I
 
 t
 
 Lane' s Un ifo rm Edition 
 
 RICHELIEU. 
 
 jS tal 
 
 E OF FRANCE 
 
 ♦^ ^- 
 
 BY 
 
 G. P. R. JAMES, ESQ. 
 
 [N TWO VOLUMES. 
 
 VOL. I. 
 
 SANDBORNTON, N. H. 
 SHED BY CHARLES LAJNE 
 
 1841.
 
 Ster^ 
 
 S 
 
 73^
 
 PREFACE 
 
 Dearly beloved Reader, 
 
 Although I call the ibllowing pages mine, and 
 upon ihe strength of them write myself author, yet 
 1 must in truth confess, that 1 have very little to do 
 with them, and still less to do with the story they 
 record ; and therefore 1 am fain to Ueat the world 
 with something of my own exclusive composition, in 
 the shape of a preface. The facts of the case are 
 as follow : I one day possessed myself of a bundle 
 of manuscript notes — no matter when or how, so 
 that they were honestly come by, for that is all that 
 yo\i, or 1, or Sir Richard Birnie,have to do with the 
 matter. Now I say they were honestly come by, 
 and the onus probandi must rest upon the other 
 party. So no more of that. 
 
 My dear Mr. Colburn, where was 1 ? I quite for- 
 get — Oh, now 1 have it! Having one day possessed 
 myself of a bundle of manuscript notes, — honestly 
 come by, — I proceeiled to read them, and alihough 
 the hand was small and crooked, with all the ^''s 
 shaped like Laocoons, and every g like a pair of 
 spectacles, yet there was souiething in the tale there 
 written that made me read it through before I rose 
 off my chair, although 1 did not then know, what I 
 have since discovered, that every word of it was 
 true. JNow this is an advantage which you, my dear 
 reader, have over me in perusing this history for the 

 
 4 prefacp:. 
 
 first time ; for unquestionably even upon my pure 
 ipse dixit, yon will believe that the whole of the two 
 volumes which follow, is neither more or less than 
 a plain and simple narration of facts. ISeve^lheless, 
 in case there should be in the world any person so 
 skeptical as to doubt the assertion, even of a novel- 
 ist, I will refer my reader to the well-known authori- 
 ties of the day, and merely observe, that though 
 there may be some discrepancy in ilie dates, and 
 some difference in the names, yet every individual 
 circumstance recorded in these pages will be found 
 to be collaterally verified by contemporary writers 
 of good repute, who, however, did not know so much 
 of the detail of the events in question as are disclos- 
 ed in the old manuscript alluded to, nor were they, 
 like the wYiter of that document, acquainted with 
 the real causes of those movements which shook 
 the whole of France, and which, originating in the 
 heart of the court, could only be detected by one 
 who was himself a resident there. To you, my dear 
 reader, whose confidence in my word I know to be 
 as unbounded as the conscience of a tailor, or the 
 st< mach of an alderman, I have only to remark, that 
 the hero of my tale is by no means of fabulous per- 
 son. 
 
 My story opens with the latter years of-the reign 
 of Louis XII i. King of France — a period memorable 
 in English annals from the civil wars which then 
 raged between Charles I. and his rebellious parlia- 
 ment, and no less memorable in. the history of 
 France, as the most terrific portion of Fiichelieu's 
 bloody domination. 
 
 At the death of Henry IV. the regency of the king- 
 dom during his son's minority was seized upon by 
 Mary de Medicis, a woman of considerable talent 
 and of vast ambition, whose primary object seems 
 to have been so to secure the sovereign power to 
 herself, that Louis during her life should remain in 
 a state of tutelage. 
 
 In such projects, but still more in her obstinate 
 partiality for the celebrated Marechal d'Ancre and
 
 PREFACE. 5 
 
 his wife, originated a thousand factions and civil 
 wars, wliich kept the country in a continual state of 
 tumult during the king's minority. These factions, 
 and liiG circumstances which they engendered, 
 necessarily gave rise to various rapid changes in the 
 queen's ministry, and amid these, for the .first time, 
 appeared on the political stage Richelieu, then Bis- 
 hop of Lucon. His prospects yet doubtful^ and his 
 ambition still in its infancy, Richelieu made mild- 
 ness and courtesy his first steps towards pre-emi- 
 nence. He contented himself with an inferior sta- 
 tion in the council : his urbanity and his talents 
 proved equally agreeable and useful; and no one 
 beheld in the calm and polished Bishop of Lu9on, 
 and projnise of the aspiring and remorseless Cardi- 
 nal de Richelieu. 
 
 A circumstance, however, occurred almost in the 
 outset of his career, which had nearly thrown him 
 for ever from the destined scene of his aggrandize- 
 ment. This was the fall of the Marechal d'Ancre, 
 and the arrest of the queen-mother. 
 
 On the marriage of Louis Xlil., the jealous eye 
 of ftJary de Medicis soon perceived her son's first 
 affection towards his young wife, and, fearful of an 
 influence which might spring up to counteract her 
 own. she found means to destroy, without remorse, 
 the domestic happiness of her child, in order to 
 secure her own dominion over him. But while she 
 fomented every disagreement between Louis and 
 his wife, and watched the least symptom of reviving 
 affection vviih the suspicious anxiety of uncertain 
 power, she blindly suffered near his person of fa- 
 vourite who combined with the genius to form great 
 designs, the most consummate art to conceal them. 
 Monsieur de Luynes, it appears, from the first 
 moment of his intimacy with the king, projected his 
 master's deliverance from the tyranny of Mary de 
 Medicis ; but lest he should be suspected of such 
 designs, he hid them beneath the mask of levity and 
 thoughtlessness. It would be little appropriate here 
 to enter more largely into the details of these pro-
 
 6 , PREFACE. 
 
 ceedingg. Suffice it that in the end the queen's fa- 
 vourite was shot as he entered tlie palace of the 
 Lauvre, and she herself was instantly arres'ed and 
 exiled to Blois. Among others of her council who 
 shared in the fall of the queen, was Richelieu, and 
 for some time he remained in exile at Avignon. 
 
 The queen's party, however, was still strong in 
 France ; and in her misfortunes, the factions and 
 discontented, who had formerly opposed her mea- 
 sures merely because she held the reins of govern- 
 ment, now supported her against the hand to which 
 those reins had been transferred. A civil war seem- 
 ed inevitable, and in order to avert such an event, 
 the king's advisers found themselves obliged to ne- 
 gotiate with the princess whom they had disposses- 
 sed 5 but Mary rejected all intercession, and it was 
 not till the return of Richelieu that any compromise 
 could be effected. That minister, however, with 
 the deep diplomatic skill for which he was con- 
 spicuous, instantly availed himself of the weak point 
 in the character of his mistress, and through the 
 medium of her confessor won her to his purpose. A 
 reconciliation was now speedily effected between 
 Mary and her son, and Richelieu having become 
 the friend of the one and the confidant of the other, 
 saw himself placed more surely than ever in the 
 road to political eminence. Alnny circumstances 
 combined to accelerate his progress. The death 
 of the Duke de Luynes. the religious wars still rag- 
 ing in the heart of the kingdom, and the renewed 
 differences between the king and his mother, — all 
 gave the rising minister the means of increasing his 
 power, and the opportunity of displaying the vast 
 energies of his extraordinary mind. All was sub- 
 dued before him; the queen-mother exiled, the 
 Protestants were crushed, and the king himself be- 
 came the slave of Richelieu. 
 
 But power so acquired was only to be maintained 
 at the expense of much blood. Conspiracy after 
 conspiracy was formed to cast off his dominion, and 
 more than one insurrection burst forth in opposition
 
 PREFACE. 7 
 
 to his tyranny ; but each in turn was overthrown, 
 and the blood of the conspirators only served to 
 cement the fabric of liis greatness — usurped power 
 must till have some object for suspicion, and after 
 having quelled all his more powerful adversaries, 
 the jealousy of Richelieu turned tovvards the young 
 queen, persecuting her with such uncalled-for 
 virulence as to induce many to believe that his 
 hatred proceeded from some more private and per- 
 sonal cause that was apparent. 
 
 In the mean time, Louis himself, seldom called 
 upon except as a state puppet to sign some ordi- 
 nance, or hold some council under the direction of 
 Richelieu, lingered on in inactivity, yielding one 
 privilege after another to the grasping ambition of 
 his minister, without the dignity of royalty or the' 
 peace of private life. It is true that, on more than 
 one occasion, he was roused by circumstances to 
 put forth the native energies of his mind, but this 
 was most frequently on some trifling occurrence. 
 And though the momentary flashes of a vigorous 
 intellect would show that nature had been original- 
 ly bountiful to him, yet he never evinced any steady 
 determination of purpose. Richelieu spared no 
 pains to secure the power he had acquired: and 
 that he might leave the king no means of extricat- 
 ing himself, plunged the kingdom in wars and 
 negotiations, which he well knew that none but 
 himself could conduct with success. But here in- 
 deed his genius showed itself resplendent. The 
 government of a world seemed in his hands, and 
 yet he managed the complicated machine steadily 
 and firmlv, with a clear, discerning eye, and a calm, 
 unshrinking heart. Nevertheless, whether it was 
 that the multitude of his other avocations diverted 
 his attention from the minor regulations of the king- 
 dom, or whether, as some believe, he encouraged 
 a disorganized state of the interior for political pur- 
 poses, it must be acknowledged that all contem- 
 porary accounts represent the internal police of 
 France during his administration as in a strangely
 
 5 PREFACE. 
 
 deranged condition — a condition little to have been 
 expected from the vigour of his government, and the 
 severe exactitude of his disposition. 
 
 But so it was. The partisans of the various fac- 
 tions which had long been imbodied as armies, 
 were fain, after his measures had dispersed thera 
 as considerable bodies, to take refuge in the less 
 cultivated parts of the country — the mountains, the 
 forests, or the wastes; and as they had before lived 
 by anarchy, they now contrived to subsist by plun- 
 der. The nobles being called from their strong- 
 holds to expensive cities, and compelled by Riche- 
 lieu's jealousy to show themselves continually at 
 his luxurious court, could no longer maintain the 
 host of retainers which had formerly revelled at 
 their expense, and these also were obliged to join 
 themselves to the various bands of freebooters that 
 infested the country. Occasionally a merciless ex- 
 ecution of some of these banditti awed the rest for 
 a time, but upon examining history, even to the end 
 of Richelieu's life, we find that while he governed 
 the nobles with a rod of iron, saw every attempt at 
 conspiracy with a prophet's foresight, and repressed 
 it with a giant's strength, he overlooked or forgave 
 those crimes which did not affect his political 
 situation. 
 
 Such was the state of France at the opening of 
 the following history : and now having attempted to 
 prepare my reader's mind for what is to follow, I 
 have only farther to refer him to the notes at the 
 end of the second volume, in confirmation of my 
 assertion, that this tale is entirely true. The man- 
 uscript from which it is rendered in its present 
 form, possessed that air of fact which from the first 
 left very little doubt on my mind that the narrative 
 was authentic ; but not content with this, I examin- 
 ed the best authorities, and had the pleasure of find- 
 ing that ever material circumstance was perfectly 
 unquestionable, and from the acquaintance of the 
 original writer with all the most minute points, 1 
 cinnot now divest myself of the idea that he must
 
 PUEFACE. 9 
 
 have been, in some degree, an actor in what he 
 narrates. 
 
 Be that as it may, I feel sure that whoever 
 peruses it to the end will be perfectly convinced 
 of its truth ; and in the hope that many will do so, 
 I leave them to commence their journey, wishing 
 them all a safe and happy arrival at its conclu- 
 eion.
 
 RICHELIEU 
 
 CHAPTER T. 
 
 Which shows what a French forest was in the year of our 
 Lord 1642, and by whom it was inhabited. 
 
 The vast Sylva Lida, which in tlie days, of 
 Charlemagne stretched far along the banks of the 
 Seine, and formed a woody screen round the infant 
 city of Paris, has now dwindled to a few thousand 
 acres in the neighbourhood of St. Germain en 
 Laye. JNot so in the time of Louis the Thirteenth. 
 It was then one of the most magnificent forests of 
 France, and extending as far as the town of Mantes, 
 took indifferently the name of the Wood of Mantes, 
 or the Forest of Laye. That portion to thp north of 
 St. Germain has been long cut down : yet there were 
 persons living, not many years since, who remem- 
 bered some of the old trees still standing, bare, 
 desolate, and alone, like parents who had seen the 
 children of their hopes die around them in their 
 prime. 
 
 Although much improvement in all the arts of life, 
 and much increase of population had take place 
 during the latter years of Henry the Fourth, and un- 
 der the regency of Mary de Medicis ; yet at the time 
 of their son Louis the Thisteenth, the country was 
 still but thinly peopled, and far different from the 
 gay, thropped land that it appears to-day. For be-
 
 12 RICHELIEU. 
 
 sides that it was in earlier days, there had been 
 many a bitter and a heavy war, not only of France 
 against her enemies, but of France against her chil- 
 dren. Religious and political differences had caused 
 disunion between man and manjiad banished mutu- 
 al confidence and social intercourse, and raised up 
 those t'euds and hatreds which destroy domestic 
 peace and retard public improvement. Amid gene- 
 ral distrust and civil wars, industry had received no 
 encouragement; and where stand at present many 
 a full hamlet and busy village, where the vineyard 
 yields its abundance, and the peasant gathers in 
 peace the bounty of nature, v.-ere then the green 
 copses of the forest, the haunt of tlie wild boar and 
 deer. The savnge tenants of the wood, however, 
 did not enjoy its shelter undisturbed ; for in those 
 days of suspicion hunting was a safer sport than 
 conversation, and the Loughs of the oak a more 
 secure covering than the gilded ceilings of the 
 saloon. 
 
 To cur pampered countrymen, long nurtured in 
 that peculiar species of luxury called comfort, the 
 roads of France even now must seem but rude and 
 barbarous constructions, when compared with the 
 smooth, joltless causeways over v.riiich thev are 
 borne in their own land ; but in the time of Louis 
 the Thirteenth, when all works of the kind were car- 
 ried on by the seigneur through whose estates they 
 passed, few but the principal roads between one 
 great town and another were even passable for a car- 
 riage. Those, however, which traversing the wood 
 of jMantes, served as means of access to the royal 
 residence of St. Germain, were of a superior kind, 
 and would have been absolutely good, had the na- 
 ture of the soil afforded a steady foundation ; but 
 this was not always to be found in the forest, and 
 the engineer had shown no small ingenuity in tak- 
 ing advantage of all the most solid parts of the land, 
 and in avoiding those places where the marshy or 
 sandy quality of the ground offered no secure basis. 
 By these circumstances, however, he was obliged to
 
 RICHELIEU. IS 
 
 deviate sadly from those principles of direct pro- 
 gression, so denr to all Frenchmen ; and the road 
 from St. Germain to Mantes, as vvell as that which 
 branched ofFfrom it to join the iiigh-road to Chnrtres, 
 instead of being one interminable, monotonous, 
 straight line, with a long row of tre^s, lilie a file of 
 grenadiers on each side, went winding in and out 
 with a thousand turnings among the old oaks of the 
 forest, that seemed to stand forward and stretch 
 their broad branches across it, as if willing to shel- 
 ter it from the obtrusive rays of the sun. S'Une- 
 limes, climbing the side of a hill, it would suddenly 
 display a wide view over the leafy ocean below, till 
 the eye caught the towers and spires of distant 
 cities breaking the far gray line of the horizon. 
 Sometimes, descending into t!)e depths of the 
 forest, it would almost seem to lose itself among 
 the wild groves and savannas, being itself the only 
 trace of man's laborious hand amid the wilderness 
 around. 
 
 In the heart of the wood, at that point where the 
 two roads (which I have mentioned) divaricated 
 from each other, stood the hut of a v^oodman,and 
 the abreuvoir where ujany a gay lord of tlie court 
 would stop when his hunting was over, and give his 
 horse time to drink. . There, too, many a traveller 
 would pause to ask his way through the forest ; so 
 that Philip the woodman and his young family were 
 known to almost all whom business or pleasure 
 brougiit tlirough the wood of Mantes ; and alliiough, 
 during the course of this true history, princes and 
 heroes may become the subjects of discijurse, it is 
 wit'i Philip that we must commence our tale. 
 
 Jt was at that season of the year when tlie iirst 
 leaves of summer begin to leave the biancn.es from 
 which they sprang, like the bright and tender hopes 
 of early years, that fade and fall before the autumn 
 of life has tuily commenced. The sun had abated 
 but little of his force, and the days scarcely seemed 
 to have contracted their span. 
 
 The time of day, too, was like the period of the
 
 14 RICHELIEU. 
 
 year, " falling gently into the sear," so that it was 
 only a scarce perceptible shadow, stealing over the 
 landscape, which told that the great power ot" light 
 was quitting that quarter of the globe, to bestow 
 the equal blessing of his smile on other nations and 
 on distant climes. That shadow had been the sig- 
 nal for Philip the woodman to return towards his 
 home, and he issued forth from one of the forest 
 paths, near his dwelling, singing as he came the old 
 hunting-song of Le bon roi Dagobert.* 
 
 " King Dagohert in davs of 3-ore 
 Put on his hose wrong side before. 
 Says Si. Eloi, the king's old squire, 
 ' I would not offend, most gracious sire, 
 But may your slave be soundly swiich'd, 
 If yourrnnjesty is not o.ldly breech'd, 
 For you've got the wrong side before.' 
 Says ihe king, ' I do not care a groat ; 
 One's breeches are scarcely w^lh a thought ; 
 A beggarV a king when he's at his case, 
 So turn them about which way vou please, 
 And he quick, you s ' " 
 
 Now St. Hubert, in all probability, is the only 
 person who corfectly knows how it happened that 
 the very unmeaning and inapplicable ditty of Le 
 bon roi Dagobert should have been appropriated ex- 
 clusively to the noble exercise of hunting. 10 which 
 it has no reference whatever ; but so it has been, 
 and even to the present day where is the chasseur 
 
 *■ Tliis song of Le bon roi Da^obeft is in the original very 
 long, and ontains a great deal of witty ribaldry, unfit to be 
 inserted here. The above is a soineivhat free translation of 
 the first verse, which si .r. Is thus in the French : 
 
 " Le bon roy Dagobert 
 
 Mettoit ses culoties a renvcrs. 
 
