‘Admitted,’ he answered, in his thin, incisive voice. ‘You mentioned the fact before. On the other hand, you have taken six to my knowledge, M. de Berault. You have lived the life of a bully, a common bravo, a gamester. You, a man of family! For shame! Do you wonder that it has brought you to this! Yet on that one point I am willing to hear more,’ he added abruptly. ‘I might save your Eminence’s life again,’ I cried. It was a sudden inspiration. ‘You know something?’ he said quickly, fixing me with his eyes. ‘But no,’ he continued, shaking his head gently. ‘Pshaw! The trick is old. I have better spies than you, M. de Berault.’ ‘But no better sword,’ I cried hoarsely. ‘No, not in all your guard!’ ‘That is true,’ he said slowly. ‘That is true.’ To my surprise, he spoke in a tone of consideration; and he looked down at the floor. ‘Let me think, my friend,’ he continued. He walked two or three times up and down the room, while I stood trembling. I confess it, trembling. The man whose pulses danger has no power to quicken, is seldom proof against suspense; and the sudden hope his words awakened in me so shook me that his figure as he trod lightly to and fro with the cat rubbing against his robe and turning time for time with him, wavered before my eyes. I grasped the table to steady myself. I had not admitted even in my own mind how darkly the shadow of Montfaucon and the gallows had fallen across me. I had leisure to recover myself, for it was some time before he spoke. When he did, it was in a voice harsh, changed, imperative. ‘You have the reputation of a man faithful, at least, to his employer,’ he said. ‘Do not answer me. I say it is so. Well, I will trust you. I will give you one more chance--though it is a desperate one. Woe to you if you fail me! Do you know Cocheforet in Bearn? It is not far from Auch.’ ‘No, your Eminence.’ ‘Nor M. de Cocheforet?’ ‘No, your Eminence.’ ‘So much the better,’ he replied. ‘But you have heard of him. He has been engaged in every Gascon plot since the late King’s death, and gave more trouble last year in the Vivarais than any man twice his years. At present he is at Bosost in Spain, with other refugees, but I have learned that at frequent intervals he visits his wife at Cocheforet which is six leagues within the border. On one of these visits he must be arrested.’ ‘That should be easy,’ I said. The Cardinal looked at me. ‘Chut, man! what do you know about it?’ he answered bluntly. ‘It is whispered at Cocheforet if a soldier crosses the street at Auch. In the house are only two or three servants, but they have the countryside with them to a man, and they are a dangerous breed. A spark might kindle a fresh rising. The arrest, therefore, must be made secretly.’ I bowed.