the dress and the coiffeur. Let the Vicomte attend to the carriage, let Mademoiselle Fontrailles supply you with her dress, and let your most trusted servant fetch the coiffeur that Monsieur Rochefort knows of.” “I will fetch him myself,” said Rochefort. “No, Rochefort,” said de Sartines, “I have need of you for something else. May I put my reliance on your obedience in this crisis?” “Implicitly, Sartines,” replied the Comte. “Call upon me for what you will. _Mordieu_! I have fought many a duel, but never has a fight stirred my blood like this. I will act any part or dress for any part except the part of spectator.” “I will find enough for you to do, and now I must be going. It is after three o’clock, and if you will take a seat in my carriage, I will give you a lift on your way home, and explain what I want.” “And I will see you again, monsieur?” said the Comtesse, addressing the Minister of Police. “Not till after the presentation, Madame, when I hope to have the honour of kissing your hand. You understand, I have nothing to do with this affair. You must even abuse me to your friends, who are absolutely sure to be in communication with your enemies. And now, if I were you, I would send for your physician to attend to Madame de Béarn’s leg.” He bade his adieux. Rochefort, having scribbled the name of the coiffeur on a piece of paper supplied by Jean, gazed into the eyes of Mademoiselle Fontrailles, as he lifted his lips from her hand. He fancied that her glance told him all that he wished, and more than he had hoped. In the hall Sartines enveloped himself in a black cloak, put on a broad-brimmed hat, and, followed by Rochefort, entered the carriage that was waiting in the courtyard. It was a carriage, perfectly plain, without adornment, such as the Minister used when wishing to mask his movements. “You did not come in your own carriage, then?” said Rochefort, as they drove away. “Oh, dear, no,” said Sartines. “My carriage is still waiting at Choiseul’s. I slipped away, having already sent an agent for this plain carriage to meet me at the third lamp-post on the right, as you go up the Rue St. Honoré from the Rue du Faubourg.” “You had an agent in attendance, then?” “My dear Rochefort, three of Choiseul’s servants are my agents, and it was from one of them that I learned of this precious plot about the basket of flowers. You live in the Rue de Longueville!” “Ah, you know my new address!” said Rochefort, laughing.