The Cardinal's Musketeer by Mary Imlay Taylor

PÉRON'S captors rode about three leagues beyond Amiens, on the road to Beauvais, before they halted and loosed his bonds a trifle, that he might lie more easily in the litter, while his two guards rode at the sides of it, watching it too closely for any chance of rescue or escape. Meanwhile, he lay quite still, endeavoring to collect his thoughts and prepare himself to meet his possible fate. The thought that a mistake might have been made did not enter his mind; he was positive that these men had either followed him from Brussels or lain in wait for his return. What they intended to do with him he could only conjecture; what they wanted of him was sufficiently clear. That they did not purpose to treat him with cruelty seemed apparent by the loosening of his most uncomfortable bonds, which were relaxed more than they intended, for after some industrious efforts, Péron succeeded in freeing his left hand, and immediately took the silver ball, containing the cardinal's message, from his bosom and held it ready to put into his mouth. He had no hope of being able to defend himself or his charge, but he could at least follow Père Matthieu's directions. He knew that they had not searched him because that was impracticable in the darkness, and they had not dared to do it at the inn at Amiens; but he had no doubt that the search would be thorough when daylight came.

Meanwhile they believed him secure and were content to let that operation await their leisure. He now devoted himself to endeavoring to liberate his other hand or his feet, but here he was destined to disappointment; they had done their work well, and even with one arm partially free he could not succeed in breaking another bond or reaching another knot, and he was without a knife to cut the thongs. Weary at last with his exertions, he resigned himself to his fate, and waited quietly but watchfully for the moment when he must hold the cardinal's pellet in his mouth. His reflections during the hours that ensued were of the gloomiest, yet he had no reason to blame himself, for no man could have foreseen the strange artifice which had ensnared him. Nevertheless he cursed the advice of Paschal Luce which had led him to the Rose Couronnée, however innocently it had been given. The more he dwelt upon his situation, the less possibility there seemed of escape, and he could only hope to defeat their purpose and keep the secret missive from them.