 Le bon S . Eloi 
 
 Lui dit. Oil mon roy I 
 
 Que voire M ijcste 
 
 Est liien, lual cdlotie. 
 
 p]h bi(-n, dit ce bon roy, 
 
 Je consena qu'on les mete a I'endroil."
 
 RICHELIEU. 15 
 
 who cannot, as he returns from the cbnce, blow the 
 notes or sing the words of Le hon roi Dagobert? 
 
 Philip, as woodman, had heard it echoed and re- 
 echoed through the forest from his very infancy 5 
 and now, without even Itnowing that he did so, he 
 sang it as a matter of habit, although his mind was 
 occupied upon another subject : as men are always 
 naturally inclined to employ their corporeal facul- 
 ties on some indifferent object, when their mental 
 ones are intensely engaged in things of deeper in- 
 terest. 
 
 Philip advanced slowly along the road, with his 
 brow knit in such a manner as to evince that his 
 light song had no part in his thoughts. He was a 
 man perhaps nearly fifty, still hale and athletic, 
 though a life of labour had changed the once dark 
 locks of his hair to gray. His occupation was at 
 once denoted by his dress, which consisted simply 
 of a lonj-bodied blue coat of coarse cloth, covered 
 over, except the arms, with what is called in Bri- 
 tanny a peau de bicque. or goat-skin : a pair of leath- 
 er breeches, cut off above the knee, with thick gai- 
 ters to defend his legs from the thorns, completed 
 his dress below ; and a round broad-brimmed hat 
 was brought far over his eyes, to keep the njl^ from 
 the glare of the declining sun. His apparel was 
 girded round him by a broad buff belt, in the left of 
 which hang his woodman's knife ; in the right he 
 had placed tbe huge ax, which he had been using in 
 his morning's occupation ; and thus accoutred, 
 Philip would have been no insignificant opponent, 
 had he met with any of those lawless rovers who 
 occasioiially frequented the forest. 
 
 As he approached his dwelling, he suddenly stop- 
 ped, broke off his song, and turning round, listened 
 for a moment attentively ■■, but the only noise to be 
 heard was the discordant cry of the jay in the trees 
 round about; and the only living things visible were 
 a few wild birds overhead, slowly winging their 
 flight from the distant fields and vineyards towards 
 their forest home.
 
 16 raCHELlEU. 
 
 Philip proceeded, but he sang no more ; ar>. 
 opening the cottage door, he spoke without enter 
 ing. " Charles," demanded he, " has the young gen- 
 tleman returned v, ho passed by this morning to 
 hunt V 
 
 " TS'o, father," answered the boy, coming forward ; 
 '• nobody has passed since you went — 1 am sure no 
 one has, for I sat on the old tree all the morning, 
 carving you a sun-dial out of the willow branch you 
 brought home yesterday j" and he drew forth on«» 
 of those ingenious little machines, by means 
 which the French shepherds tell the time. 
 
 *' Thou art a good boy," said his father, laying his 
 hand on his head, '• thou art a good boy." But still, 
 as the woodman spoke, his mind seemed occupied 
 by some anxiety, for again he looked up the road 
 and listened. •' There are strange faces in the for- 
 est," said Philip, not exactly soliloquizing, for his 
 son was present, but certainly speaking more to him- 
 self than to the boy. '• There are strange faces in 
 the forest, and I fear me some ill deed is to be done. 
 But here they come, thank God'. — jXol what is 
 this ?'• 
 
 As he spoke there appeared, just where the road 
 turned into the wood, a sort of procession, which 
 would have puzzled any one of later days more than 
 it did the woodman. It consisted of four men on 
 horseback, and four on foot, escorti.aga vehicle, the 
 most elegant and tasteful that the age produced. 
 The people of that day had doubtless very enlarged 
 notions, and certainly the carriage 1 speak of would 
 have contained any three of modern construction 
 (always excepting that in which his most gracious 
 majesty the King of England appears on state occa- 
 sions, and also that of the Lord-mayor of London 
 city.) 
 
 Indeed, the one in question was more lifce a state 
 carriage than any other; broad at the top, low in 
 the axle, all covered over with painting and gilding, 
 with long wooden shafts for the horses, and green 
 taffeta curtains to the windows : and in this guiae it
 
 RlLHliLIEU. 17 
 
 came on, swaying and swaggering about over the 
 ruts in the road, not unlike the bloated Dutcli pug 
 of some over-indulgent dame, waddling slowly on, 
 with Its legs far apart, and its belly almost trailing 
 on the ground. 
 
 When the c.irriage arrived at the abrerivoir. by 
 'le side of which Philip had placed himself, iho 
 jolmcn took the bridles from the horses' mouths to 
 ive them drink, and a small white hand from vkith- 
 
 ■Jrew back the tatf»;ta curtain, displaying to the 
 
 '^dman one of the loveliest laces he had ever be- 
 eld. The lady looked round for a moment at the 
 forest scene, in the midst of whose wild niggedness 
 they stood, and then riised h.er eyes towartls the 
 sky. letting them n>am over the clear deepening ex- 
 panse of blue, as if to satisfy herself how mucli day- 
 light slill remiincd for tlieir journey. 
 
 •' How fir is it to St. Germain, good friend ?"' said 
 she. addressing the woodman, as she finished her 
 contemplations ; and her voice sounded to Philip 
 like the warble of a bird, notwithstanding a slight 
 peculiarity of intonation, which more refined ears 
 would instantly have decided as the accent of 
 Roussillon. or some adjacent province : the length- 
 ening of the i. and the swelling roundness of the 
 Spanish n. sounding very difierently from the sharp 
 precision peculiar to the Parisian pronunciation. 
 
 '• [ wish. Pauline, that you would get over that 
 bad habit of softening all your syllables,'' said an old 
 ladyulio sat beside her in the carriage. •' Yenr 
 French is scarcely comprehensible.'" 
 
 "Dear mamma !" replied the young lady, play- 
 fully, '-am not I descended lineally from Clemence 
 Isaure, the patroness of song and chivalry ? And I 
 shoulil be sorry to speak aught but my own laugue 
 doc — ihe tongue of the first knights and first p* ets 
 of France^— But hark ! what is that noise in the 
 wood ? 
 
 •• Now help, for the love of God '" cried the 
 woodman, snatching forth his ase, and turning to 
 
 VOL. I. 2
 
 IS RICHELIEU. 
 
 the horsemen who accompanied the carriage j 
 " murder is doing in the forest. Help, tor the love 
 of God ! ' 
 
 But as he spoke, the trampling of a horse's feet 
 was heard, and in a moment after, a stout black 
 charger came down the road like lightning 3 the 
 dust springing up under his feet, and the foam drop- 
 ping from his bit. 
 
 Half falling from the saddle, half supported by the 
 reins, appeared the form of a gallant young cavalier ; 
 his naked ssvord still clasped in his hand, but now 
 falling powerless and dragging by the side of the 
 horse 3 his head uncovered and thrown back, as if 
 consciousness had almost left him, and the blood 
 flowing from a deep wound in his forehead, and 
 dripping among the. thick curls of his dark brown 
 hair. 
 
 The charger rushed furiously on ; but the wood- 
 man caught the bridle as he passed, and with some 
 difficulty reined him in; while one of the footmen 
 lifted the young gentleman to the ground, and 
 placed him at the foot of a tree. 
 
 The two ladies had not beheld this scene uncon- 
 cerned 3 and were descending from the carriage, 
 when four or five servants in hunting livery were 
 seen issuing from the wood at the turn of the road, 
 contending with a very superior party of horsemen, 
 whose rusty equipments and wild anomalous sort of 
 apparel bespoke them free of the forest by not tho 
 most honourable franchise. 
 
 '•■ Ride on, ride on !'' cried the young lady to 
 those who had conae with her : " Ride on and help 
 them 3 and she herself advanced to give aid to the 
 wounded cavalier, whose eyes seemed now closed 
 for ever. 
 
 He was as handsome a youth as one might look 
 upon : one of thore forms which we are fond to be- 
 stow upon the knights and heroes tliat we read of 
 in our early days, when unchecked fancy is always 
 ready to give her bright conceptions ''a local habi- 
 tation and a name."' The young lady, whose -heart
 
 RICHtLlEU. 19 
 
 had never been taught to regulate its beatings by 
 the frigid rules of society, or the shnrp scourge of 
 disappointment, now tooK the wounded man's head 
 upon her knee, and gazed tor an instant upon his 
 countenance, ttie deadly paleness ol which a[)pear- 
 ed still more ghastly IVom the red streams that 
 trickled over it from the wound in his forehead. 
 She then attempted to stanch the blood, but the 
 trembling of her hands defeated her purpose, and 
 rendered her assistance of but little avail. 
 
 The elder lady had hitherio been giving her di- 
 rections to the footmen, who remained with the 
 carriage, while those on liorseback rode on towards 
 the fray. " Stand to your arms, Michel !"' cried 
 she. "You take heed to the coach. You three, 
 draw up across llie road, each with his arquebuse 
 ready to fire. Let none but the true men pass. — 
 Fy ! Pauline; I thou;>ht you had a firmer heart." 
 She continued, approaching the young lady, " Give 
 me tije handkerchief. — 'I'hnt is a bad cut in his 
 head, truly ; but here is a worse stab in his side." 
 And she proceeded to unloose the gold loops of his 
 hunting-coat, that she might reach the wound. But 
 that action seemed to recall, in a degree, the senses 
 of the wounded cavalier. 
 
 "JN'ever! never!" he exclaimed, clasping his 
 hand upon his side, and thrusting her ting^ers away 
 from him, with no very ceremonious courtesy, — 
 " never, while 1 have life.'"' 
 
 " I wish to do you no harm, young sir, but good." 
 replied the old lady ; — I seek but to stop the bleed- 
 ing of your side, which is draining your heart dry." 
 
 The wounded man looked faintly round, his sen- 
 ses still bewildered, either by weakness from loss 
 of blood, or from the stunning effects of the blow on 
 his forehead. He seemed, however, to have <-aught 
 and comprehended some of the words whicii the old 
 lady aiidresseii to him. asid answerpd them by a 
 Blight iiiclmaiio!! of the head, but still kept iiis hand 
 upon the breast of his coat, as if he had some cause 
 for wishing it not to be opened.
 
 20 RICHELIEU. 
 
 The time which had thus elapsed more than suf- 
 ficed tobriPirthe horsemen, who had accompanied 
 the carriage (and who, as before stated, liad ridden 
 on before.) to the spot where the servants of the 
 cavalier appeared contending with a party not only 
 greater in number, but superior in arms. 
 
 The reinforcement which tlius arrived gave a de- 
 gree of equality to the two parties, through the free- 
 booters m .;ht still have retained the advantage, had 
 not one ul their companions commanded them, in 
 rather a peremptory manner, to quit the conflict. 
 This personage, we must remark, was very different, 
 in point of costume, from the forest gentry with 
 whom he herded for the time. His dress was a 
 ricli livery suit of Isabel and silver; and indeed he 
 might have been confounded with the other party, 
 had not his active co-operation with the banditti (or 
 whatever they might be) placed the matter beyond 
 a doubt. 
 
 Their obedience, also, to his commands slewed, 
 that if he were not the instigator of the violence we 
 have described, at least his influence over his law- 
 less companions was singularly powerful ; for at a 
 word from him they drew off from a combat in 
 which they were bef'nre engaged with all the hungry 
 furv of wolves eacrer for their prey ; and retreated 
 in good order up the road, till its windings conceal- 
 ed them from the view of the servants to whom they 
 had been opposed. 
 
 These last did not attempt to follow, but turning 
 their horses, together with those who had brought 
 them such timely aid, galloped up to the spot where 
 their nia^ler lay. When they arrived, he had aaain 
 fallen into a state of apparent insensibility, and they 
 all flocked rovnid him with looks of eager anxiety, 
 which .«eemed to speak more heartfelt interest than 
 generallv existed between the murmuring vassal 
 and hi.-; feudal lord. 
 
 One ?i>riLrh'lv bov, who appeared to be his page, 
 sprang like liglitning from the j^addle. and kneeling 
 by his side, gazed intently on his face, aa if to seek
 
 RICHELILU. 21 
 
 some trace of animation. "They have killed him !" 
 he cried at length, " I fear me they have killed 
 him !" 
 
 " JNo, he is not dead,"' answered the old lady; 
 ''but I wish, Sir Page, that you would prevnil on 
 your master to open his coat, that we may stanch 
 that deep wound in his side." 
 
 " J^o, ho! that must not be," cried the boy, 
 quickly ; " but I will tie my scarf round the wound." 
 So saying, he unloosed the rich scarf of blue and 
 gold, lliat passing over his right shoulder Qrossed 
 his bosom till it nearly reached the hilt of his 
 sword, where, forming a large knot, it covered the 
 bucklings of his belt. This he bound tightly over 
 the spot in his master's side from whence the blood 
 flowed ; aud then asked thoughfuUy, without raising 
 his eyes, " But how shall we carry him to St. Ger- 
 main V 
 
 " In our carriage," said the young lady ; " we are 
 on our way thither, even now." 
 
 The sound of her voice made the pnge start, for 
 since his arrival on the spot, he had scarcely noticed 
 any one but his master, whose dangerous situation 
 seemed to occupy all his thoughts: but now there 
 was something in that sweet voice, with its soft 
 Languedocian accent, which awakened other ideas, 
 and he turned his full sunny face towards the lady 
 who spoke. 
 
 " Good heavens !" exclaimed she, as that glance 
 showed her a countenance not at all unfamiliar to 
 her memory : " Is not this Henry de La Motlie,son 
 of our old farmer Louis ?" 
 
 "JNo other indeed, Mademoiselle Pauline," re- 
 plied the boy ; ''• though, truly, 1 neither hoped nor 
 expected to see you at such a moment as this." 
 
 " Then who" — demanded the young lady, clu.^ping 
 her hands with a look of impatient anxiety — " in the 
 name of Heaven, tell me who is this!' 
 
 For an instant, and but for an instant, a look of 
 arch meaning played over the boy's countenance ; 
 but it was like a flash of lightning on a dark cloud,
 
 22 . RICHELIEU. 
 
 lost as quickly as it appeared, leaving a deep gloom 
 behind it. as his eye fell upon the inanimate form 
 of his master. " That, madam," said he, while 
 something i^lisfened bri2:htiv. but sadly, in his eye, 
 •' that is Claude Count de Blenau. " 
 
 Pauline spoke nut, but there was a deadly pale- 
 ness come upon her face, which very plainly show- 
 ed how secnndary a feeling is general benevolence, 
 compared with personal interest. 
 
 '•■ Is it possible I' exclaimed the elder lady, her 
 brow darkening thoughtfully. " Well, something 
 must be done for liim.'' 
 
 The pnge did not seem p;irticularly well pleased 
 with the tone in which the ladv spoke. and. in truth, 
 it had betr.ayed more pride than compassion. 
 
 '• The best thing that can be done for him, 
 Madame la Marquise.'" answered he. " is to put him 
 in the carriage and convey him to St. Germain as 
 soon as possible, if you should not consider it too 
 mucli trouble.' 
 
 " Trouble l"' e.Tclainied Pauline ; '• trouble ! Henry 
 de La Mothe. do you think that my moth.er or my- 
 self would find any thing a trou!)le tljat could serve 
 Cloude de Blenau, in such a situation 1" 
 
 " Hush, Pauline I'" said her mother. " Of course 
 we shall be glad to serve the count — Henry, help 
 Michel and Regnard to place your master in the car- 
 riage. — Michel give me your arquebuse ; I will hold 
 it till you have done. — Henry, support your master's 
 head."' 
 
 But Pauline took Ihat post upon herself, notwith- 
 standing a look from the marchioness, if not intend- 
 ed to forbid, at least to disapprove. The young lady, 
 however, was too much agaitated with ail that had 
 occurred to remark her mother's looks, and follow- 
 ing the first impulse of her feelings, while the ser- 
 vants carried him slowly to the carriage, she sup- 
 ported the head of the wounded cavalier on ht^r 
 arm, though the blood continued to flow from the 
 wound in his forehead, and dripped amid the rich
 
 RICHELIEU. 2S 
 
 elashiag of her Spanish sleeves, dabbling the satin 
 with which it was lined. 
 
 "Oh mndemniselle !" said the page, when their 
 task was accomplished, "this has been a sad day's 
 hunting. But if I might advise," he continued, 
 turning to the marcliioness, " the drivers must be 
 told to go with ail speed." 
 
 " Saucy as a page!" said the old lady, "is a 
 proverb, and a good one. Now, Monsieur La 
 Mothe, 1 do not think the drivers must go with all 
 speed ; for humbly deferring to your better opinion, 
 it would shake your master to death." 
 
