Tapin took the thirty louis. "You know the situation of the pavilion, do you not?" "Perfectly." "Where is it?" "One side looks on the second courtyard; the other on a deserted lane." "Place men in the courtyard and in the lane, disguised as stablemen, or how you please; let no one enter the pavilion but monseigneur and myself; the life of his royal highness is at stake." "Rest easy, monseigneur." "Do you know our Breton?" "I saw him dismount." "Do your men know him?" "They all saw him on the road." "Well, I recommend him to you." "Shall we arrest him?" "Certainly not; he must be allowed to go where he pleases, and act as he pleases, and he must have every opportunity to do so. If he were arrested now, he would tell nothing, and our plans would be disconcerted; no, no, these plans must hatch." "Hatch what, monseigneur?" said Tapin, who appeared to be on confidential terms with Dubois. "My archbishop's miter, M. Lecocq," said Dubois, "and now to your work; I go to mine." Both left the room and descended the staircase, but separated at the door; Lecocq went along the Rue de Paris; and Dubois, slipping along by the wall, went to peep through the hole in the shutter. CHAPTER VIII. THE UTILITY OF A SEAL. Gaston had just supped; for at his age, whether a man be in despair or in love, nature asserts her rights. He was leaning on the table thoughtfully. The lamp threw a light over his face, and enabled Dubois to gratify his curiosity. He looked at him with an attention almost alarming: his quick eye darted--his lip curled with a smile, which gave one the idea of a demon smiling at the sight of one of those victims who seem to have vowed their own perdition. While looking, he murmured, "Young, handsome, black eyes, proud lips--he is a Breton, he is not corrupted, like the conspirators of Cellamare, by the soft glances of the ladies at court;--then the other spoke of carrying off, dethroning, but this one--_diable_, this one; and yet," continued he, after a pause, "I look in vain for traces of cunning on that open brow. I see no Machiavelism in the corners of that mouth, so full of loyalty and honor; yet no doubt all is arranged to surprise the regent on his visit to this Clisson demoiselle. Who will say again that Bretons have dull brains?