"Our second Father on Earth," murmured the Abbé, his fat face creasing into an unctuous smile, "our second Father on Earth. What a good man he is! Our Father in Heaven will surely reward him." But Roger was watching the Count, and saw at once that he had swallowed the bait.
Taking a fat bejewelled watch from his fob, he glanced at it and said to the Abbé: "It would ill become me to delay in obeying the summons of our Preserver. I can be packed by ten o'clock; and if I leave soon after shall reach Wurzburg in time to lie there tonight on my way up to Hanover. Should I then be lucky in catching a ship about to sail from one of the ports, I'll be in England in little more than a week. Seeing the nature of the business I am going upon, I feel confident that His Royal Highness will pardon me for not having lingered to kiss his hand. Be kind enough, Abbé, to explain and make my devoirs for me."
"Gladly, my son." The Abbé raised a hand in blessing. "May God be with you in this worthy undertaking."
As Roger watched Montgalliard bow, flash a swift smile at them, then stride from the room, he thought how fortunate it was that the Count, like himself, was no man to let the grass grow under his feet. True, his making for Hamburg or Bremen showed that, despite his long experience as a secret agent, he preferred to lose three or four days rather than take the risk of travelling through enemy-held territory. But Roger was concerned only to get rid of him, and for that, clearly, nothing could have served better than leading him to believe that he had sniffed British gold.
For some ten minutes the Abbé and Roger talked about the war, then the black-clad groom-of-the-chambers appeared to announce that a tray had been set for Roger in the small library. The Abbé said that after his meal he would no doubt like to rest, and that he would have him called as soon as His Royal Highness got back from the chase; so with the usual expression of politeness they took temporary leave of one another.
As Roger sat down to a belated breakfast of cold roebuck and a half bottle of Moselle, he said to the servant: "When I have eaten I shall go to my room. Have ready, for me there a hip-bath and plenty of hot water; also a valet to take and brush my clothes. Be diligent in this, for as I think you saw a while back I am not accustomed to being kept waiting."
He would never normally have used such a tone in a house where he was a guest, but having been given only cold meat and a half bottle of wine riled him; and as Britain was paying the bills for the household he was in no mind to be treated as a person of no consequence by its servants.
In due course the man took him up to a small, chill room in the old part of the castle, but apologized for that, remarking that it was the best of the few remaining unoccupied; and as all Roger's other wishes had been attended to he accepted this new concern for his welfare graciously.
After bathing and shaving the ball of his chin, he lay down on the bed. It was the first time for four days that he had been able to do more than doze while subjected to a rocking or jolting motion; so almost instantly he fell asleep.
Some three hours later the valet woke him, helped him to dress, then led him down to a pair of double doors giving on to the first of a suite of large lofty rooms, and there handed him over to the Abbé Chenier. The first room was an ante-chamber, the second a big salon in which a score or more ladies and gentlemen were conversing. Nodding his way ingratiatingly through them, the grossly fat priest piloted Roger to the big doors at the end of the room, and, opening one just widely enough to squeeze through, drew him into a spacious bedroom.
The Prince had evidently been changing in it after the hunt, and was now holding his petit levee. He was still only in silk stockings, breeches and shirt, while his buckled shoes, flowered waistcoat, and coat were being held by three of a small semi-circle of noblemen who stood deferentially by.
Roger remembered seeing him several times at Versailles, and thought that six years had not changed him much, except to emphasize still further his protuberant blue eyes, sloping forehead and fleshy, hooked nose, which were such marked features in all the Bourbon Princes.
On catching sight of him the Prince at once beckoned him forward and, with a toothy smile, extended his right hand. Roger duly kissed it and presented the letter from Lord Grenville. Throwing it unopened on the bed de Condé exclaimed:
"Twill be time enough for us to attend to business when we have dined! The Abbé Chenier tells me that you have brought us excellent news. That dear Mr. Pitt is already thinking of our winter comfort Such tidings are introduction enough. You have no idea, Chevalier, how we suffered last winter. The river frozen, the horses dying in the stables, and ourselves with not enough cheese in the larder to tempt a hungry mouse. You are welcome, most welcome. After France your generous nation will ever be nearest to my heart."
As Roger murmured his thanks and bowed himself away, he wondered a little uneasily if Mr. Pitt would, in due course, furnish the funds he had invented to get rid of Montgalliard. He was inclined to hope so, as one could not but pity these people, all of whom had been born to riches and since been robbed of everything; yet their evident petty jealousy, as they each endeavoured to draw the Prince's attention to themselves, and preoccupation with the necessities of an outmoded etiquette made him secretly despise them.
Of the latter he was to have further evidence when they went down to dinner. Had he arrived at the Court of Russia, the old Empress Catherine, for all her vast dominions, would have had him sit next to her; so that she might the sooner hear the latest news out of England. So, too, in his day would have the late Gustavus of Sweden, the Stadtholder of Holland and even Queen Caroline of Naples; but the Bourbon Princes in exile still considered that it would be demeaning themselves to have any but the bearers of ancient names near them at table. Roger found himself placed near its bottom, between another Abbé and a nephew of the Marquis de Bouille. Both were pleasant men and the Abbé talked interestingly on the ways in which the Revolution had affected the numerous independent Prince-Bishoprics that peppered the Rhineland, but Roger was glad when the meal was over.
Soon afterwards the Abbé Chenier drew Roger aside and introduced him into the Prince's cabinet. De Cond6 was already there and had just opened Grenville's letter. It would have been contrary to etiquette for him to invite them to sit down; so looking up at Roger, he said:
"This expresses only his lordship's willingness to serve us, and states that you will convey Mr. Pitt's views to us on certain matters. Fire away then, and let us hear everything with which that most excellent of Ministers has charged you.
Roger at once launched into the subject of Pichegru, but after a moment the Prince cut him short by exclaiming to the Abbé: "Ah, how unfortunate that de Montgalliard has already left! He knew far more of the ins and outs of this business than anyone else; and I am at a loss to see how we are to reopen negotiations with this traitor General without him.''
"My instructions are," said Roger quietly; "that, subject to your Royal Highness's permission, I should now take over the negotiations with General Pichegru myself."
De Condé gave a slight shrug. "Since that is your Prime Minister's wish, by all means do so. Are you acquainted with the fellow?"
"No, Monseigneur. But that is of little importance, provided that you will make quite clear to me your intentions towards him. May I ear from your own lips the price you are prepared to pay him tor marching his army on Paris and restoring the monarchy?"
The lavish list of rewards that Roger had had from Mr. Pitt was promptly reeled off by the Prince, who added with an ugly chuckle: "In the Chateau of Chambord there is an excellent oubliette. I hope he falls down it when drunk one night, and breaks his dirty neck."