The Cardinal smiled.  He liked a man of spirit, though he might think him absurd.  The Chevalier resumed his restless pacing to and fro.

“It is impossible.”

But he seemed to utter the phrase with less decision this second time.  Wogan pressed his advantage at the expense of his modesty.

“Sir, will you allow me to tell you a story,—­a story of an impossible escape from Newgate in the heart of London by a man in fetters?  There were nine grenadiers with loaded muskets standing over him.  There were two courtyards to cross, two walls to climb, and beyond the walls the unfriendly streets.  The man hoodwinked his sentries, climbed his two walls, crossed the unfriendly streets, and took refuge in a cellar, where he was discovered.  From the cellar in broad daylight he fought his way to the roofs, and on the roofs he played such a game of hide-and-seek among the chimney-tops—­” Wogan broke off from his story with a clear thrill of laughter; it was a laugh of enjoyment at a pleasing recollection.  Then he suddenly flung himself down on his knee at the feet of his sovereign.  “Give me leave, your Majesty,” he cried passionately.  “Let me go upon this errand.  If I fail, if the scaffold’s dressed for me, why where’s the harm?  Your Majesty loses one servant out of his many.  Whereas, if I win—­” and he drew a long breath.  “Aye, and I shall win!  There’s the Princess, too, a prisoner.  Sir, she has ventured much.  I beg you give me leave.”

The Chevalier laid his hand gently upon Wogan’s shoulder, but he did not assent.  He looked again doubtfully to the Cardinal, who said with his pleasant smile, “I will wager Mr. Wogan a box at the Opera on the first night that he returns, that he will return empty-handed.”

Wogan rose to his feet and replied good-humouredly, “It’s a wager I take the more readily in that your Eminence cannot win, though you may lose.  For if I return empty-handed, upon my honour I’ll not return at all.”

The Cardinal condescended to laugh.  Mr. Wogan laughed too.  He had good reason, for here was his Eminence in a kindly temper and the Chevalier warming out of his melancholy.  And, indeed, while he was still laughing the Chevalier caught him by the arm as a friend might do, and in an outburst of confidence, very rare with him, he said, “I would that I could laugh so.  You and Whittington, I do envy you.  An honest laugh, there’s the purge for melancholy.  But I cannot compass it,” and he turned away.

“Sure, sir, you’ll put us all to shame when I bring her Royal Highness out of Innspruck.”

“Oh, that!” said the Chevalier, as though for the moment he had forgotten.  “It is impossible,” and the phrase was spoken now in an accent of hesitation.  Moreover, he sat down at a table, and drawing a sheet of paper written over with memoranda, he began to read aloud with a glance towards Wogan at the end of each sentence.

“The house stands in the faubourgs of Innspruck.  There is an avenue of trees in front of the house; on the opposite side of the avenue there is a tavern with the sign of ‘The White Chamois.’”