Grimaud, however, did not even smile. He approached La Ramee and showing him the crawfish hung up by the thread:
"Cardinal," he said.
"Hung by order of his Highness the Duc de Beaufort!" cried the prisoner, laughing violently, "and by Master Jacques Chrysostom La Ramee, the king's commissioner."
La Ramee uttered a cry of horror and rushed toward the gibbet, which he broke at once and threw the pieces out of the window. He was going to throw the crawfish out also, when Grimaud snatched it from his hands.
"Good to eat!" he said, and put it in his pocket.
This scene so enchanted the duke that at the moment he forgave Grimaud for his part in it; but on reflection he hated him more and more, being convinced he had some evil motive for his conduct.
But the story of the crab made a great noise through the interior of the donjon and even outside. Monsieur de Chavigny, who at heart detested the cardinal, took pains to tell the story to two or three friends, who put it into immediate circulation.
The prisoner happened to remark among the guards one man with a very good countenance; and he favored this man the more as Grimaud became the more and more odious to him. One morning he took this man on one side and had succeeded in speaking to him, when Grimaud entered and seeing what was going on approached the duke respectfully, but took the guard by the arm.
"Go away," he said.
The guard obeyed.
"You are insupportable!" cried the duke; "I shall beat you."
Grimaud bowed.
"I will break every bone in your body!" cried the duke.
Grimaud bowed, but stepped back.
"Mr. Spy," cried the duke, more and more enraged, "I will strangle you with my own hands."
And he extended his hands toward Grimaud, who merely thrust the guard out and shut the door behind him. At the same time he felt the duke's arms on his shoulders like two iron claws; but instead either of calling out or defending himself, he placed his forefinger on his lips and said in a low tone:
"Hush!" smiling as he uttered the word.
A gesture, a smile and a word from Grimaud, all at once, were so unusual that his highness stopped short, astounded.
Grimaud took advantage of that instant to draw from his vest a charming little note with an aristocratic seal, and presented it to the duke without a word.
The duke, more and more bewildered, let Grimaud loose and took the note.
"From Madame de Montbazon?" he cried.
Grimaud nodded assent.
The duke tore open the note, passed his hands over his eyes, for he was dazzled and confused, and read:
"My Dear Duke, -- You may entirely confide in the brave lad who will give you this note; he has consented to enter the service of your keeper and to shut himself up at Vincennes with you, in order to prepare and assist your escape, which we are contriving. The moment of your deliverance is at hand; have patience and courage and remember that in spite of time and absence all your friends continue to cherish for you the sentiments they have so long professed and truly entertained.
"Yours wholly and most affectionately "Marie de Montbazon.
"P.S. -- I sign my full name, for I should be vain if I could suppose that after five years of absence you would remember my initials."
The poor duke became perfectly giddy. What for five years he had been wanting -- a faithful servant, a friend, a helping hand -- seemed to have fallen from Heaven just when he expected it the least.
"Oh, dearest Marie! she thinks of me, then, after five years of separation! Heavens! there is constancy!" Then turning to Grimaud, he said:
"And thou, my brave fellow, thou consentest thus to aid me?"
Grimaud signified his assent.
"And you have come here with that purpose?"
Grimaud repeated the sign.
"And I was ready to strangle you!" cried the duke.
Grimaud smiled.
"Wait, then," said the duke, fumbling in his pocket. "Wait," he continued, renewing his fruitless search; "it shall not be said that such devotion to a grandson of Henry IV. went without recompense."
The duke's endeavors evinced the best intention in the world, but one of the precautions taken at Vincennes was that of allowing prisoners to keep no money. Whereupon Grimaud, observing the duke's disappointment, drew from his pocket a purse filled with gold and handed it to him.
"Here is what you are looking for," he said.
The duke opened the purse and wanted to empty it into Grimaud's hands, but Grimaud shook his head.
"Thank you, monseigneur," he said, drawing back; "I am paid."
The duke went from one surprise to another. He held out his hand. Grimaud drew near and kissed it respectfully. The grand manner of Athos had left its mark on Grimaud.
"What shall we do? and when? and how proceed?"
"It is now eleven," answered Grimaud. "Let my lord at two o'clock ask leave to make up a game at tennis with La Ramee and let him send two or three balls over the ramparts."
"And then?"
"Your highness will approach the walls and call out to a man who works in the moat to send them back again."
"I understand," said the duke.
Grimaud made a sign that he was going away.
"Ah!" cried the duke, "will you not accept any money from me?"
"I wish my lord would make me one promise."
"What! speak!"
"'Tis this: when we escape together, that I shall go everywhere and be always first; for if my lord should be overtaken and caught, there's every chance of his being brought back to prison, whereas if I am caught the least that can befall me is to be -- hung."
"True, on my honor as a gentleman it shall be as thou dost suggest."
"Now," resumed Grimaud, "I've only one thing more to ask -- that your highness will continue to detest me."
"I'll try," said the duke.