 The page bit his lip, and his cheek grew some- 
 what red, in answer to the high dame's rebuke, but 
 he replied calmly, "You have seen, madam, what 
 has happened to-day, and depend on it, if we be 
 not speedy in getting out of this accursed forest, we 
 shall have the same good gentry upon us again, and 
 perhaps in greater numbers. Though they have 
 wounded the count, they have not succeeded in their 
 object ; for he has siillabout him that which they 
 would hazard all to gain." 
 
 " You are in the riuht, boy," answered the lady j 
 " I was over-hasty. Go in, Pauline. Henry, your 
 master's horse must carry one of my footmen, of 
 whom the other three can mount behind the car- 
 riage — thus we shall go quicker. You, with the 
 count's servants, mix with my horsemen, and keep 
 close round the coach ; and now bid them on, witn 
 all speed." Thus saying, she entered the vehicle; 
 and the rest having disposed themselves according 
 to her orders, the whole cavalcade was soon in mo- 
 tion on the road to St. Germain.
 
 24 RICHELIEU. 
 
 CHAPTER II.- 
 
 In which new characters are hrotighl upon the stage, and some 
 dark hints given re«|)ectiiig llienu 
 
 The sun had long gone down, and the large clear 
 autumn moon Jiad risen high in his stead, throwing 
 a paler but a gentler light upon the wood of Laye, 
 and the rich wild forest scenery bordering the road 
 from Si. Germain to Mantes The light, unable to 
 pierce the deeper recesses of the wood, fell princi- 
 pally upon those old and majestic trees, the aristo- 
 cracy of the forest, which, raising their heads high 
 above their brethren of more recent growth, seemed 
 to look upon the beam in which they shone as the 
 right of elder birth, and due alnne to their aspiring 
 height. The deep shadows of their branches tell in 
 long sombre shapes across the inequalities of the 
 road, leaving but glimpses every now and then to 
 light the footsteps of whatever being might wander 
 there at that hour of silence. 
 
 On one of those spots where the full beams fell, 
 stood the cottace of Philip the woodman : and the 
 humble hut with its straw thatch, the open space of 
 ground before it, with a felled oak which had lain 
 there undisturbed till a coat of soft ureen moss had 
 grown thick over its rugged bark, the little stream 
 dammed up to afford a sufficient supplv of water for 
 the horses, and the larae square block of stone to aid 
 the traveller in mounting, all were displayed in the 
 clear moonliirht as plainly as if the full day had 
 shone upon them. 
 
 Yet. however fair mijht be the night, there were 
 very few wiio would have chosen tlie beams of the 
 ini>on to light ihcm across the wood of Mantes, la 
 sooth, in those days, sunshine was the best safeguard 
 to travellers. For France swarmed with those who 
 gathered jo their harvest at night, and who (to use
 
 RICHELIEU. 26 
 
 their own phrase) had turned their swords into reap- 
 ing-hooks. 
 
 'Two grand objects fully occupied the mind of 
 that famous minister the (-arduial de Riciielieu 
 (who llien governed tlie kingdom witli almost des- 
 potic sway :) the prosecution of those mighty 
 schemes of foreign policy, which at the lime shook 
 many a ihrone, and in after-years changed more 
 than' one dynasty : and the establishment of his own 
 power at home, which, threatened by factions and 
 attacked by continual conspiracies, was supported 
 alone by the terror of his name, and the favour of a 
 weak and irresolute monarch. These more im- 
 mediate calls upon his attention gave him but little 
 time to regulate the long-neglected police of the 
 country; and indeed it was whispered that Riche- 
 lieu not only neglected, but knowingly tolerated 
 many of the excesses of the times: the perpetrators 
 of which were often called upon to do some of 
 those good services which statesmen occasionally 
 require of their less circumspect servants, it was 
 said too that scarce a forest in France but sheltered 
 a band of these free rovers, who held themselves in 
 readiness to merit pardon for their other offences, 
 by offending in the slate's behalf whenever it 
 should be demanded, and in the mean time took 
 very sufficient care to do those things on their own 
 account for which they might be pardoned here- 
 after. 
 
 We may suppose then it rarely happened that 
 travellers chose that hour for passing through the 
 wood of Mantes, and that those who did so were 
 seldom of the best description. But on the night I 
 speak of two horsemen wound slowly along the 
 road towards the cottage of the woodman, with a 
 sort of sountering. idle pace, as if thoughtless of 
 danger, and entirely occupied in their own conver- 
 sation. 
 
 They were totally unattended also, although their 
 dress bespoke a high station in society, and by its 
 richness might have tempted a robber to inquire
 
 2t5 RICHELIEU. 
 
 farther into their circumstances. But were well 
 armed with pistol, sword, and dagf^er, and appeared 
 as stout cavaliers as ever mounted horse, having 
 withal that air of easy confidence, which is gene- 
 rally the result of long familiarity with urgent and 
 perilous circumstances. 
 
 Hiving come near the abreuvoir, one of the two 
 gave his horse to drink without dismounting, while 
 the other alighted, and taking out the bit. let his 
 beast satisfy its thirst at liberty. As he did so his 
 eye naturally glanced over the ground at the foot 
 of the tree. Something caught his attention; and 
 stoopinsf down to examine more closely. " Here is 
 blood, Chavigni !" he exclaimed ; '• surely they have 
 never been stupid enough to do it here, within sight 
 of this cottnge." 
 
 " 1 hope they have not done it at all, Lafemas,'' 
 replied the other. " I only told them to tie him, 
 and search him thoroughly ; but not to give him a 
 scratch, if they could avoid it." 
 
 •' Methinks thou hast grovvn miehty ceremonious 
 of late, and somewhat merciful. Master Chavigni," 
 replied his companion ; " i remember the time 
 when you were not so scrupulous. Would it not 
 have been the wiser way to have quieted this young 
 plotter at once, when your men had him in their 
 hands V 
 
 ••Thou wert born in the Fauxbourg St. Antoine, 
 I would swear, and served apprenticeship to a 
 butcher." replied Chavigni. " Why. thou art as 
 fond of blood, Lafemas, as if thou hadst sucked it 
 in thy cradle! Tell me, when thou wert an infant 
 Hercules, didst thou not stick sheep instead of 
 strangling serpents V 
 
 " Not more than yourself, lying villain !" answer- 
 ed the other, in a' quick deep voice, making his 
 hand sound upon the hilt of his sword. "Chavigni, 
 you have taunted me all along the road; you have 
 cast in mv teeth things that you yourself caused me 
 to do. Beware of yourself! Urce me not too far 
 lest you leave your bon«a in the forest I"
 
 ICKELIEU. 27 
 
 " Pshaw, man ! pshaw [" cried Chavi^ni^ laugh- 
 ing : ''Here's a cool-headed judge! Here's the 
 calm placid Lafemas I Here's the cardinal's gentle 
 haugmnn. who can cont^emn his denrest friends to 
 the torture with the same meek look that he puts 
 on to say grace over a beccatico. suddenly meta- 
 morphosed into a bully and a bravo in the wood of 
 Mantes. But, hark ye, Sir Judge !" he added, in a 
 pr.;uder tone, tossing back the plumes of his hat, 
 which before hung partly over his face, and fixing 
 his full dark eye upon his companion, who still 
 stood scowling upon him with ill-repressed passion 
 — " Hark ye, Sir Judge ! Use no such language to- 
 wards me, if you seek not to try that same :rhnrp 
 axe you have so often ordered for others. Suffice 
 it for you to know, in the present instance, that it 
 was not the cardinal's wish that the young man 
 should be injured. We do not desire blood, but 
 when the necessity of the state requires it to be 
 shed. Besides, man," and he gradually fell into his 
 former jeering tone — " besides, in future, under your 
 gentle guidance, and a touch or two of the peine 
 forte etdtirc, this young nightingale may be taught 
 to sing, and in short be forced to tell us all he 
 knows. I\ow do you understand V 
 
 " I do, ] do," replied Lafemas. " I thought that 
 there was some deep, damnable while that made 
 you spare him; and as to the rest I did not mean to 
 ofl'end you. But when a man condemns his own 
 soul to serve you, you should not taunt him, for it is 
 hard to bear." 
 
 "Peace! peace!" cried Chavigni, in a sharp 
 tone ; " let me hear no more in this strain. VVlio 
 raised you to what you are ? We use you as vou 
 deserve ; we pay you for your services ; we despise 
 you for ynur meanness ; and as to vour soul," he 
 added with a sneer, " if you have any fears on that 
 head — why you shall have absolution. Are you not 
 our dog, who worries the game for us ? We house 
 and feed you, and you must take the lashes when it 
 suits ua to give them. Remember, sir, that your life
 
 28 RICHELIEU. 
 
 is in my hand ! One word respecting the affair of 
 Chalais mentioned to the cardinal, brings your head 
 to the block ! And now let us see what is this blood 
 you speak of?"" 
 
 So saying he sprang from his horse, while Lafe- 
 mas, as he had been depicted by his companion, 
 hung his head like a cowed hound, and in sullen 
 silence pointed out the blood, which had formed a 
 little pool at the foot of the tree, and stained the 
 ground in several places round about. 
 
 Chavigni gazed at it with evident symptoms of 
 displeasure and uneasiness; for although, when he 
 imagined that the necessities of the sUte required 
 the severest infliction on any offender, no one was 
 more ruthless than himself as to the punishment.no 
 one more unhesitating as to the means — although, 
 at those times, no bond of amity, no tie of kindred, 
 would have stayed his hand, or restrained him in 
 what he erroneously considered his political duty ; 
 yet Chavigni was far from naturally cruel ; and as 
 his after-life showed, even too susceptible of the 
 strongest and deepest affections of human nature. 
 
 In his early youth the Cardinal de Richelieu had 
 remarked in him a strong and penetrating mind ; but 
 above all. an extraordinary power of governing and 
 even subdumg the ardent passions by which he was 
 at times excited. .As son to the Count de Bouthil- 
 liers, one of the oldest members of the privy coun- 
 cil, the road to political preferment was open to 
 Chavigni-, and Richelieu, even fearful of aught that 
 might diminish his power, and careful to strengthen 
 it by every means, resolved to bind the young count 
 to his cause by the sure ties of early habits and 
 mutual interest. With this view he took him en- 
 tirely under his own protection, educated him in 
 his own line of policy, instilled into him. as princi- 
 ples, the deep stern maxims of his own mighty and 
 unshrinking mind, ^nd having thus moulded him to 
 his wish, called him e.irly to the council-table, and 
 intrusted him with a greater share of his power and
 
 RICHELIEU. 29 
 
 confidence than he would have yielded to any other 
 
 man. 
 
 Chaviffni repaid the cardinal with heartfelt grati- 
 tude, with firm adherence and uncompromising ser- 
 vice. In private life lie was honourable, generous, 
 and kind ; but it was his axiom that all must yield to 
 state necessity, or (as he said) in other words, to the 
 good of his country ; and upon the strength of this 
 maxim, which in fact was the cause of every stain 
 that rests upon his memory, he fancied himself a 
 patriot I 
 
 Between Chavigni and the Judge Lafemas, who 
 was the Jeffreys of his country, and had received 
 the name of Le Bourrcau du Cardinal, existed a sort 
 of original antipathy ; so that the statesman, though 
 often obliged to make usu of the less scrupulous 
 talents of the judge, and even occasionally to asso- 
 ciate with him, could never refrain for any length 
 of time from breaking forth into those bitter taunts 
 which often irritated Lafemas almost to phrensy. 
 The hated of the judge, on his part, was less strong, 
 even at the times it did not show itself, and he still 
 brooded over the hope of exercising his ungentle 
 functions upon him who was at present, in a degree, 
 his master. 
 
 But to return, Chavigni gazed intently on the spot 
 to which Lafemas pointed. " I believe it is blood, 
 indeed," said he, after a moment's hesitation, as if 
 the uncertainty of the light had mnde him doubt it 
 at first : " they shall rue the day that they shed it 
 contrary to my command. It is blood surely, Lafe- 
 mas : is it not ?" 
 
 " Without a doubt.'' said Lafemas ; " and it has 
 been shed since mid-day.'' 
 
 " You are critical in these things, I know." re- 
 plied the other, witlr a cool sneer 5 "but we must 
 hear mnre of this, Sir Jud<rr!. and ascertain what 
 news is stirring, before we go farther. Things might 
 chance, which would render it necessarv that one 
 or b.ith of us should return to the cardinal. We 
 will knock at this cottage and in(;iaire. — Our story
 
 go RICHELILU. 
 
 must run, that we have lost our way in the wood, 
 and need both rest and direction. ' 
 
 So saying, he struck several sharp blows with 
 the hilt of his sword against the door, wliose rick- 
 ety and unsonorciU3 nature returned a grumbling 
 indistinct sound, as if it too had shared the sleep 
 oitlie peacelui inhabitants of the cottage, and lov- 
 ed not to be disturbed by such nocturnal visita- 
 tions. -'So ho!' cried Chavigni ; "will no one 
 hear us poor travellers, who have lost our way ia 
 this lorest !" 
 
 In a moment after, the head of Philip, the wood- 
 man appeared at the little casement by the side of 
 the door, examining the strangers, on whose figures 
 fell the full beams of the moon, with quite suffi- 
 cient light to dis|)lay the courtly form and garnish- 
 ing their apparel, and to siiow that they were no 
 dangerous guesis. •• What would ye, messieurs V 
 demanded he, through the open window : •■ it is 
 late for travellers." 
 
 " We have lost our way in your wood," replied 
 Chavigni, "and would fain have a little rest, and 
 some direction for our farther progress. We will 
 pay thee well, good man. for thy hospitality.'" 
 
 •■ There is no need of payment, sir,'' said the 
 woodman, opening the door. " Come in, I pray, 
 messieurs. — Charles I'' he added, calling to his son, 
 " get up and tend these gentlemen's horses. Get 
 up, I say, Sir Sluggard !" 
 
 The boy crept sleepily out of the room beyond, 
 and went to give some of the forest hay to the 
 beasts which had borne the strangers thither, and 
 which gave but little si^nis of needing either rest 
 or refreshment. In the mean while, his father drew 
 two large yew-tree seats to the fireside, soon blew 
 the whue ashes on the heartii into a Hame,anil hav- 
 ing invited his guests to sit, and lighted the old 
 brazen lamp that hung above the chimney, he bow- 
 ed low, asking how he could serve them farllier5 
 but as he did so, his eye ran over their persons with 
 a half-satisfied and inquiring glance, which made
 
 niCHELIEU. $1 
 
 Lafemaa turn away his head. But Chavigni an- 
 swered promptly to his offer of service : '• Why 
 now, good irieiid, if thou couldst give us a jug of 
 wine, tuould be well .and kindly done, for we have 
 ridden far." 
 
 '•'I'hisisno inn sir," replied Philip, "and you 
 will find my wine but thin ; nevertheless, such as it 
 is, most welcnmely shall you taste." 
 
 From whatever motive it proceeded, Philip's hos- 
 pitality was but lukewarm towards the strangers j 
 and the manner in v\hich he rinsed out the tankard, 
 drew the wine from a bamque standing in one cor- 
 ner oi" the room, 1 alf covered with a wolf-skin, and 
 placed it on a table by the side of Chavigni, bespoke 
 more churlish rudeness than good-will. But the 
 Blalesman heeded little either the quality of his 
 reception or of his wine, provided he could obtain 
 the information he desired 5 so, carrying the tankard 
 to his lips^ he drank, or seemed to drink, as deep a 
 draught as if its contents had been the produce of 
 the best vineyard in Medoc. "It is excellent/' 
 said he, handing it to Lalemas, "or my thirst does 
 wonders. Kow, good friend, if we had some veni- 
 Bon-steaks to broil on your clear ashes, our supper 
 were complete."' 
 
 " Such 1 have not to offer, sir," replied Philip, 
 " or to that you should be welcome too." 
 
 " Why, 1 should have thought," said Chavigni, 
 " the hunters who ran down a stag at your door to- 
 day, should have left you a part, as the woodman's 
 fee." 
 
 " Do you know those hunters, sir 1" demanded 
 Philip, with some degree of emphasis. 
 
 "Not J, in truth,' replied Chavigini j though the 
 colour rose in his cheek, notwithstanding his long 
 training to courtly wile and political intrigue, and 
 he thanked his stars that the lamp gave but a faint 
 and glimmering light : " Not 1, in truth ; but who- 
 ever ran him down got a good beast, for he bled 
 like a stag of ten. I suppose they made the eurec 
 m ycur GC( r ?"
 
 32 UlCflELIEU. 
 
 "Those hunters, sir," replied Philip, "give no 
 woodman's fees ; and as to the stag, he is as fine a 
 one as ever brushed the forest dew, but he has 
 escaped them tliis time.'' 
 
 '• How ! did he get olT with his throat cut?'' de- 
 manded Chavi^iii, •• for there is blood enough at the 
 foot of yon old tree lo have drained the stoutest stag 
 that ever was brought to bay." 
 
 " Oh ! but that is not stag's blood !" interrupted 
 Charles, the woodman's son. who had by this time 
 not only tended the stringers' horses, but examined 
 every point of the quaint furniture with which it 
 was the fashion of the day to adorn them. " That 
 is not stag's blood; that is the blood of the young 
 cavalier, who was hurt by the robbers, and taken 
 away by — " 
 
 At this moment the boy's eye caught the impa- 
 tient expression of his fathers countenance. 
 
