"No, sire," he replied; "I alighted at the Hotel de Madrid, in the Rue de Tournon."
"But you have seen him?"
"Sire, I went straight to M. le Comte de Blacas."
"But you will see him, then?"
"I think not, sire."
"Ah, I forgot," said Louis, smiling in a manner which proved that all these questions were not made without a motive; "I forgot you and M. Noirtier are not on the best terms possible, and that is another sacrifice made to the royal cause, and for which you should be recompensed."
"Sire, the kindness your majesty deigns to evince toward me is a recompense which so far surpasses my utmost ambition that I have nothing more to request."
"Never mind, sir, we will not forget you; make your mind easy. In the mean while" (the king here detached the cross of the Legion of Honor he usually wore over his blue coat, near the cross of St. Louis, above the order of Notre-du-Mont-Carmel and St. Lazare, and gave it to Villefort) — "in the mean while, take this cross."
"Sire," said Villefort," your majesty mistakes; this cross is that of an officer."
"Ma foi!" said Louis XVIII., "take it, such as it is, for I have not the time to procure you another. Blacas, let it be your care to see that the brevet is made out and sent to M. de Villefort."
Villefort's eyes were filled with tears of joy and pride; he took the cross and kissed it.
"And now," he said, "may I inquire what are the orders with which your majesty deigns to honor me?"
"Take what rest you require, and remember that, unable to serve me here in Paris, you may be of the greatest service to me at Marseilles."
"Sire," replied Villefort, bowing, "in an hour I shall have quitted Paris."
"Go, sir," said the king; "and should I forget you (kings' memories are short), do not be afraid to bring yourself to my recollection. M. le Baron, send for the minister of war. Blacas, remain."
"Ah, sir," said the minister of police to Villefort, as they left the Tuileries, "you enter by the right door — your fortune is made."
"Will it be long first?" muttered Villefort, saluting the minister, whose career was ended, and looking about him for a hackney-coach. One passed at the moment, which he hailed: he gave his address to the driver, and, springing in, threw himself on the seat and gave loose to dreams of ambition.
