And now I spoke, fencing with the thing that was to be. “I understand, monsieur, that the Chancellor and the Cardinal were to have been present.” “Things have changed, Monsieur de Vibrac.” It was Guise who answered me, not Achon. “The Chancellor will not be here, and as for my brother of Lorraine--well, I stand in his place.” I bowed. “And monsieur!” I looked at Richelieu. “Remains,” said Guise briefly; “proceed.” I knew I had that to tell which would give me the revenge for which I thirsted; but the words would not come. Something held me back, perhaps the last feeble effort of my good angel. It still fought within me, though the battle was lost; yet for a moment it seemed that it might prevail. “Monseigneur!” I said, “it was arranged that the Bishop of Arles was to make certain statements which I was to corroborate if I could--nothing more!” The words seemed to give me relief. I had spoken of this to Marcilly. There was no betrayal here. “That is so,” said Achon, “and it is as well that Richelieu remains to bear witness to what passes, especially as your friend Ponthieu has escaped, and my fools bungled over the letter we wanted,” and then, without more ado, he detailed briefly what we know, confining himself exactly to the facts, but skilfully bringing them home against Condé. When he had done, Guise turned to me. “You bear witness to this as correct?” “Monseigneur.” “You have heard this, Monsieur de Richelieu?” “I have, your Highness.” Something in the Carabinier’s voice made me glance at him; but his face was like stone. There was a little silence, and then the duke said: “He is a lost man--nothing can save Condé now.” And Achon laughed long and low to himself. What ran in his mind, what fancy moved him to a joy that chilled us, I know not; but the high chapel wall echoed back the mirthless chuckle, as though some fiend flitting above us shared in his secret thoughts, and rejoiced in his fearful gladness. We looked at him in astonishment and amaze, but at last he put his thin hand to his breast as if to stay himself as he asked me: “And have you nothing else to say, de Vibrac?” “Is more wanted?” It was the Guise who spoke, with a touch of impatience. “Ay! There is more, monseigneur,” and Achon again turned to me. “Do you remember, de Vibrac, that I told you before you had trouble there?” And his hand rested again over my heart as it had done for a moment at Larçon, and dropped on the instant as he continued: “Here is the clew that led me to read you. Here are the letters I promised you. Take them--but you have more to say, Vibrac. Am I not right?” What hideous prescience possessed this man! My thoughts came thick and fast upon me, and, as I thought, his eyes seemed to read into my very brain. I tried to steady myself. “You know I have more to say,” I said. “Are you a sorcerer?”