 •'The trulh is. messieurs," said Piiilip, taking up 
 the discourse, "' t'.iere was a gentleman wounded in 
 the forest this mo:ning. I never saw him bsfi^re, 
 and he was taken away in a carriage by some ladies, 
 whose faces were equilly strange to me. ' 
 
 '• You have boen somewhat mvsterious upon this 
 business, Sir Woodmin," said Chavigni, his br»n 
 darkening as he spoke ; " why were you so tariiy in 
 giving us this forest news, which imports all stran- 
 gers travelling through the wood to know .'' 
 
 '■ 1 hold it as a rule," replied Philip, boldly, '• to 
 mind my own business, and never to mention any 
 thing 1 see ; which in this afTiir 1 shall do more es- 
 pecially, as one of the robbers had fur.iiture of Isa- 
 bel ar.d silver;'' anti as he spoke he glanced his eye 
 to the scarf of ("luvigni. which was of that peculiar 
 mixture of colours then called Isabel, bordered by a 
 rich silver frinje. 
 
 "Fool!" muttered Chavigni between his teeth; 
 '•'Fool! what need had he to show himself T' 
 
 Lafemis. who had hitherto beerl silent, now came 
 to the relief of iiis companion; taking up the con- 
 versation in a mild and easy tone, '• Have you many
 
 RICHELIKU. 8t 
 
 of these robbing fraternity in your wood ?" said he ; 
 " if so, I suppose we peril ourst.'lves in crossing it 
 alone." And, without waiting for any answer, ho 
 proceeded, " Pray, who y^as the cavalier they at- 
 tacked ?" 
 
 " He was a stranger from St. Germain," answered 
 the woodman ; " and as to the robbers, I doubt that 
 they will show themselves again, for fear of being 
 taken." 
 
 " They did not rob him then V said the judge. 
 Now nothing that Philip had said bore out this in- 
 ference ; but Lafemas possessed in a high degree 
 the talent of cross-examination, and was deeply 
 versed in all the thousand arts of entangling a wit- 
 ness, or leading a prisoner to condemn himself. But 
 there was a stern'reserve about the woodman which 
 baffled the judge's cunning : " I only saw the last 
 part of the fray," replied Philip, " and therefore 
 know not what went before." 
 
 " Where was he hurtl" asked Lafemas 5 "for he 
 lost much blood." 
 
 " On the head and in the side," answered the 
 woodman. 
 
 " Poor youth !" cried the judge, in a pitiful tone. 
 '' And when you opened his coat, was the wound a 
 deep one 1" 
 
 " I cannot judge," replied Philip, "being no sur- 
 geon.'" 
 
 It was in vain that Lafemas tried all his wiles on 
 the woodman, and that Chavigni, who soon joined 
 in the conversation, questioned him more boldly. 
 Philip was in no communicative mood, and yielded 
 them but little information respecting the event* of 
 the morning. 
 
 At length, weary of this fruitless interrogation, 
 Chavigni started up—" Well, friend !" said he, ''had 
 there been danger in crossing the forest, we might 
 have staid with thee till daybreak ; but as thou 
 sayest there is none, we will hence upon our way." 
 So saying he strode towards the door, the flauie- 
 VOL. I. 3 .
 
 t4 RICHELIEU. 
 
 shaped mullets of his gilded spurs jingling over the 
 brick floor of Philip's dwelling, and calling the 
 woodmans attention to the knightly rank of his de- 
 parting guest. In a few minutes all was prepared 
 for their departure, and having mounted their 
 horses, the statesman drew forth a small silk purse 
 tied with a loop of gold, and holding it forth to 
 Philip, bade him accept it for his services. The 
 woodman bowed, repeating that he required no pay- 
 ment. 
 .^ " I am not accustomed to have my bounty refus- 
 ed," said Chavigni, proudly ; and dropping the purse 
 to the ground, he spurred forward his horse. 
 
 " Now, Lafemas." said he, when the had proceed- 
 ed so far as to be beyond the reach of Philip's ears, 
 " what think you of this ?' 
 
 *' Why, truly,-' replied the judge, " I deem that we 
 are mighty near as wise as we were before.'' 
 
 "Not so," said Chavigni. "It is clear enough 
 these follows have failed, and De Blenau has pre- 
 served the packet : I understand it all. His .'emi- 
 nence of Richelieu, against my advice, has permit- 
 ted Madame de Beaumont and her daughter Pauline 
 to return to the queen, after an absence of ten \ ears. 
 The fact is, that when the cardinal banished them 
 the court, and ordered the marchioness to retire to 
 Languedoc, his views were not so extended as they 
 are now, and he had laid out in his own mind a 
 match between one of his nieces and this rich young 
 Count de Blenau; which, out of the royal family, 
 was one of the best alliances in France. The boy, 
 however, had been promised, and even, f believe, 
 affianced by his father, to this Pauline de Beaumont : 
 and accordingly his eminence sent away the girl 
 and her mother, with the same sangfroid that a 
 man drives a strange dog out of his court-yard ; at 
 the same time he kept the youth at conn, forbidding 
 all communication with LnnL'uedoc : but now that 
 the cardinal can mritch his niece to the Duke D'- 
 Enghien, De Blenau may look for a bride where he 
 lists, and ihe marquise and her daughter have -.en
 
 RICHELIEU. 35 
 
 suffered to return. To my knowledge, they passed 
 through Chartres yesterday morning on their way to 
 St. Germain.' 
 
 " But what have these to do with the present af- 
 fair,"' demanded Lafemas. 
 
 " Why thus has it happened," continued Chavigni. 
 "The youth has been attacked. He has resisted, 
 and been wounded. Just then, up come these wo- 
 men, travelling through the forest with a troop of 
 servants, who join with the count, and drive our poor 
 friends to covor. This is what I have drawn from 
 the discourse of yon surly woodman." 
 
 " You mean, from your own knowledge of the 
 business,'' replied Lafemas, "for he would confess 
 nothing." 
 
 " Confess, man '." exclaimed Chavigni. " Why he 
 did not know that he was before a confessor, and 
 still less before a judge, though thou wouldst fain 
 have put him to the question. I saw your lip 
 quivering with anxiety to order him the torture j 
 rack, and thumb-screw, and oubliette were in your 
 eye, every sullen answer he gave." 
 
 '* Were it not as well to get him out of the w.iy ?" 
 demanded Lafemas. " He remarked your livery, 
 Chavigni, and may blab." 
 
 '' Short-sighted mole '." replied his companion. 
 *' The very sulkiness of humour which has called 
 down on him thy rage, will shield him from my 
 fears — which might Be quite as dangerous. He that 
 is so close in one thing, depend upon it, will be close 
 in another. Besides, unless he tells it to the trees, 
 or the jays, or the wild boars, whom should he tell 
 it to? I would bet a thousand crowns against the 
 Prince de (Monti's brains, or the Archbishop Coad- 
 jutor's religion, or Madame de (Jhevreuse's — reputa- 
 tion, or against any thing else that is worth nothing, 
 that this good woodman sees no human shape for 
 the next ten years, and then all that passes between 
 them will be, ' Good day, woodman !' — 'Good day, 
 sir!' — and he mimicked'tlie deep voice of him of 
 whom they spoke. But jiotw it be landing thi« ap-
 
 S(J RICHELIEU. 
 
 pearance of gnyety, Chavigni was not easy : and 
 even while he spf»ke. lie rude on with no smnll pre- 
 cipitation, till, turning into a narrow forest path, the 
 light ot the moon, which had illumined the greater 
 part of the hitih road, was cut off entirely by the 
 trees, and the deep gloom obliged thera to be more 
 cautious in proceeding. At length, however, they 
 came to a little savanna, surrounded by high oaks, 
 were Chavijnt entirely reined in his horse, and blew 
 a single note on his horn, which was soon answered 
 bv a similar sound at some distance. 
 
 CH.^PTER III. 
 
 Which shows what a Ffnch fore?! was at night, and wh» 
 ifihahited i(. 
 
 Those whom either the love of sylvan sports or 
 tiiat calm meditative charm inherent to wood scene- 
 rv has tempted to ex|)lorc the jleeper recesses of 
 the forest must be well aware that many particular 
 glades and coverts will often lie secret and undis- 
 covered amid the mazes of the leafy labyrintli, even 
 to the eyes of those long accustomed t«» investigate 
 its most intricate winding's. In those countries 
 where forest hunting is a frequent sport. I have more 
 than once found myself led on into scenes coni- 
 pletely new. when 1 had fancied thai lonir e.xperi- 
 ence had made me fully accfuainted with every rood 
 of the woodland round about, and have olten met 
 with no small trouble in retracing the spot, although 
 1 took all pains to observe the way thither and fix 
 its distinctive marks in my memory. 
 
 In tlie heart of the forest of Si. Germain, at a con- 
 siderable distance from any of the roads, or even by- 
 patha of the wood, lay a deep dingia or dell, whicU
 
 RICHELIEU. 87 
 
 probably had been a gravel-pit many centuries be- 
 fore and micrht have furnished forth sand to strew 
 the halls of Charlemagne, for auglii I know to the 
 contrary. However, so many ages had elapsed since 
 it had been employed for such purpose, that many 
 a stout oak had sprung, and flourished, and withered 
 round about it, and had left the ruins of their once 
 princely forms crumbling on its brink. At the time 
 I speak of, a considerable part of the dell itself was 
 filled up with tangled brushwood, which a long hot 
 season had stripped and withered ; and over the 
 edge hung a quantity of dry shrubs and stunted 
 trees, forming a thick screen over the wild recess 
 below. 
 
 One side, and one side only, was free of access, 
 and this way by means of a small sandy path wind- 
 ing down into the bottom of the dell, between two 
 deep banks, which assumed almost the appearance 
 of clifls as the road descended. This little footway 
 conducted, it is true, into the most profound part of 
 the hoUow. but then immediately lost itself in the 
 thick underwood, through which none but a very 
 practised eye would have discovered the means of 
 entering a deep lair of ground, sheltered by the 
 steep bank and its superincumbent trees on one 
 side, and concealed by a screen of wood on every 
 other. 
 
 On the night I have mentioned, this well conceal- 
 ed retreat was tenanted by a group of men, whose 
 wild attire harmonized perfectly with the rudeness 
 of the scene around. The apparel of almost every 
 class was discernible among them, but each vesture 
 plainly showed, that it had long passed that epoch 
 generally termed ".better days 5" and indeed, the 
 more costly had been their original nature, the 
 greater was their present state of degradation. So 
 that what had once been the suit of some gay cava- 
 lier of the court, and which doubtless hail shone as 
 such in the circles of the bright and the fair, having 
 since passed through the hands of the page who had 
 perhaps used it to personate hii master, and tb*
 
 88 RICHELIEU. ^¥ ' 
 
 fripier who had tried hard lo restore it to a degree 
 of lustre, and the pjoor petitioner who had brought 
 it and borne it second-hand to court, and lost both 
 his labour and his monev — having passed through 
 these, and perhaps a thousand other hands, it had 
 gradually acquired that sort of undetinable tint, 
 which ought properly to be called old-age colour, 
 and at present served, and only served, lo keep its 
 owner from the winds of heaven. At the same time 
 the bulT jerkin which covered the broad sbnuhlers 
 of another hard by, though it had never boai^ted 
 much finery, had escaped with only a few rusty 
 stains from its former intimacy with a steel cuirass, 
 and a slight gloss upon the left side, which indi- 
 cated its owners habit of laying his hand upon his 
 sword. 
 
 Here, too, every sort of offensive weapon was to 
 be met with. The long Toledo blade, with its bas- 
 ket hilt and black scabbard tipped with steel ; the 
 double-handed heavv sword, which during the wars 
 of the League had often steaded well the troops of 
 Henry the Fourth, when attacked by the superior 
 cavalry t^f the Dukes of Guise and Mayenne, and 
 which had been but little used since ; the poniard, 
 the stiletto, the heavy petronel, or horse pistol, and 
 the sm.-tller pistol, which had been but lately intro- 
 duced, were all to be seen, either as accompani- 
 ments to the dress of some of the party, or scatter- 
 ed about on the ground, where they had been plac- 
 ed for greater convenience. 
 
 The accoutrements of these denizens of the for- 
 est were kept in countenance by every other ac- 
 cessory circumstance of appearance ; and a torch 
 stuck in the sand in the midst, glared upon features 
 which Salvator might have loved to trace, it was 
 not alone the negligence of personal appearance, 
 shown in their long dishevelled hair and untrimmed 
 beards, which rendered them savagely picturesque, 
 but many a furious passion had there written deep 
 traces of its unbound sway, and marked them with 
 that wild and undetiaable expression, which habitu-
 
 RICHELIEU. 90 
 
 al vice and lawless license are sure to leave behind 
 in their course. 
 
 At the moment I tpeak of^^ wine had been circu- 
 lating very freely among the robbers j for such in- 
 deed they were. Some were sleeping, either with 
 their hands clasped over their knees, and their 
 heads drooping down to meet them, or stretched 
 more at their ease under the trees, snoring loud in 
 answer to the wind that whistled through the 
 branches. Some sat gazing with a wise sententious 
 look on the empty gourds, many of which, fashioned 
 into bottles, lay scattered about upon the ground ; 
 and two or three, who had either drunk less of the 
 potent liquor, or whose heads were better calculat- 
 ed to resist its effects than the rest, sat clustered 
 together, singing and chatting by turns, arrived ex- 
 actly at that point of ebriety where a man's real 
 character shows iiself, notwithstanding all his efforts 
 to conceal it. 
 
 The bufFjerkin we have spoken of, covered the 
 shoulders of one among this litt'e not of choice 
 spirits, who still woke to revel after sleep had laid 
 his leaden mace upon their companions ; and it 
 may be remarked, that a pair of broader shoulders 
 are rarely to be seen than those so covered. 
 
 Wouvermans is said to have been very much puz- 
 zled by a figure in one of his pictures, which, not- 
 withstanding all his efforts, he could never keep 
 doimi (as painters express it.) Whatever he did, 
 that one figure was always salient, and more promi- 
 nent than the artist intended ; nor was it till he had 
 half blotted it out, that he discovered its original 
 defect was being too large. Something like VVou- 
 vermans' figure, the freebooter I speak of stood con- 
 spicuous among the others, from the Herculean 
 proportion of his limbs; but he had, in addition, 
 other qualities to distinguish him from the rest. 
 His brow was broad, and of that peculiar, form to 
 which physiognomists have attached the idea of a 
 stroog determined spirit ; at the name tiuie, the
 
 40 RlClIELlEtf. 
 
 clear fparkle of his blue Norman eye bespoke an 
 impetuous, but not a depraved mind. 
 
 A deep scar was apparent on liis left cheek 3 and 
 the wound which had been its progenitor, was most 
 probably the cause of a sneering turn in the corner 
 of his mouth, which, with a bold expression of dar- 
 ing confidence, completed the mute history that his 
 face afforded, of a life spent in arms, or well, or ill, 
 as circumstances prompted. — an unshrinking heart, 
 which dared every personal evil, and a bright but 
 unprincipled mind, which followed no dictates but 
 the passions of the moment. 
 
 He was now in his gayest mood, and holding a 
 horn in his hand, trolled forth an old French ditty, 
 •eeming confident of pleasing, or perhaps careless 
 whether he pleased or not. 
 
 •' Thou 'rt an r?3, Robin, fhou 'rt an ass, 
 
 Tolhink that £i;reat men be 
 More than I thai lie on ihe e;rasj 
 
 Under Ibe gieeinvnod liee. 
 I leli Ihee no, I le!l ihie no, 
 The great are slaves lo their gilded show. 
 
 Now tell me, Robin, leli me, 
 
 Arell)« ceiliiiss <>f gay saloons 
 60 richly wrought as )on sky we see, 
 
 Or their glitter so bright ai the moon's 
 I tell thee no, I tell thee no. 
 
 The great are slaves to their gilded show. 
 
 Say not nay, Robin, say not nay ! 
 
 There is never a heail so frf e. 
 In the vest of gi.lil ; and the paljce gny, 
 
 As ill buff 'neat h the forest tree. 
 I tell thee yea, I leli thee yea, 
 The great were made for Ihe poor man's prey-,'' 
 
 So sang the owner of the buff jerkin, and his song 
 met with more or less applause from his compan- 
 ions, according to the particular honour of each. 
 One only among the freebooters soemed scarcely 
 t© participats in the merriment. He bad drunk as
 
 RIOHEtlEtf. 41 
 
 deeply as the rest, but he appeared neither gay, nor 
 stupid, nor sleepy ; and while the tall Norman sang, 
 he cast, from time to lime, a calm sneering glance 
 upon the singer, which showed no especial love, 
 either (or the music or musician. 
 
 " You sing about prey." said he, as the other con- 
 cluded the last stanza of his ditty — " You sing about 
 prey, and yet you are no great falcon, after all, if we 
 may judge from to-day." 
 
 " And why not. Monsieur Pierremont Le Blanc V 
 demanded the JNorman, without displaying aught of 
 ill-humour in his counienance : '' though they ought 
 to have cilled you Monsieur Le JNoir — Mr. Black, 
 not Mr. White. — Nay, do not frown, good comrade ; 
 I speak but i»f your beard, not of your heart. What, 
 art thou still grumbling, because we did not cut the 
 young count's tliroat outright V 
 
 "JNay, not for that,"' answered the other, "but 
 because we have lost the best man among us, for 
 want of his being well seconded." 
 
