our mouth water, Monsieur Alain."

"Speak; what do you want to do?"

"First send away your chemist and secretary."

"You still wish it?"----"Decidedly."

"Very well, then."

The regent signed to them to leave: they did so.

"And now," said he, "what is it?"

"I want to present to you, monseigneur, a young man, a very delightful
fellow, just arrived from Bretagne, and strongly recommended to me."

"His name?"

"The Chevalier Gaston de Chanlay."

"De Chanlay!" said the regent, "the name is not unknown to me."

"Indeed."

"Yes, I think I have heard it formerly; but I do not remember where or
how. What does your protege come to Paris for?"

"Monseigneur, I shall leave him to tell you that himself."

"Tell it to me."

"Yes; that is to say, to the Duc d'Olivares, whom you are about to
personate. Ah, my protege is a discreet conspirator, and I have had some
trouble to get at the truth of things. He was addressed to Paris, to a
certain La Jonquiere, who was to present him to the Duc d'Olivares. Do
you understand now?"

"Not at all."

"Well, I have been Captain la Jonquiere, but I cannot be both La
Jonquiere and his excellency."

"So, you reserve that part--"

"For you, monseigneur."

"Thank you. So you think that, under a false name, I will get at the
secrets--"

"Of your enemies, monseigneur," interrupted Dubois. "Pardieu! what a
dreadful crime, and how it would distress you, to change name and dress;
you have never before learned secrets by such means. But remember,
monseigneur, our many disguises, and after being called M. Alain and
Maitre Jean, you may well, I think, without anything derogatory to your
dignity, be called Le Duc d'Olivares."

"I ask no better than a disguise for amusement, but--"

"But a disguise," continued Dubois, "to preserve the peace of France, to
prevent traitors from overthrowing the kingdom, to prevent assassins
from murdering you--this, I suppose, is unworthy of you. I understand;
ah, if it were only in pursuit of some little ironmongress in the Pont
Neuf, or the pretty widow of the Rue Saint Augustine, it might be worth
your while."

"If I do what you wish," said the regent, "what will be the result?"

"Probably, that you will own that I am no visionary, and that you will
allow others to watch over you, since you will not watch over yourself."

"But, once for all, if the thing turns out not worth the trouble, shall
I be freed from your worrying?"

"I promise you