4 King Louis IX (born 1214, reigned 1226–70), who led two crusades, one to Egypt, where he was captured and ransomed, the other to Tunis, where he died of the plague; he was canonized in 1296. The Bourbons often referred to themselves as the "sons of Saint Louis."
Chapter Thirteen: A Conspiracy
"Oh yes!" he told himself, laughing like Mephistopheles, "but I'm smarter than they are; I've chosen this century's uniform." He felt a surge, both in his ambition, and in his affection for ecclesiastical garb. "How many cardinals were born even lower than me, and have risen to authority! My countryman, Granvelle,5 for example." Gradually, Julien grew calmer; caution came floating to the surface. He recited to himself the words of his model and master, that great hypocrite, Molière's Tartuffe: "I could believe these words, a decent trick... I won't trust anything that seems so sweet, Except a taste of her, and then I'll sigh, Knowing she told the truth, and I have proof." "Tartuffe was ruined by a woman, too,6 and he was as good as anyone else...Other eyes may see my reply...for which there will be the following remedy," he said slowly, and with controlled ferocity: "We'll begin with the choicest phrases from the sublime Mathilde's own letter. "Yes, but suppose four of Monsieur de Croisenois's servants throw themselves at me and snatch away the original." "No, because I am well armed, and I've been known, as they say, to shoot at servants." "So! One of them is brave; he jumps at me. He's been promised two thousand francs. I kill him, or perhaps I wound him—wonderful: it's just what they want. They throw me into prison, all very legally. And then I appear in court, and the judges sentence me, with vast justice and infinite equity, to live at the penitentiary at Poissy with Messieurs Fontan and Magalon.7 I lie down at night, there, with four hundred beggars, everybody on top of everybody else...And I show pity to these people!" he exclaimed to himself, standing bolt upright. "And do they show it to the members of the Fourth Estate, the common people, when they've got them where they want them?" This was the last breath of his gratitude for Monsieur de La Mole, for in spite of himself that had been, till then, tormenting him. "Gently, dear gentlemen: I understand this minor aspect of Machiavellianism. Neither Father Maslon nor Monsieur Castaneda at the seminary could have done it better. Take this provocative letter away from me—and, like Colonel Caron,8 at Colmar, I'll stroll to the firing squad. "One moment, gentlemen: I plan to send the fatal letter to be deposited, well hidden, by Father Pirard. He's a very decent man, a Jansenist, and as a Jansenist immune to fiscal temptation. Yes, but he opens letters. .. so I'll send them to Fouqué." I concede that Julien's expression was ghastly, his face truly hideous. He fairly breathed of unadulterated criminality. He was a miserable man at war with all of society. "To arms!" Julien exclaimed to himself. Then he went out the front door, leaped down the steps, and went straight to the copyist stall at the corner. The man was frightened by his appearance. "Copy it," he said, giving him Mademoiselle de La Mole's letter. While the man did his work, Julien himself wrote to Fouqué; he begged him to take care of this precious deposit. "But no," he said to himself, breaking off. "The secret police at the