 " You lie, parbleu !"' cried the Norman, drawing 
 his sword, and fixing his thumb upon a stain, about 
 three inches from the point. "Did not I lend the 
 youth so much of n)y iron toothpick ? and would 
 have sent it through him, if his horse had not carri- 
 ed him away. But I know you. Master Bucanier — 
 You would have had me stab him behind, while 
 Mortagne slashed his head before. Tiiat would 
 have been a tit task for a Norman gentleman, and a 
 soldier ! I whose life he saved too \" 
 
 '• Did you not swear, when you joined our troop," 
 demanded tiie other, to '• lorget every thing that 
 went before 1" 
 
 The Norman hesitated ; he well remembered his 
 oath, against which t!ie better feelings of his heart 
 were perhaps sometimes rebellious. He felt, too, 
 conlused at the direct appeal the other had made to 
 it ; and to pass it by, he caught at the word forget, 
 answering with a stave of the song —
 
 49 RICHELIEU. 
 
 "Forget! forsetl let ilaves Target 
 
 The pangs and chains they bear ; 
 The brave reiiitmber fvtryiJebt 
 
 To honour, and 'he fair. 
 For these are bonds (hat bind us more, 
 Yet leave ui freer than befoie." 
 
 '•' Yes, let those that can do so. forget : but 1 very 
 well remember, at the battle at Perpignan, I had 
 charged with the advanced guard, when the fire of 
 the enemy's musketeers, and a masked battery 
 which began to enfilade our line, soon threw our 
 left flank into disorder, and a charge of cavalry 
 drove back De Coucy's troop. Mielleraye's stan- 
 dard was in the hands of the enemy, when I and 
 five others rallied to rescue it. A gloomy old 
 Spaniard fired his petronel and disabled my left arm, 
 but still 1 held the standard-pole with my right, 
 keeping the standard before me ; but my Don drew 
 his long Toledo, and had got the point to my 
 breast, just going to run it through me standard and 
 all. as I've otten spitted a duck's liver and a piece 
 of bacon on a skewer; when, turning round my 
 head, to see if no help was near, I perceived this 
 young Count de Blenau's banderol, coming like 
 lightning over the field, and driving all before it ; 
 and blue and gold were then the best colours that 
 ever I saw. for they gave me new heart, and wrench- 
 ing the standard-pole round — But hark, there is the 
 horn !"' 
 
 As he spoke, the clear full note of a hunting- 
 horn came swelling from the south-west ; and in a 
 moment after, anoiher, much nearer to them, seem- 
 ed to answer the first. Each, after giving breath to 
 one solitary note, relapsed into silence; and such 
 of the robbers as were awake, having listened till 
 the signal met with a reply, bestirred themselves to 
 rouse their sleeping companions, and to put some 
 face of order upon the disarray which their revels 
 had left behind. 
 
 " Now, Sir Norman," cried he that they distin- 
 guished by the name of Le Blanc , " we shall see
 
 RICHELIEU.- 48 
 
 how monseigneur rates your slackness in his cause. 
 Will you tell him your long story of the seige of 
 Perpignan V 
 
 " Pardie !" cried the other, " 1 care no more for 
 him than I do for you. Every man that stands be- 
 fore me on forest ground is iiut a man, and I will 
 treat him as such." 
 
 " Ha ! ha ! ha !" exclaimed his companion 5 " it 
 were good to see thee bully a privy counsellor ; 
 why. thou daresl as soon take a lion by the beard." 
 
 " 1 dare pass my sword through his heart, were 
 there need," answered the Norman ; '• but here 
 they come, — stand you aside and let me deal with 
 him." 
 
 Approaching steps, and a rustling sound in the 
 thick screen of wood already mentioned, as the long 
 boughs were forced back by the passage of some 
 person along the narrow pathway, announced the 
 arrival of those for whom the robbers had been 
 waiting. 
 
 " Why, it is as dark as the pit of Acheron !" cried 
 a deep voice among the trees. " Are we never to 
 see the light I saw from above ? Oh, here it is.— 
 Chauvelin, hold back that bough, it has caught my 
 cloak." As the speaker uttered the last words, an 
 armed servant, in Isabel and silver, appeared at the 
 entrance of the path, holding back the stray branches, 
 while Chavigni himself advanced into the circle of 
 robbers, who stood grouped around in strange pic- 
 turesque attitudes, some advancing boldly, as if to 
 confront the daring stranger that thus intruded on 
 their haunts, some gazing with a kind of curiosity 
 upon the being so different from themselves, who 
 had thus placed himself m sudden contact with 
 them, some lowering upon him with bended heads, 
 like wolvea when they encounter a nobler beast of 
 prey. 
 
 The statesman himself advanced in silence; and, 
 with something of a frown upon his brow, glanced 
 his eye firmly over every lace around, nor was there 
 an eye among them tiiat did not sink before the
 
 44 RlCnEI^IED. 
 
 stern commandins fire of his, as it rested for a mo- 
 ment upon the countenance of each, seeming calm- 
 ly to construe tlie expression of the features, and 
 read into the soul beneath, as we often see a stu- 
 dent turn over the pages of some foreign book, and 
 collect their meaning at a glance. 
 
 '• Well, sirs. ' said he at length, " my knave tells 
 me, that ye have failed in executing my com- 
 mands.'' 
 
 The Norman we have somewhat minutely de- 
 scribed hereli>fore, now began to e.\cuse himself 
 and his fellows ; and was proceeding to set f»)rth 
 that they had done all wldch came within their 
 power and province to do. and was also engaged in 
 stating, that no men could do more, when Chavig- 
 ni interrupted hmi. "Silence,"' cried he, wi h but 
 little apparent respect tor these lords of the forest, 
 " 1 blame ye not for not doing more tlian ye can do j 
 but how dare ye. mongrel bloodhounds, to disobey 
 my strict commands ? and when 1 bade ye abstain 
 from injuring the youth, how is it ye have mangled 
 him like a stag torn by the wolves ?'' 
 
 Tht' iS'orman turned with a look of subdued tri- 
 umph towards him who had previously censured his 
 forbearance. '" Speak, speak, Le Blanc !" cried he 5 
 " answer nmnseigneur. — Well,'' continued he, as 
 the other drew back, ■•the truth is. Sir Count, we 
 were divided in opinion with respect to the best 
 method of fuliilling your commands, so we called a 
 council of war — " 
 
 '• A council of war !" repeated Chavigni, his lip 
 curling into an ineffable sneer. " Well, proceed, 
 proceed ! You are a INorman, I presume — and 
 brarrgard, I perceive. — Proceed, sir, proceed 1" 
 
 Be it remarked that by this time the iiiHuence of 
 Chavigni's first appearance liad greatly worn away 
 from Uie mind of the Norman. 'J he commanding 
 dignity of the statesman, though it still, in a degree, 
 overawed, had lost the effect of novelty ; and the 
 bold heart of the freebooter began to reproach him 
 for truckling to a being who was inferior to himself,
 
 RICHELIEU. 45 
 
 according to his estimate of human dignities — nu 
 estimate formed not alone on personal courage, but 
 also on personal strength. 
 
 However, as we have said, lie was in some meas- 
 ure overawed ; and thc»ugh he would have done 
 much to prove his daring in the si-jht of his com- 
 panions, his mind was not yet sutficienily wrought 
 up to shake off all respect, and he answered boldly, 
 but calmly, '■ Well,, Sir Count, give me your pa- 
 tience, and you shall hear. But my story must be 
 told my own' way, or not at all. We called a coun- 
 cil of war, then, where every man gave his opinion, 
 and my voice vvas for shooting Monsieur de Ble- 
 nau's horse as he rode by, and then taking advan- 
 tage of the confusion amon°: his lackeys, to seize 
 upon his person, and carry him into St. Herman's 
 brake, which lies between Le Croix de bois and the 
 river — You know where 1 mean, monseigneur T" 
 
 '• i\o truly," answered tlie statesman : '• but, as 1 
 guess, some deep part of the forest, where you 
 could have searched him at your ease — Tiie ph^n 
 was a good one. Why went it not forward ?"' 
 
 '• You shall hear in good time,"' answered the 
 freebooter, growing somewhat more familiar in his 
 lone. *' As you say, St. Herman's brake is deep 
 enough in the forest — and if we had once housed 
 him there, we might have searched him fioin top to 
 toe for the packet — ay, and looked in liis mouih if 
 we found it no where else. But the hrst objection 
 was, that an arquebuse, though a very pretty weap- 
 on, and pleasant serviceable companion in broad 
 brawl and battle, talks too loud for secret service, 
 and the noise thereof might put tlie count's people 
 on their guard before we secured his person. How- 
 ever, they say ' a Xorman cow can alway^i get over a 
 style,' so I offered to do the business with yon arba- 
 lete •,' and he pointed to a steel cross-bow lying 
 near, of ihat peculiar shape which seems to unite 
 the properties of the cross-bow and gun, propelling 
 the bailor bolt by means of the stiff arched spring 
 and cord, by which little no»se is made, while tho
 
 40 RICHELIED. 
 
 aim is rendered more certain by a long tube similar 
 to the barrel of a musket, through which the shot 
 passes. 
 
 '* When was I ever known to miss my aim ?"' 
 continued the Norman. '• Why, I always shoot my 
 stags in the eye. for fear of hurting the skin. How- 
 ever, Montagne. your old friend. Monsieur de Cha- 
 vigni — who was a snrt of band captain among us, 
 loved blood, as you know, like an unreclaimed fal- 
 con ; besides, he had some old grudge against the 
 count, who turned him out of the queen's ante- 
 room, when he was ancient in the cardinal's guard. 
 He it was who ever-ruled my proposal. He would 
 have shot him willingly enough, but your gentle- 
 man would not hear of that; so we attacked the 
 count's train, at the turn of the road — boldly, and in 
 the face. Montagne was lucky enough to get a 
 fair cut at his head, which slashed through his bea- 
 ver, and laid his scull bare, but went no farther, 
 only serving to mike the youth as savage as a hurt 
 boar ; for 1 have only time to see his hand laid up- 
 on his sword, when its cross was knocking against 
 Montagne s ribs before, and the point shining out 
 between his blade-bones behind. It was done in 
 the twinkling of an eye '' 
 
 •' He is a gallant vouth,'' said Chavigni ; " he al- 
 wavs was from a boy ; but where is your wounded 
 Cdmnanion ?"' 
 
 ••Wounded!'' cried the Norman. ''Odds life! 
 he's dead. It was enough to have killed the devil. 
 There he lies, poor fellow, wrapped in his cloak. 
 Will you please to look upon him, Sir Counsellor?"' 
 and snatching up one of the torches, he approached 
 the spot where the (iead man lay, under a bank 
 covertd with withered brushwood and stunted 
 trees. 
 
 Chavijni followed with a slow step and gloomy 
 hriw, the robbers drawing hack at his approach ; 
 for though they held high birth in but little respect, 
 the redoubled name and fearless bearing of the 
 ftatesman bad power over even their ungoverned
 
 RICHELIEU. 47 
 
 spirits. He, however, who had been c.illed Pierrc- 
 pont Le Bhinc by the tall Norman. tv\itclie(l his 
 coiiipniiion b_v the sleeve as lie lighted Chavigni on. 
 *' A coward hound, Norman !"' whispered he — " thou 
 hast felt the laeh — a cowed hound !'' 
 
 The IS'orman glanced on him a look of fire, but 
 passing on in silence, he disengajipd the mantle 
 from the corpse, and displayed the face of his dead 
 companion, whose calm closed eyes and unruffled 
 features might have been supposed to picture quiet 
 sleep, had nut the ashy paleness of his cheek, and 
 the drop of the underjaw, told that the soul no 
 lonirer lenanled its earthly dwelling. 'I'he bosom 
 of the unfortunate man remained open, in the state 
 in which his comrades had left it. after an ineffectu- 
 al attempt to give him aid •, and in the left side ap- 
 peared a small wound, where the weapon of his 
 opponent had found entrance, so trifling in appear- 
 ance, that it seemed a marvel how so little a thing 
 could overthrow the prodigious strength which 
 those limbs announced, and rob them of that hardy 
 spirit which animated them some few hours be- 
 fore. 
 
 Chavigni gazed upon him, with his arms cros.sed 
 upon his breast, and for a moment his mind wan- 
 dered far into those paths, to which such a sight 
 naturally directs the course of our ideas, till, his 
 thoughts losing themselves in the uncertainty ofthe 
 void before them, by a sudden effort he recalled 
 them to the business in whibh he was immediately 
 engaged. 
 
 " Well, he has bitterly expiated the disobedience 
 of my commands; but tell me." he said, turning to 
 the Norman, who still continued to hold the torch 
 over the dead man, '• how is it ye have dared to 
 force my servant to show himself and my liveries 
 in this attack, contrary to my special order ?' 
 
 "That is easily told," answered the Norman, ae- 
 sumin2 a tone equ.illy bold and peremptory vvith 
 that of the statesman. " Thus it stands, Sir Count : 
 you men of qaality often employ us nobility of the
 
 43 RICHELIED. 
 
 forest to do what you either cannot, or dare not do 
 for yourselves ; then, if all goes well, you pay us 
 scantily for our pains ; if it goes ill. you hanu us 
 for your own doings. But we will have none of 
 that. If we are to be falcons for your game, we 
 will risk the stroke of the heron's bill, but we will 
 not have our necks wrung after we have struck the 
 prey. When your lackey was present it was your 
 deed. Mark ye that, Sir Counsellor V 
 
 '' Villain, thou art insolent !'' cried Chavigni, 
 forgetting, in the height of passion, the fearful odds 
 against him, in case of quarrel, at such a moment. 
 " How dare you, slave, to — " 
 
 "Villain! and slave I" cried the Norman, inter- 
 rupting him, and laying his hand on his sword. 
 '" Know, proud sir, that I dare any thing. You are 
 now in the green forest, not at council-board, to 
 prate of daring." 
 
 Chavigni"s dignity, like his prudence, became lost 
 in his anger. '• Boasting Norman coward I' cried 
 he. •' who had not even courage when he saw his 
 leader slain before his face — '' 
 
 The Norman threw the torch from his hand and 
 drew his weapon ; but Chavigni's sword sprang in a 
 moment from the scabbard. He was. perhaps, the 
 best swordsman of his day ; and before his servant 
 (wh<^ advanced, calling loudly to Lafemas to come 
 forth from the wood where he had remained from 
 the first) could approach, or the robbers could show 
 any signs of taking part in the fray, the bl ides of the 
 statesman and the freebooter had crossed, and, 
 maugre the Norman's vast strength, his weapon was 
 instantly wrenched from his hand, and, flying over 
 the heads of his companions, struck against the 
 bank above. 
 
 Chavigni drew back, as if to pass his sword 
 through the body of his opponent} but the moment 
 he had been thus engaged, gave time for reflection 
 on the imprudence of his conduct, and calmly re- 
 turning his sword to itg sheath, '• Thou art no cow- 
 ard, after all/' said he, addressing the Norman in a
 
 RICHELIEO. 4f 
 
 soflened tone of voice ; "-but trast me, friend, that 
 boasting graces but little a brave man. As for the 
 rest, it is no disgrace to have measured swords with 
 Chavigni," 
 
 The Norman was one of those men so totally un- 
 accustomed to command their passions, that, lilte 
 slaves wlio have thrown off their chains, each strug- 
 gles for the mastery, obtains it for a moment, and is 
 again deprived of power by some one more violent 
 still. 
 
 The dignity of the statesman's manner, the ap- 
 parent generosity of his conduct, and the degree of 
 gentleness with which he spoke, acted upon the 
 feelings of the Norman like the waves of the sea 
 when they meet the waters of the Dordogne, driv- 
 ing them back even to their very source wiih irre- 
 sistible violence. An unwonted tear trembled in 
 his eye. " iMonseigneur, I have done foul wrong," 
 said he, " in thus urging you, when you trusted 
 yourself among us. But you have punished me; 
 more by your forbearance, than if you had passed 
 your sword through my body." 
 
 " Ha I such thoughts in a freebooter !" cried 
 Chavigni, " Friend, this is not thy right trade. 
 But what means all this smoke that gathers round 
 us ! — Surely those bushes are on fire ; — see the 
 sparks how they rise !" 
 
 His remark called the eyes of all upon that part 
 of the dingle into which the Norman had incau- 
 tiously thrown his torch, on drawing his sword up- 
 on the statesman. Continued sparks, mingled with 
 a thick cloud of smoke, were rising quickly from it, 
 sh.%«7ing plainly that the fire had caught some ofthe 
 dry bu&Ses thereabout ; and in a moment after a 
 bright f^ime burst forth, speedily communicating it- 
 8t-lf ♦'! the old withered oaks round the spot, and 
 threatening to spread destruction into the heart of 
 the forest. 
 
 In an instant all the robbers were engaged in the 
 most strenuous endeavours to extinguish the fire j 
 
 VOL. I. 4
 
 01 RICHELIEU. 
 
 but the distance to which the vast strength of the 
 Norman had hurled the torch among the bushes. 
 rendered ail access extremely difficult. JNo water 
 was to be procured, and the means they employed, 
 that of cutting down the smaller trees and bu>lies 
 with their swords and axes, instead of opposing any 
 obstacle to the dames, seemed rather to accelerate 
 their progress. From bush to bush, from tree to 
 tree, the impetuous element spread on, till, finding 
 themselves almost girt in by the fire, the heat and 
 smoke of which were becoming too intense for en- 
 durance, the robbers abandoned their useless ef- 
 forts to extinguish it, and hurried to gather up their 
 scattered arms and g.irments, before the flames 
 reached the spot of their late revels. 
 
