Sacrilege

"You imply, then?"

Count Hannibal shrugged his shoulders, but had not answered when Bigot
entered and handed him his sweetmeat box; he paused to open it and select
a prune. He was long in selecting; but no change of countenance led any
of those at the table to suspect that inside the lid of the box was a
message--a scrap of paper informing him that Montsoreau had left fifty
spears in the suburb without the Saumur gate, besides those whom he had
brought openly into the town. Tavannes read the note slowly while he
seemed to be choosing his fruit. And then-"Imply?" he answered. "I imply nothing, M. de Montsoreau."

"But--"

"But that sometimes his Majesty finds it prudent to give orders which he
does not mean to be carried out. There are things which start up before
the eye," Tavannes continued, negligently tapping the box on the table,
"and there are things which do not; sometimes the latter are the more
important. You, better than I, M. de Montsoreau, know that the King in
the Gallery at the Louvre is one, and in his closet is another."

"Yes."

"And that being so--"

"You do not mean to carry the letters into effect?"

"Had I the letters, certainly, my friend. I should be bound by them. But
I took good care to lose them," Tavannes added naively. "I am no fool."

"Umph!"

"However," Count Hannibal continued, with an airy gesture, "that is my
affair. If you, M. de Montsoreau, feel inclined, in spite of the absence
of my letters, to carry yours into effect, by all means do so--after
midnight of to-day."