“De Bresy sticks in my mind,” I answered. “He never leaves us. I begin to fear he more than suspects.” “We have provided for that in part. While you were away we arranged that the Prince should pretend to be suffering from a chill, and keep his bed.” “Yes.” “Well, I will go in and see him, and as I take the Prince’s place you and Vaux must settle with de Bresy. Vaux knows his part, and you must not fail.” “A man will not cry out if a dagger at his throat commands silence,” I answered; “he will be killed at the first sound he utters.” “Not that if you can help it, Vibrac.” “That is de Bresy’s affair,” I replied, and with these words we came to the gate of the house in the Rue Parisis. The same formalities in regard to our entrance were observed as before, and leaving the horses outside with the Swiss, we walked into the courtyard, where de Bresy met us. “That was an unlucky match at tennis,” he said, as he greeted us; “the Prince has taken a chill and keeps his bed.” Our faces showed nothing but the utmost concern. “He is not bad, I trust?” asked Marcilly, adding, “have you seen him?” “Oh, yes! ’Tis but a chill that will pass off in a few days, unless----” and he hesitated. “Let us not speak of it, de Bresy; we know what you mean,” and the archer swore under his breath, muttering something as we entered the corridor, followed even here by the fog, which filled the galleries and rooms of the prison with its blue, semi-opaque vapor. “I never remember such a fog in Orleans,” said Marcilly, and almost at the same time I spoke myself: “How went the match, de Bresy? You remember our wager?” “You lost by a stroke; but we are to play another match; would you care to make it double or quits?” “Take him, Gaspard,” laughed Marcilly; “double or quits on the next match we play. You will lose, de Bresy.” “I take the wager,” I smiled, catching the hidden meaning in Jean’s words, and we found ourselves on the landing before the Prince’s apartments, the door of which was, however, closed. The subaltern officer was on guard there, and de Bresy addressed him. “How is the Prince, Comminges?” “Vaux tells me he sleeps, but that if these gentlemen came they were to be admitted, as the Prince desired to see them.” “We can wait in quiet in the ante-room,” said Marcilly in a low voice, and then de Bresy led us in. Vaux, the Prince’s page, was alone in the room, building a house of cards at the table. He looked up as we entered, put his finger to his lips, and whispered: “He sleeps still.” “Does any one watch by him?” asked Marcilly. “No,” replied Vaux; “but shall I arouse Monseigneur? He desires much to speak with you.” “Better that he slept. I shall, however, go in and sit by the bedside until he awakes. I will not disturb him in the least.” So saying, Marcilly gently pushed open the door leading into the bedroom and passed within.