 The Jsorman, however, together with Chavigni 
 and his servant, still continued their exertions ; and 
 even Lafemas, who had come forth from his hiding- 
 place, gave some awkward assistance ; when sud- 
 denly the jSorman stopped, put his hand to his ear, 
 to aid his hearing amid the cracking of the wood 
 and the roaring of the flames, and exclaimed, " I 
 hear horse upon the hill — ibllow me, monseigneur. 
 St. Patrice guide us ! this is a bad business : follow 
 me !" So saying, three steps brought him to the 
 flat below, where his companions were still engag- 
 ed in gathering together all they had left on the 
 ground. 
 
 " Messieurs !"' he cried to the robbers, " leave all 
 useless lumber 3 1 hear horses coming down the 
 hill. It must be a lieatenant of the forest, and the 
 gardes champetres, alarmed by the fire — seek your 
 horses, quick I — each his own way. We meet at 
 St. Herman's brake — You, monseigneur, lollow me, 
 I will be your guide ; but dally not, sir, if. as J guess, 
 you would rather be deemed in the Rue St. Honore, 
 than in the Forest of St. Germain.'' 
 
 So saying, he drew aside the boughs, disclosing a 
 path somewhat to the right of that by which Cha- 
 ▼igni had entered their retreat, and which apparent- 
 ly led to the high sand cliff which flanked it on the
 
 RICHELIEU. 51 
 
 north. The statesman, with his servant and Lafe- 
 mas, followed quickly upon his steps, only lighted 
 by the occasional gleam of the riames, as they 
 flashed and flickered through the foliage of the 
 trees. 
 
 Having to struggle every moment with the low 
 branches of the hazel and the tangled briars that shot 
 across the path, it was some time ere lliey reached 
 the bank, and there the footway tiiey had hitherto 
 followed seemed to end. '• Here are steps," said 
 the JSorman, in a low voice ; '' hold by the boughs, 
 monseigneur, lest your footing fail. Here is the first 
 step."' 
 
 'I'he ascent was not difficult, and in a few minutes 
 they had lost sight of the dingle and the flames by 
 which it was surrounded ;«only every now and then, 
 where the branches opened, a broad light fell upon 
 their path, telling that the fire still raged with un- 
 abated fury. A moment or two after, they could 
 perceive that the track entered upon a small savan- 
 na, on which the moon was still shining, her beams 
 showing with a strange sickly light, mingled as they 
 were with the fitful gleams of the flames and the red 
 reflection of the sky. The whole of this small plain, 
 however, was quite sufficiently illuminated to allow 
 Chavigni and his companion to distinguish two 
 horses fastened by their bridles to a tree hard by : 
 and a momentary glance convinced the statesman, 
 that the spot where he and Lafemas had left their 
 beasts, was again before him, although he had arriv- 
 ed there by another and much shorter path than 
 that by which he had been conducted to the rendez- 
 vous. 
 
 *' We have left all danger behind us, monseign- 
 eur,"' said the robber, after having carefully ex- 
 amined the savanna, to ascertain that no spy lurk- 
 ed among tho trees around. '• The flies are all 
 swarming round the flames. There stand your 
 horses — mount, and good speed attend you 1 Your 
 servant must go with me, for our beasts are not so 
 nigh."
 
 51 RICHELIEtt, 
 
 Chavigni whispered a word in the robber's ear, 
 who in return bowed low, with an air of profound re- 
 spect. •• 1 will attend your lordship—" replied he, 
 '• and without fear." 
 
 '• You may do so in safety," said the statesman ; 
 and mounting his horse, after waiting a moment for 
 the judge, he look his way once more towards Lhe 
 high road to St. Germain.
 
 RIOIIELIEU. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 Ill which the lenrnH reHclir will «!i»cov«>r <hnt it ii eny to 
 mi^e MiH|iiriiiii4 witJMiit :<iiy caiue, and Uul royalty i» not 
 |ii\(eii( aijiiinil tiipertlitinii. 
 
 We must now return to the principal personage 
 of our hibtory, and accompany niin on hs way to- 
 wards St. (M'rmuin, wliiilier lie was wendinjj; when 
 last wo loll iiiin. 
 
 There are sonic authors fond of hoUling their rea- 
 <lers in suspense, of l)riiii[ing tlnMU into unexpected 
 •ituationa, and surprisim; ihein into ap|)hiuse. All 
 •uch things are extreiM«;ly appropriate in a novel or 
 romance; hut as this is a true and authentic his- 
 tory, and as oke I detiist wiiat theatrical folks call 
 " claplrap,' I shall |)ro(;(!eil to record the facta in 
 the iirder in whicii llicy took place, as nearly ns it 
 is po8«ihle to do so, ai'ul will, like our old friend 
 Othello, " a round unvarnished tale deliver."' 
 
 The distance to i>t. ( Jerniain was consi^lorable, 
 and natural'y appeared still lonijer than it really was 
 to persons unacquainted with one step of the road 
 bclore theni.xnd apprehensive of a thousand occur- 
 rences hdlli likely and unlikely. Nolhinj,' however 
 happened to interrupt them on the way ; and their 
 journey passed over not only in peace, hut pretty 
 much in silenre also. Both the ladies who occupi- 
 ed the insi»le of the carriaj^e seemed to he verv Buf- 
 ficienlly taken up with their own thoujrlMs. and no 
 way disposed to loquacity, so that the only hreak to 
 the melancholy stillness which hung «>yer ihein 
 was now and then a half-formed senteiu-e, proreed- 
 int< from whai was rapidly passiujj in the mnuls of 
 each, or the compUining creak ol the heavy wheelf
 
 54 RICHELIEU. 
 
 as they ground their unwilling way through the less 
 practicable parts of the forest round. 
 
 At times, ton. a groan from the lips of their wound- 
 ed companion interrupted the silence, as the rough- 
 ness of the way jolted the ponderous vehicle in 
 which he was carried, and reawakened him to a 
 sense o( pain. 
 
 Long ere they had reached St.;Germain, night had 
 fallen over their road, and nothing could be distin- 
 girshed bv those within the carriage, but the figures 
 of the two horsemen who kept close to the windows. 
 The interior was still darker, and it was only a kind 
 of inarticulate sob from the other side which made 
 the marchioness inquire, " Pauline ! you are not 
 weeping V 
 
 The young lady did not positively say whether 
 she was or not. but replied in a voice which showed 
 her mother's conjecture to be well founded. 
 
 " It was not thus, mamma," she said, " that I had 
 hoped to arrive nt St. Germain." 
 
 "Fie, fie! Pauline," replied the old lady; "I 
 have long tried to make you feel like a woman, and 
 you are still a child, a weak child. These acci- 
 dents, and worse than those, occur to every one in 
 the course of life, and they must be met with forti- 
 tude. Have vou flattered yourself that j/oii would 
 be exempt from the common sorrows of humani- 
 ty ?•' 
 
 '• But if he should die ?" said Pauline, with the 
 tone of one who longs to be soothed out of their 
 fears. The old ladv. however, applied no such unc- 
 tion to the wound in her daughter's heart. Madame 
 de Beaumont had herself been reared in the school 
 of adversity ; and while her mind snd principles 
 had been thus strengthened and confirmed, her feel- 
 ings had not been rendered more acute. In the 
 preseiit instance, whether she spoke it heedlessly^ 
 or whether she intended to destroy one passion by 
 exciting another, to cure Pauline's grief by rousing 
 her anger, her answer afforded but little consola-
 
 RICHELIEU. 55 
 
 tion. " If he dies," said she, dryly, " why I suppo«e 
 the fair lady, whose picture he has in his bosom, 
 would weep, and you — "' 
 
 A deep groan from their wounded companion 
 broke in upon her speech, and suggested to the 
 marchioness that he might not be quite so insensi- 
 ble as he seemed. Such an answer, too, was not 
 so palatable to Pauline as to induce her to urge the 
 conversation any farther ; so that silence again re- 
 sumed her empire over the party, remaining undis* 
 turbed till the old lady drawing back the curtain, 
 announced that they were entering St. Germain. 
 
 A few minutes more brought them to the lodging 
 of the Count de Blenau ; and here the marchioneai 
 descending, gave all the necessary directions in or- 
 der that the young gentleman mi?ht be carried to 
 his sleeping-chamber in the easiest and most con- 
 venient method ; while Pauline, without proffering 
 any aid, sat back in a dark corner of the carriage. 
 Wor would any thing have shown that she wa« in- 
 terested in what passed around her, save when the 
 light of a torch glaring into the vehicl*, discovered 
 a handkerchief pressed over her eyes to hide the 
 tears she could not restrain. 
 
 As soon as the count was safely lodged in his own 
 dwelling, the carriage'proceeded towards the palace, 
 which showed but little apnearance of regal state. 
 However the mind of Pauline might have been ac- 
 customed to picture a court in all the gay and 
 splendid colouring which youthful imagination lead* 
 to anticipated pleasure, her thoughts were now far 
 too fully occupied to admit of her noticing the lone- 
 ly and deserted appearance of tlie scene. But to 
 Madame de Beaumont it was different. She who 
 remembered Si. Germain in other days, looked in 
 vain for the lights flashing from every window of 
 the palace ; for the servants hurrying along the dif- 
 ferent avenues, the sentinels parading before every 
 entrance, and the gay groups of courtiers and ladies 
 in all the brilliant costume of the time, who used to
 
 ^ RICHELIEU. 
 
 crowd the terrace and gardens to enjoy the cool of 
 the evening after the sun had gone down. 
 
 All that she remembered had had its day ; and no- 
 thing remained but silence and solitude. A single 
 sentry at the principal gate was all that indicated 
 the dwelling of a king 5 and it was not till the car- 
 riage had passed under the archway, that even an 
 attendant presented himself to inquire who were 
 the comers at that late hour. 
 
 The principal domestic of Madame de Beaumont, 
 nho had already descended from his horse, gave the 
 name of his lady with all ceremony, and also tender- 
 ed a card (as he had been instructed by the marchio- 
 ness.) on which her style 'hnd title were fully dis- 
 played. The royal servant bowed low, saying that 
 the queen his mistress had expected the marchio- 
 ness before; and seizing the rope of a great bell, 
 which hung above the staircase, he rang such a peal 
 that the empty galleries of the palace returned a 
 kind of groaning echo to the rude clang which seem- 
 ed to mock their loneliness. 
 
 Two or three more servants appeared in answer 
 to the bells noisy summons; yet such was still the 
 paucity of attendants, that Madame de Beaumont, 
 even while she descended from her carriage, and 
 began to ascend the " grand escaliar,'' had need to 
 look, from time to time, at the splendid fresco 
 paintings which decorated the walls, and the 
 crowns and rieurs-de-lis with which all the cornices 
 were ornamented, before she could satisfy herself 
 that she really was in the royal chateau of St. Ger- 
 main. 
 
 Pauline's eyes, fixed on the floor, wandered little 
 to any of the objects round, yet, perhaps, the vast 
 spaciousness of the palace, contrasted with the 
 scarcity of its inhabitants, might cast even an addi- 
 tional degree of gloom over her mind, saddened as 
 it already was by the occurrences of the day. 
 Doubtless, in the remote parts of Languedoc, where 
 Pauline de Beaumont had hitherto dwelt, gay vi-
 
 RICHELIEU. §7 
 
 sions of a court had come floating upon imagination 
 like the lamps which tlie Hindoos commit to the 
 waters of the Ganges, casting a wild and uncertain 
 light upon the distant prospect} and it is probable 
 that even if St. Germain had possessed all its for- 
 mer splendour, Pauline, would still have been dis- 
 appointed, for youthful imagination always outri- 
 vals plain reality ; and besides there is an unpleas- 
 ing feeling of solitude communicated by the aspect 
 of a strange place, which detracts greatly from the 
 first pleasure of novelty. Thus there were a thou- 
 sand reasons why Mademaiselle de Beaumont, as 
 she followed the attendant through the long empty 
 galleries and vacant chambers of the palace towards 
 the apartments prepared for her mother and herself, 
 felt none of those happy sensations which she had 
 anticipated from her arrival at court ; nor was it till 
 on entering the antechamber of their suite of rooms, 
 she beheld the ga.y smiling face of her Lyonaise 
 waiting-maid, that she felt there was any thing akin 
 to old recollections within those cold and pom- 
 pous walls which seemed to look upon her as a 
 stranger. 
 
 The soubrette had been sent forward the day be- 
 fore with a part of the Marchioness de Beaumont's 
 equipage; and now, having endured a whole day's 
 comparative silence with the patience and fortitude 
 of a martyr, she advanced to the two ladies with 
 loquacity in her countenance, as if resolved to make 
 up, as speedily as possible, for the restraint under 
 which her tongue had laboured during her short so- 
 journ in the palace ; but the deep gravity of Madame 
 de Beaumont, and the melancholy air of her daugh- 
 ter, checked Louise in full career; so that, having 
 kissed her mistress on both gheeks, she paused, 
 while her lip, like an overfilled reservoir, whose 
 waters are trembling on the very brink, seemed 
 ready to pour forth the torrent of words which she 
 had so long suppressed. 
 
 Pauline, as she passed through the anteroom.
 
 68 RICHELIETT. 
 
 wiped the last tears from her eyes, and on entering 
 the saloon, advanced towards a mirror which hung 
 between the windows, as if to ascertain what traces 
 they had left behind. The soiibrelte did not fail 
 to advance, in order to adjust her young lady's dress, 
 and finding herself once more in the exercise of her 
 functions, the right of chattering seemed equally 
 restored; for she commenced immediately, begin- 
 ning in a low and respectful voice, but gradually 
 increasing as the thought of her mistress was 
 swallowed up in the more comprehensive idea of 
 herself. 
 
 "Oh, dear mademoiselle," said she, "T am so 
 glad you are come at last. This place is so sad and 
 so dull ! Who would thiuk it was a court ? Why, I 
 expected to see it all filled with lords and ladies, 
 and instead of that, I have seen nothing but dismal- 
 looking men. who go gliding about in silence, seem- 
 ing afraid to open their lips, as if that cruel old car- 
 dinal, whom they all tremble at. could hear every 
 word they say. I did see one fine-looking gentle- 
 man this morning, to be sure, with his servants all 
 in beautiful liveries of blue and gold, and horses as 
 if there were fire coming out of their very eyes ; but 
 he rode away to hunt, after he had been half an 
 hour with the queen and Mademoiselle de Haute- 
 ford, as they call her." 
 
 " Mademoiselle who ?" exclaimed Pauline, quick- 
 ly, as if startled from her- revery by something 
 curious in the name. " Who ^id you say, 
 Louise ?■' 
 
 '■Oh, such a pretty young lady 1" replied the wait- 
 ing-woman. " Mademoiselle de Hauteford is her 
 name. 1 saw her this morning as she went to the 
 queen's levee. She has eyes as blue as the sky, and 
 teeth like pearls themselves ; but withal she looks 
 as cold and as proud as if she were the queen's owa 
 self" 
 
 While the soubrette spoke, Pauline raised her 
 large dark eyes to the tall Venetian mirror which
 
 RICHELIEU. 69 
 
 stood before her, and which had never reflected any 
 thing lovelier than herself, as hastily she passed her 
 fair small hand across her brow, brushing back tlie 
 glossy ringlets that hung clustering over her fore- 
 head. But she was tired and pale with fatigue and 
 anxiety; her eyes, too, bore the traces of tears, and 
 with a si<_'h and look of dissatisfaction, she turned 
 away from the mirror, which, like every other in- 
 vention of human vanity, often procures us disap- 
 pointment as well as gmtitication. 
 
 Madame de Be;>umont's eyes had been fixed upon 
 Pauline; and translating her daughter's looks with 
 the instinctive acutenes3 of a mother, she approach- 
 ed with more gentleness than was her wont. •' You 
 are beautiful enough, my Pauline, ''said she. pressing 
 a kiss upon her cheek ; " you are beautiful enough. 
 Do not fear."* 
 
 " Nay, mamma." replied Pauline, " I have nothing 
 to fear, either from possessing or from wanting 
 beauty." 
 
 '* Thou art a silly girl, Pauline." continued her 
 mother, " and take these trifles far too much to 
 heart. Perhaps I was wrong concerning this same 
 picture. It was but a random guess. Besides, 
 even were it true, where were the mightv harm? 
 These men are all alike. Pauline. — like butterflies, 
 they fest on a thousand flowers before they settle on 
 any one. We all fancy that our own lover is dif- 
 ferent from his fellows ; but, believe me, my child, 
 the best happiness a woman can boast, is that of be- 
 ing mnst carefully deceived " 
 
 "Then no such butterfly love for me, mamma," 
 replied Pauline, her cheek slightly colouring as she 
 spoke. " I would rather not know this sweet poison 
 — love. My heart is still free, though my fancy 
 may have-^have — " 
 
 " Mav have what. Pauline ?" demnnded her moth- 
 er, with a doubtful smile. " My dear child, thy 
 heart, and thy fancy, I trow, have not been so sepa- 
 rate as thou thinkest."
 
 60 RICHELIEU. 
 
 "IVay, mamma." answered Pauline. " my fancy, 
 like an insect, may have been caught in the web of 
 a spider ; but the enemy has not yet seized me, and 
 I will break through while I can." 
 
 '• But. first, let a^ be sure that we are right." said 
 Madame de Beaumont. " For as every rule has its 
 exception, there be some men. whose hearts are 
 even worthy the acceptance of a squeamish girl, 
 who, knowing nothing of the world, expecti to 
 meet with purity like her own. At all events, love, 
 De Bleuau is the sou! of honour, and will not stoop 
 to deceit. In justice, you must not judge without 
 hearing him." 
 
