“That is exactly what I was going to say, if your Eminence had let me finish my sentence.” “Meanwhile, do you know where the Duchesse de Chevreuse and the Duke of Buckingham are now concealed?” “No, monseigneur; my people could tell me nothing on that head.” “But I know.” “You, monseigneur?” “Yes; or at least I guess. They were, one in the Rue de Vaugirard, No. 25; the other in the Rue de la Harpe, No. 75.” “Does your Eminence command that they both be instantly arrested?” “It will be too late; they will be gone.” “But still, we can make sure that they are so.” “Take ten men of my Guardsmen, and search the two houses thoroughly.” “Instantly, monseigneur.” And Rochefort went hastily out of the apartment. The cardinal, being left alone, reflected for an instant and then rang the bell a third time. The same officer appeared. “Bring the prisoner in again,” said the cardinal. M. Bonacieux was introduced afresh, and upon a sign from the cardinal, the officer retired. “You have deceived me!” said the cardinal, sternly. “I,” cried Bonacieux, “I deceive your Eminence!” “Your wife, in going to Rue de Vaugirard and Rue de la Harpe, did not go to find linen drapers.” “Then why did she go, just God?” “She went to meet the Duchesse de Chevreuse and the Duke of Buckingham.” “Yes,” cried Bonacieux, recalling all his remembrances of the circumstances, “yes, that’s it. Your Eminence is right. I told my wife several times that it was surprising that linen drapers should live in such houses as those, in houses that had no signs; but she always laughed at me. Ah, monseigneur!” continued Bonacieux, throwing himself at his Eminence’s feet, “ah, how truly you are the cardinal, the great cardinal, the man of genius whom all the world reveres!” The cardinal, however contemptible might be the triumph gained over so vulgar a being as Bonacieux, did not the less enjoy it for an instant; then, almost immediately, as if a fresh thought has occurred, a smile played upon his lips, and he said, offering his hand to the mercer, “Rise, my friend, you are a worthy man.” “The cardinal has touched me with his hand! I have touched the hand of the great man!” cried Bonacieux. “The great man has called me his friend!” “Yes, my friend, yes,” said the cardinal, with that paternal tone which he sometimes knew how to assume, but which deceived none who knew him; “and as you have been unjustly suspected, well, you must be indemnified. Here, take this purse of a hundred pistoles, and pardon me.” “I pardon you, monseigneur!” said Bonacieux, hesitating to take the purse, fearing, doubtless, that this pretended gift was but a pleasantry. “But you are able to have me arrested, you are able to have me tortured, you are able to have me hanged; you are the master, and I could not have the least word to say. Pardon you, monseigneur! You cannot mean that!”