The door was still open, but that did not matter, for we gathered round the card table, which we pushed near the fireplace, and as we pretended to play, Marcilly, in a few rapid words, explained our plan. It was only, however, when we came to the point that the Princess was awaiting him at St. Loup that Condé spoke. “_Oui-da!_” he exclaimed. “I would ’twere La Limeuil.” Marcilly bit his lip, and I for one did not hesitate to show my feelings. The callous indifference displayed by the man we were about to risk so much for moved me for the moment to hot anger. I actually dared to curse him in my heart, I, who in a short time was to be guilty of a crime to which the Bourbon’s sins were white as snow. Condé, however, was quick to see the effect of his words. He laughed his merry laugh. “Ah!” he said, “I but jested, my friends. Once out of this”--and his eye flashed--“I will draw the sword openly, and, by God’s grace, France shall be free.” The matter passed off, and Marcilly went on, explaining his plan to the end. When he had finished, Condé, who had said no word since that untoward interruption of his, leaned back in his chair, tugging at his moustache. We had expected him to say something, but not a word did he utter, not even a phrase that was suggestive of thanks for the sacrifice that was being made; and at last it was with a voice that almost trembled with anger that I asked: “Monseigneur approves of the plan, I trust?” “It is impracticable,” he said shortly. “Come, let us go on with the cards.” We looked at one another in astonishment. “Does not Your Highness intend to make any effort?” I went on. “And how is this impracticable? We at least deserve to be told that.” He had picked up an ace of hearts, and was looking at it as I spoke. When I finished, he laid it down face upward on the table, and looked at us. “Messieurs,” he said gravely, “it is impracticable because, for such a plan to succeed, Louis of Bourbon must be base enough to buy his life at the expense of another’s--and--he has not yet come to that. Messieurs, if this were the only way, and I had to die ten times over, I would not take it. Let there be an end to this. Your very offer is an insult to me.” To say that we were thunderstruck is nothing. Here was an aspect of the case that had never presented itself to us. We looked at each other blankly, and as we looked the gong in the courtyard struck the half-hour after eleven. There are moments when a lie becomes almost sublime, and one of those moments had come. “Monseigneur,” said Marcilly, “you are under a misapprehension. My safety is assured in any case--it is pledged.” I turned to him; but the expression on his face stilled the inquiry on my lips, and I waited and wondered, while the Prince said dryly, with that touch of sarcasm in his words, from which he could never divest himself: “Indeed! By the King himself, perhaps?” “Monseigneur can judge for himself,” and Jean held out the signet of the King.