 " But." said Pauline. not at all displeased with the 
 refutation of her own ideas, and even wishing, per- 
 iiaps, to afford her mother occasion to combat them 
 anew. — " but — '" 
 
 The sentence, however, was never destined to be 
 concluded ; for. as she spoke, the door of the apart- 
 ment opened, and a form glided in. the appearance 
 of which instantly arrested the words on Pauline's 
 lips, and made her draw back with an instinctive 
 feeling of respect. 
 
 The lady who entered had passed that earlier 
 period of existence when beauties and graces suc» 
 ceed each other without pause, like the flowers of 
 spring, that ffo bloomincr on from the violet to the 
 rose. She was in the summer of life, but it was the 
 early summer, untouched by autumn ; and her form, 
 though it posse sed no longer the airy lightness of 
 youth, had acquired in dignity a degree of beauty 
 which compensated for the softer loveliness that 
 years had stolen away. Her brown hair fell in a 
 profusion of lar^e curls round a face, which, if not 
 strictly handsome, was highly pleasing: and even 
 many sorrows and reverses, by mingling an expres- 
 sion of patient melancholy with the gentle majesty 
 of her countenance, produced a greater degree of 
 interest than the Ceatures could have origiMally ex- 
 cited.
 
 RICHELIEU. 61 
 
 Those even who sought for mere beauty of feature, 
 would have perceived that her eyes were quick and 
 fine^ that her skin was of the most delicate white- 
 ness, except where it was disfigured by the use of 
 rouge ; and that her small mouth might have served 
 as model to a statuary, especially while her lips 
 arched with a warm smile of pleasure and aflection, 
 as advancing into the apartment, she pressed 
 Madame de Beaumont to her bosom, who on her 
 part, bending low, received the embrace of Anne of 
 Austria with the humble deference of a respectful 
 subject towards the condescension of their sove- 
 reign. 
 
 " Once more restored to me, my dear Madame de 
 Beaumont!" said the queen. "His Eminence of 
 Richelieu does indeed give me back one of the best 
 of my friends — And this is your Pauline."' — She add- 
 ed, turning to Mademoiselle de Beaumont, " You 
 were but young, my fair demoiselle, when last I 
 saw you. You have grown up a lovely flower from 
 a noble root 3 but truly you will never be spoiled by 
 splendour at our court."' 
 
 As she spoke, her mind seemed naturally to re- 
 turn to other days, and her eye fixed intently on the 
 ground, as if engaged in tracing out the plan of her 
 past existence, running over all the lines of sorrow, 
 danger, and disappointed hope, till the task became 
 too bitter, and she turned to the marchioness with 
 one of those long deep sighs, that almost always 
 follow a review of the days gone by, forming a sort 
 of epitaph to the dreams, the wishes, and the joys, 
 that once were dear, and are no more. 
 
 '• When you met me. De Beaumont," said the 
 queen, ''with the proud Duke of Guise on the 
 banks of the Bidasoa — quitting the kingdom of my 
 father and entering the kingdom of my husband — 
 with an army for my escort, and princes kneeling at 
 my feet— little, little did ever you or [ think, that 
 Anne of Austria, the wife of a great king, and 
 daughter of a long line of monarchs, would, in after
 
 ea RICHELIEU. 
 
 years, be forced to dwell at St. Germain, without 
 guards, without court, without attendants, but such 
 as the Cardinal de Richelieu chooses to allow her. 
 — Tne Cardinal de Richelieu I' she proceeded, 
 thougiilfuUy ; " the servant of my husband I — but no 
 less the master of his master, and the king of his 
 king." 
 
 '• 1 can assure your majesty," replied Madame de 
 Beaumont, with a deep lone of feeling which iiad 
 no hypocrisy in it, for her whole heart was bound 
 by habit, principle, and inclination to her royal mis- 
 tress — " I can assure your majesty, that many a 
 tear have 1 shed over the sorrows of my queen ; 
 and when his eminence drove me from tlie court, I 
 regretted not the splendour of a palace, 1 regretted 
 not the honour of serving my sovereigrt, 1 regretted 
 not the friends I left behind, or the hopes I lost, 
 but 1 regretted that 1 couid not be the sharer of my 
 mistress's misfortunes. — But your majesty has now 
 received a blessing from Heaven,'' she continued, 
 willing to turn the conversation from the troubled 
 course of memory to the more agreeable channels 
 ofiiope — ■• a blessing which we scarcely dreamed 
 of, a consolation under all present sorrows, and a 
 bright prospect for the years to come." 
 
 "Oh, yes, my little Louis, you would say," re- 
 plied the queen, her face lightening with all a 
 mother's joy as she spoke of her son. " He is in- 
 deed a cherub 5 and sure am I, that if God sends 
 him years, he will redress his mother's wrongs by 
 proving the greatest of his race." 
 
 She spoke of the famous Louis the Fourteenth, 
 and some might have thought she prophesied. But 
 it was only the fervour of a mother's hope, an ebuli- 
 tion of that pure feeling, which alone, of all the 
 affections of the heart, liie most sordid poverty can- 
 not destroy, and the proudest rank can hardly 
 check. 
 
 " He is indeed a cherub," continued the queen ; 
 " and such was your Pauline to you, De Beaumont,
 
 RICHELIEU. «3 
 
 when the cardinal drove you from my side : a con- 
 Bolation not only in your exile, but also in your 
 mourning for your noble lord. Come near, young 
 lady; let me see if thou art like thy Aither." 
 
 Pauline approached ; and the queen laying her 
 hand gently upon her arm, ran her eye rapidly over 
 her face and hgure, every now and then pausing for 
 a moment, and seeming to call memory to her aid, 
 in the comparison she was making between the 
 dead and the living. But suddenly she started back, 
 " Sainte Vierge .'" cried she, crossing herself, "' your 
 dress is all dabbled with blood. What bad omen is 
 this V 
 
 " May it please your majesty," said the marchoi- 
 ness, half smiling at the queen's superstition, for her 
 own strong mind rejected many of the errors of the 
 day, '• that blood is only an omen of Pauline's char- 
 itable disposition ; for in the forest hard by, we 
 came up with a wounded cavalier, and, like a true 
 demoiselle arrante, Pauline rendered him personal 
 aid, even at the expense of her robe." 
 
 " JN'ay, nay, De Beaumont," said the queen, "it 
 matters not how it came ; it is a bad omen : some 
 misfortune is about to happen. I remember the day 
 before my father died, the Conde de Saldana came 
 to court with a spot of blood upon the lace of his 
 cardinal ; and on that fatal day which — '' 
 
 The door of the apartment at this moment open- 
 ed, and Anne of Austria, filled with her own pecu- 
 liar superstition, stopped in the midst of her speech, 
 and turned her eye anxiously towards it, as if she 
 expected the coming of some ghastly apparition. 
 The figure that entered, however, though it possess- 
 ed a dignity scarcely earthly, and a calm still grace 
 — an almost inanimate composure, rarely seen in 
 beings agitated by human passions, was neverthe- 
 less no form calculated to inspire alarm. 
 
 "Oh, Mademoiselle de Hauteford !" cried the 
 queen, her face brightening as she spoke, " De 
 Beanmont, you will love her, for that she is one of 
 my firmest friends."
 
 64 RICHELIEU. 
 
 At the name of De Hauteford, Pauline drew up 
 her slight elegant figure to its full height, with a 
 wild start, like a deer suddenly frightened by some 
 distant sound, and drawing her hand across her fore- 
 head, brushed back the two or three dark curls, 
 which hnd again fallen over her clear fair brow. 
 
 " De Hauteford I" cried Anne of Austria, as the 
 young lady advanced, " what has happened ? You 
 look pale — some evil is abroad."' 
 
 " 1 would noi have intruded on your majesty, or 
 on these ladies,"' said Mademoiselle de Hauteford, 
 with a g:raceful but cold inclination of the head to- 
 wards the strangers, " had it not been that Monseiur 
 Seguin, your majesty's surgeon, requests the favour 
 of an audience immediately. Nor does he wish to 
 be seen by the common attendants; in trulh, he has 
 followed me to the antechamber, where he waits 
 your majesty's pleasure." 
 
 " Admit him, admit him !" cried the queen. 
 " What can he want at this hour ?" 
 
 The surgeon was instantly brought into the pre- 
 sence of the queen by Mademoiselle de Hauteford j 
 but, after approaching his royal mistress with a pro- 
 found bow, he remained in silence glancing his eye 
 towards the strangers who stood in the apartment, 
 in such a manner as to intimate that his communica- 
 tion required to be made in private. 
 
 " Speak, speak. Seguin I"' cried the queen, trans- 
 lating his lo( k and answering it at once; "these 
 are all friends, old and dear friends." 
 
 '• If such be your majesty's pleasure," replied the 
 surgeon, with that sf>rt of short dry voice, which 
 generally denotes a man of few words, " I must in- 
 form you at once, that youn? Count de Blenau has 
 been this morning attacked by robbers, while hunt- 
 ing in the forest, and is severely hurt." 
 
 While Seguin communicated this intelligence, 
 Pauline (she scarce knew why.) fixed her eye upon 
 Mademoiselle de Hauteford, whose clear pale 
 cheek, ever almost of the hue of alabaster, showed 
 that it could become still paler. The queen too,
 
 niCHELTEir. ^1 
 
 though the rouge she wore concealed any change 
 of complexion, appeared manifestly agitated. " I 
 told you so, Ue Beauuiosil/' she exclaimed — " that 
 blood foreboded evil : 1 never knew the sign to 
 fail. This is bad news truly, Seguin," she con- 
 tinued. "Poor De Bienau ! surely be will not 
 die." 
 
 "I hope not, madam/' replied the surgeon j " 1 se6 
 every chance i>f his recovery." 
 
 " But speak more freely," said the queen. " Have 
 you learned any thing from him ? These are all 
 friends, 1 tell you." 
 
 " The count is very weak, madam," answered 
 Seguin, " both from loss of blood and a stunning 
 blow on the head ; but he desired me to tell your 
 majesty, that though the wound is in his side, his 
 heart is uninjured 1" 
 
 '• Oh, I understand, I understand," exclaimed 
 the queen. '• De Bienau is one out of a thousand : 
 1 must write him a note ; follow me, Seguin.— 
 Good night, dear Madame de Beaumont. Fare- 
 well, Pauline! — Come to my levee to-morrow, 
 and we vvill talk over old stories and new hopes.— 
 But have a care, Pauline — No more blood upon 
 your robe. It is a bad sign in the house of Aus- 
 tria." 
 
 The moment tlie queen was gone, Pauline plead- 
 ed fitigue, and retired to her chamber, followed by 
 her mnid Louise, who, be it remarked, had remain- 
 ed in the room during the royi visit. 
 
 "This is a strange place, this St. Germain," 
 said the waiting-woman, as she undressed her mis- 
 tress. 
 
 " It is indeed '." replied Pauline. "I wish I had 
 never seen it. But of one thing let me warn y«u, 
 Louise, before it is too late. Never repeat any 
 thing y.)U may see or hear, while you are at th 
 court j for if you do, vour life may answer fc 
 it." 
 
 roL. I. 5
 
 ^Q RICHELIEU. 
 
 " My life ! Mademoiselle Pauline," exclaimed the 
 soubretle, as if she doubled her ears. 
 
 " Yes indeed, your life !" replied llie young lady : 
 " So beware.'" 
 
 " Then I wish I had never seen the place eith- 
 er," rejoined the maid ; '• for what the use of see- 
 ing and hearing things, if one may not talk about 
 them ? — and who can be always watching one's 
 tongue V
 
 RICHELIEU. 67 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 A Chapter of mighty import, wliich may he read or not, as 
 the Ueader thinks tit, the Book heiiig quite as well with- 
 out it. 
 
 With the happy irregularity of all tnje stories, we 
 must return, for a moment, to a very insigniticant 
 person, — Ihe woodman of Mantes. Indeed, I have 
 to beg my reader's p;irdoii for saying so much about 
 any one under the rank of a chevalier at least ; but 
 all through this most untractable of all histories, I 
 have been pestered with a set of shabby fellows in 
 very indifferent circumstances. Woodcutters, rob- 
 bers, gentlemen's servants, and tlie like, who make 
 themselves so abominably useful, that though we 
 wish them at the devil all the time, we can do no 
 way without them. Let the sin not be attributed 
 to me ; for I declare, upon my conscience, that when 
 first 1 undertook to record this tale, 1 atteii«'>ted a 
 thorough reform; 1 superseded a great number of 
 subordinate characters, put others upon the retired 
 list, and dismissed a great many as useless sinecu- 
 rists ; but when [ had done, all was in confusion; 
 and then, after considering matters for half an hour, 
 and turning over a page or two in the book of na- 
 ture, I found, that the most brilliant actions and the 
 greatest events were generally brought about from 
 the meanest motives and most petty causes: I per- 
 ceived, that women and valets de-chambre govern 
 the world : I found tiiat saur-kraut had disagreed 
 with Sirah Ducliess of Marlborough, made her in- 
 solent to Queen Anne, made Qoeen Anne threaten 
 to box her eirs, made England resign her advantages 
 over to France — placed the Bourbon dynasty on the 
 throne of Spain, and changed the face of Europe
 
 68 RICilELItF. 
 
 even to the present day. So. if saur-kraat did all 
 this, surely I may return to Philip, the woodman of 
 Mantes. 
 
 Ciiavigni, as we have seen, cast his purse upon 
 the tzround, and rode away Jrora the cottage of the 
 woodman, little heeding what so insignificant an 
 agent might do or siy. Yet Piiilip's Hr^t thought 
 was one wliich would have procured him speedy 
 adnussion to the Baslilie, had Ciiavigni been able 
 to divine its nature. •• The young count shall know 
 all about it," said Philip to himself. " That's a great 
 rogue in Isabel and silver, for all his fine clotlies, or 
 I'm much mistaken." 
 
 His next object of attention was the purse ; and 
 after various pros and cons Inclination, the best logi- 
 cian in the world, reasoned him into taking it. 
 '• For, ' said Pbilip, ••dirty fingers soil no gold;'" and 
 having carefully put it into his pouch, the woodman 
 laid his finger upon the side of his nose, and plung- 
 ed headlong into a deep meditation concerning the 
 best and least suspicious metliod of informing the 
 young Count de Blenau of all he had seen, heard, 
 or suspected. We will not follo\y the course of 
 this cogitation, whicli. as it doubtless took place in 
 the French tongue, must necessarily sutler by trans- 
 lation, but taking a shortcut straight through all the 
 zigzags of Philip's mind, arrive directly at the con- 
 clusi(m, or rather at the consequences, which were 
 these. In the first place, he commanded his son 
 Charles to load the n^ule with wood, notwithstand- 
 ing the boy's oUservalion. that no one would buy 
 wood at that time of the morning, or rather the 
 night ; for, to mike use of Shakspeare's language, 
 the morn, far from being yet clad in any russet 
 mantle, was snu_dv wrapped up in the blanket of 
 the dark, and snoring away, fast asleep, like her 
 betters. 
 
 Precisely in the same situation as Aurora, that is 
 to say, soundly sleeping, till her ordinary hour of 
 risin.r. was Joan, the woodman's wife. Philip, how- 
 ever, by sundry eft'orts, contrived to awaken her t'.i
 
 RICHELIEU. (59 
 
 a sense of external things; and perceiving that, 
 after vnrious yawns and stretches, her mind had ar- 
 rived at the point of compreiiending a sinj[)lc pro- 
 position, "Get up, Joan, (:et up!" cried he. "I 
 want you to wriie a letter for me ; writing being a 
 gilt that, by the blessing of God, 1 do not pos- 
 sess." 
 
 '{'he wife readily obeyed; for Philip, though as 
 kind as the airol sprina.had a high notion of marital 
 privileges, and did not often suffer his conuuands to 
 be disputed within his little sphere of dominion. 
 However, it seemed a sort of tenue by which his 
 sway was held, that Joan, his wife, should share in 
 all his secrets; and accordingly, in the present in- 
 stance, the good woodman related in somewhat 
 prolix style, not only all that had passed between 
 Chavigni and Lafemas in the house, but much of 
 what they had saiil before they even knocked at his 
 door. 
 
 •'For you must know. Joan," said lie, "that I 
 could not sleep for thinking of all this days bad 
 W(jrk ; and, as I lay awake. I heard horses stop at 
 the; water, and people speakinir, and very soon what 
 tiiey said made me wish to lienr more, which I did, 
 as I have told you. And now. Joan 1 think it right, 
 as a Christian and a man. to let tiiis joung cavalier 
 know what they are plotting against him. So sit 
 thee ^own : here is a pen and ink. and a plain sheet 
 out of the boy's holy catechism. — God forgive me! 
 But it could not go to a better use." 
 • It n»atters not much to tell all the various consid- 
 erations wiiich were vveighed and discussed by Phil- 
 ip and his wife in the construction of this epistle. 
 Suffice it to s.ay. that like two unskilful players at 
 batiiedoor and shuttlecock, they bandied backwards 
 and forwards the same objections a thousand limes 
 between them, for ever letting them drop, and tak- 
 ing them up again anew, till such time as day was 
 well risen before they Hnished. JNeilher would it 
 much edify the world, in all probability, to know 
 the exact style and tenor of the composition wh§a
 
 70 RlCHELIIiU. 
 
 it was complete, although Philip heard his wife read 
 it over with no small satisfaction, and doubtless 
 thouglit it as pretty a piece of oratorv as ever was 
 penned. 
 
 It is now unfortunately lost to the public, and all 
 that can be satisfactorily vouched upon the subject 
 is. that it was cilcijlated to convey to the Coiiiit de 
 Blenau all the iii{'orni;itio!i which tlie woodcutter 
 possessed, although that information might be cloth- 
 ed in homely language, without much perfection, 
 either iti writing <>r ortliogr.iphy. 
 
 When it had been reail. and re-read, and twisted 
 up according to the best conceit of the ^ood couple, 
 it was entrusted to Chirles, the woo<lmans boy, 
 with many acharge and direction concerning its de- 
 livery. For his part, glad of a days sport, he readi- 
 ly undertook the tas.k. and «lriving the laden mule 
 before hmi, set out, whistling on his way. to St. 
 Germain's. He had not. however, proceeded far, 
 when he was overtuken by Philip with new direc- 
 tions; the principal one heing to say, if any one 
 shouM actually see him deliver the note, and make 
 inquiries, iliat it came from a lady. " For." said 
 Philip. — and he Ihoujht the observation was a 
 shrewed one, — "so handsome a youth as the" 
 young count must have many ladies who white to 
 him.'' 
 
 Charles did not very well comprehend what it 
 was all about, but he w.ns well enough contented to 
 serve the young count, who had given him many a 
 kind word and a piece of silver, when the hunting 
 parlies of the court hnd stopped to water their hor- 
 ses at the abreuvoir. The boy was diligent and ac- 
 tive, and soon reached .St. Germain. His next task 
 was to Hnd out the lodging of the Count de Blenau : 
 and, after looking about for some lime, he address- 
 ed himself, for information, to a stout, jovial-look- 
 ing servaTjt. who was Bannterinj down the street, 
 gazing about at the various hotels, with a look of 
 easy no7%chaiwice, as if idleness was his employ- 
 ment
 
 RICHELIEU. ft 
 
 *' Why do you ask, my boy V demanded the man, 
 without answering iiis question. 
 
 '' 1 want to sell my wood,"' replied the woodman's 
 son. remembering that his errand was to be private. 
 " Where does he lodge, good sir ?"' 
 
 " Why, the count does not buy wood in this hot 
 weather." rejoined the other. 
 
 " I should suppose the count does not buy wood, 
 himself, at all," replied the boy, putting the ques- 
 tion aside with all the shrewdness of a French 
 peasant; "but, perhaps, his cook wil." 
 
 '• Suppose I buy your wood, my man," said the 
 servant. 
 
 " Why, you are very welcome, sir," answered the 
 youth ; '"but if you do not want it, I pray you, in 
 honesty, show me which is the Count de Blenau's 
 hotel."' 
 
 " Well, 1 will show thee," said the servant ; " 1 
 am e"en goin": thither myself, on the part of the 
 Marquise de Bsaumont, to ask after the young 
 count 3 health." 
 
 ' Oil, then, you are one of those who were with 
 the carriage veslerday, when he was wounded in 
 the wood," excliiiued the boy. "Now ] remember 
 your colours. Were you not one of those on horse- 
 back?" 
 
 " Even so," answered the man ; " and if I forgot 
 not. thnu art the woodmm's boy. But come, prithee, 
 tell us what is thy real errand with the count. We 
 are all his friends, you know; and selling him the 
 wood is all a tale." 
 
 The boy thou'^ht for a moment, to determine 
 whetherjie should tell the man all he knew or not ; 
 but remembering the answer his father had furnish- 
 ed him with, he replied, '-The truth then is, I carry 
 him a note from a lady." 
 
 " Oh. ho ! my little Mercury !" cried the servant ; 
 *' so you are as close with vour secrets as if you 
 were" an older politician. This i« the way you sell 
 wood, is it V
 
 78 RICHELIEU, 
 
 " I do not know what you mean by Mercury," re- 
 joined the boy. 
 
 " Why he was a great man in his day,'' replied 
 the servant, '-and, as I take it, used to c me and go 
 between the gods and goddesses ; notwi.h^tanding 
 which. Monsieur Rubens, who is the greatest painter 
 that ever lived, has painted this same Mercury as 
 one of the late queens* council; but nevertheless he 
 waa a carrier ol nussages, and so lorth."' 
 
 " Why, then, tiiou art more Mercury than I, for 
 thou carriest a message, and I a letter," answered 
 the boy, as they approached the hotel ot' the count, 
 towards which they had been beniling their steps 
 during this conversation, 'i'lscir proximity to his 
 awelling, in all probability, saved the woodman's 
 8on from an angry answer; for his companion did 
 not seem at ail pleased with iiaving the name of 
 Mercury retorted upon himselfj and intending 
 Strongly to impress Ufxm the woodman's boy that he 
 was a person of far too great c(mse(|uence to be 
 jested with, lie assumed a tone of double pom- 
 posity towards the servant who ap|»eared on the 
 steps of the hotel. "Tell Henry de la Moihe, the 
 count's p^ge," said the servant, " that the Marquise 
 de Beaumont has sent to inquire after his master's 
 health." 
 
 The servant retired with the message, and in a 
 moment after Henry de la Mothe himself appear- 
 ed, and informed the messenger that his master was 
 greatly better. He had slept well, he said, during 
 the night 5 and his surgeons assured him that the 
 wounds which he had received were likely to pro- 
 duce no farther harm than the weakness naturally 
 consequent upon so great a loss of blood as that 
 which he had sustained. Having given this mes- 
 sage on his master's account, Henry, on his own, 
 
 * Alliiilini^, no doutii, lo tin- pxiiiM- c>( ilie r- cuiicilindoii of 
 Mary de Medicis and her son Louis Xlll, in wliicli Mercury 
 •eemi hand in glove with the cardiiiaU and slalesaien of the
 
 RICHELIEU, 73 
 
 begnn tn question the servant concerning many lit- 
 tle particulars of liis own family ; his fali.er being, 
 as already said, Fermicr to iMai«anie tie Beaumont. 
 
 Charles, the woodman's son. perceiving that the 
 conversation had turned to a subject loo interesting 
 soon t«) be discussed, glided past the marchioness's 
 servant, placed the note lie carried in the hand of 
 tiie count's page, pressed liis finger on his lip, m sign 
 that it was to be given privately, and detaching 
 himself from them, without waiting to be question- 
 ed, drove back his mule through the least known 
 parts of the ft>rest, and rendered an account to his 
 father of the surcess of his expedition. 
 
 " Who can that noie be from /" said the Marchio- 
 ness de Beaumont's servant to Henry de LaMothe. 
 " Tlie boy tcdd me it came from a lady." 
 
 " From Mademo'rselle de Hautefurd, probably,'" 
 replied the page, thoughtfully. " I must give it to 
 my master without delay, if he be strong enough to 
 read it. We will talk more anotlier day, good 
 friend ;" and he left him. 
 
 " From Mademoiselle de Hauteford !" said the 
 man '-Oh, hoi'' — and he went home to tell all he 
 knew to Louise, the soubrette.
 
 74 RICHELIEU. 
 
 CHAPTER Vr. 
 
 The M'jrqiiis He Cinq Mars, the Count de Fonlr;iille», and 
 Kiii^ Loiii; tlie i'liiiieenth, all making I'uois ot° theiusi-ives 
 in llieii o\sm way. 
 
 There are sorae spots on the earth which seem 
 marked out as tlie scene of exlriordiuary events, 
 and wliich. withnut any peculiar beaulv. or otiier in- 
 trinsic quality to recommend ihem. acquire a tran- 
 scendent interest, as tiie theatre of grett actions. 
 Such is CliantiJly, tlie history of whose walls nii^^ht 
 furnish many a lay to the poet, and many a moral to 
 the sage ; and even now, by its magnificence and its 
 decay, it offers a new comment on thu vanity of 
 splendour, and proves, by the forgotten ^re itness of 
 its lords, how the waves of time are the true waters 
 of oblivion. 
 
 But that as it may, Montmorency, Conde, are 
 names so woven in the web of liistorv, that nothing 
 can tear them out. and the^e were the lords ofCiian- 
 tilly. But among all that its roof has sheltered, no 
 one, perhaps, is more worthy of notice than Louis 
 the 'J'hirleenth : the son of Henry the Fourth, and 
 Mary de Medicis. born to an inheritance of high 
 talents and hiirh fortune, with the inspiring incite- 
 ment of a fathers glory, and the powerful support 
 of a people's love. 
 
 It is said that circumstance — that stumbling-block 
 of great minds-that con'ounder of deep-laid schemes 
 — tiial little, miirlity, unseen controller of all man's 
 actions, should find pleasure in bending to its will, 
 that wliich .Nature oriainallv seemed to place above 
 its sway. Endued with all tiie qu dities a throne re- 
 quires, brave, wise, clear-sig«.ted, and generous; 
 with his mother's taieots and his father's courage,
 
 RICHELIEU. 75 
 
 the events of his early life quelled every effort of 
 Louis's mind, ami left him but the slave of an ambi- 
 tious minisier! a monarch but innnme I the shadow 
 of a king ! How it was s«), matters not to this history 
 — it is recorded on a more eloquent page. But at 
 the time of my tale, the brighter part of life had 
 pissed away from King Louis ; and now that it had 
 fallen into tiie sear, he seemed lo have given it up 
 as unworthy a farther effort. He struggled not even 
 f >r that appearance of royal state which his proud 
 minister was unwilling to allow him; and, retired 
 al Chantilly, pissed his time in a thousand weak 
 amusements, which but served to hurry by the mo- 
 ments of a void and weary existence. 
 
 It was at this tiine.that the first news of the Car- 
 dinal da Ri cfielieu' s \\\ness began to be noi:>ed abroad. 
 His health hid long been declining; but so feared 
 was that redoutable minister, that though many re- 
 mirke<l the increased liollovvness of his dark eye, 
 and the deepening lines upon his pale cheeck, no 
 one dared to wliisper what miny hoped — that the 
 tyrant of both king ami people was falling under the 
 sway of a still stronger hand. 
 
 Tlie morning was yet in its prime. The gray mist 
 had hardly rolled away from the old towers and bat- 
 tlements of the Chitsau of Chantilly, which, unlike 
 the elegant building afterward erected on the same 
 spot, offered then little but strong fortified walls and 
 turrets. The heavy night-dew lay still sparkling up- 
 on the long grass in the avenues of the park, when 
 two gemleman were observed walking near the 
 palace, turning up and down the alley, then called 
 the -Avenue de Luzirches, with that kind of saunter- 
 ing pace which indicated their conversation to be 
 of no very interestinij description. 
 
 Perhaps, in all that vast variety of shapes which 
 nature his bestowed uoon mankind, ami in all those 
 innate differences bv which she has discin/uished 
 mans soul, no two figures or two minds could have 
 been found more opposite than those of the two men 
 thus keeping a willing companionship— the Count
 
 •JQ RlCiit'.UKU. 
 
 di Fonirailles, and the Marquis de Cinq Mars, Grand 
 Ecuyer, or. as it mny be best traiibluled, uiasler of 
 llie bnrse. 
 
 (-iuq Mars, though consi«lerably above the com- 
 mon lieigbt of men, was formed in the most finish- 
 ed and eleiiant proporlion, and pnssessed a native 
 dignity of demeanour, wliich cliaracterized even 
 those wild gesticulations in wbicli the excess of a 
 bright and enliiusiaslic ni nd often led liim to in- 
 dulge. 
 
 0:i llie other hand, Fonirailles. short in stature, 
 and mean in appearance, vviis in countenan(!e equal- 
 ly unprepossessing. He liad but one redeeming 
 feature, in the quick gray eye. that, with the clear 
 keenness of its ligiil, seemed to penetrate the deep- 
 est tlioughts of those upon whom it was turned. 
 
 Such is the description thai iiistory yields of these 
 two celebrated men ; and I wdl own that my han- 
 kering alter physiognomy has induced me to tran- 
 scribe it here, inasmuch as the mind of each was 
 like his person. 
 
 In die lt€;irt of Cmq Mars dwelt a proud nobility 
 of spirit, which, however he might be carried away 
 by the fiery passion of his nature, ever dignified his 
 actions with sonietinng of great and generous. But 
 tiie soul of Fonirailles. ambitious, yet mean, wanted 
 all the wild ardour ol ids companion, but v\ anted 
 also all his better qualities ; possessing alone that 
 clear, piercing discerimient, which, more like in- 
 stinct than judgment, showed him always the exact 
 moment of danger, and pointed out the means of 
 safety. 
 
 And yet, though not friends, they were often (as 
 I have said) companions; for Cinq Mars was too 
 r.oble to suspect, and Fonirailles loo wary to be 
 known — besides, in the present instance, he had a 
 poia.t to carrv. and therefore was doubly disguised. 
 • You have heard the news, doubtless, Cinq 
 JNIars,'' said Fontrailles, leading the way from the 
 great Avenue de Luzarches into one of the smaller 
 alleys, where they were lets liable to be watched;
 
 RICHELIEU, 77 
 
 for he well knew that the conversation he thua 
 bronohed would lead to those wild starts and aestures 
 in his companion, whicli mis^lit call upon them some 
 suspicion, if observed. Cinq Mars made no reply, 
 and he proceeded. " The cardinal is ill !'' and he 
 fixed his eye upon the master of the horse, as if he 
 would search his soul. But Cinq Mars still was 
 silent, and apparently deeply busied with other 
 thoughts, continued beating tlie sbrubs on each side 
 of the path with his sheathed s-\vord. without even 
 a glance towards his companion. After a moment 
 or two, however, he raised his head with an air of 
 careless abstraction : " What a desert this place has 
 become !" said he ; '' look how all these have grown 
 up, between the trees. One might really be as well 
 in a forest as a royal park now-a-days.'' 
 
 " But you have made me no answer," rejoined 
 Fontrailles, returning perseveringty to tbe point on 
 which his companion seemed unwilling to touch : 
 " 1 said the cardinal is ill." 
 
 ** Well, well ! I hear," answered C?inq ^lars, with 
 a peevisb start, like a restive horse forced forward 
 on a road he is unwilling to take. " What is it you 
 would have me say ? That 1 am sorry for it 7 Well 
 be it so — 1 am sorry for it — sorry thai a trifl'n'j; sick- 
 ness, which will pass away in a moon, should give 
 France hopes of that liberation, which is Act far 
 off." 
 
 ".But, nevertheless, you would be sorry were this 
 great man to die," saLd Fontrailles, putting it half 
 as a question, half as an undoubted proposition, and 
 looking in the fice of the marquis, with an appear- 
 ance ol hesitating uncertainty. 
 
 C'inq Mars could contain himself no more. 
 "What!" cried he, vehemently, "sorry for the 
 peace of the world ! — sorry for the weal of my 
 country ! — sorry for the liberty of my king! Why, 
 1 tell thee. Fontrailles, should the Cardinal de 
 Richelieu die. the people of France would join in 
 pulling down the scaflblds and the gibbets, to niakq 
 bonfires of (hem !"
 
 78 RICHELIEU. 
 
 " Whoever dreamed of hearing ymi say so ?" said 
 his companion. •' All France agrees with you. no 
 doubt; but ail thought Uiat the Marquis de Cinq 
 Mars either loved the cardinal, or feared him, too 
 much to see his crimes." 
 
 "Fear him I' exclaimed Cinq Mars, the blood 
 mounting to his cheek, as if the very name of fear 
 wounded his sense of honour. He then paused, 
 looked into his real feelings, shook his head mourn- 
 fully, and after a moments interval of bitter silence, 
 added, '• True ! true ! Who is there that does not 
 fear him ? Keverlheless, it is impossible to see 
 one's country bleeding for the merciless cruelty of 
 one man, the prisons filled with the best and bravest 
 ol" the land to quiet his suspicions, and the king 
 held in worse bondage than a slave to gratify the 
 daring ambition of this insatiate churchman, and not 
 to wish that Heaven had sent it otherwise." 
 
 '•It is not Heaven's fault, sir,"' replied Fontrail- 
 les ; " it is our own, that we do suffer it. Had we 
 one man in France who, with sufficient courage, 
 talent, and influence, had the true spirit of a patriot, 
 our unhappy country might soon be freed from the 
 bondage under vviiich she groans." 
 
 •• But where shall we find such a man V asked 
 the master of the hori-e, eith.er really not un- 
 derstanding the aim of Fontrailles, or wishing to 
 force him to a clearer explanation of his purpose. 
 " Such an undertaking as you hint at," he continu- 
 ed, " must be well considered, and well supported, 
 to have any effect. It must be strengthened by wit, 
 by courage, and by illustrious names. It must have 
 the power ol weHllh, and the power of reputation. 
 It must be the rousing of the lion with all his Ibrce, 
 to shake o(f the toils by which he is encompassed." 
 
 '• But still tiiere must be some one to rouse him," 
 said Fontrailles, fixing his eyes on Cinq Mars with 
 a peculiar expression, as if to denote that he was 
 tlie man alluded to. '• .Suirpose this were France," 
 he proceeded, unbuckling his sword from the belt, 
 and drawing a few liiies on the ground with the
 
 RICHliLIEU. 79 
 
 point of the sheath j " show me a province or a cir- 
 cle that will not rise at an hour's notice to cast off 
 the yoke of this haled cardinal. Here is iNorniandy, 
 almost in a state of revolt ; here is Guienne, little 
 better ; here is Sedan, our own ; here are the moun- 
 tains of Auvergne, filled with those whom his ty- 
 ranny has driven into their solitude for protection } 
 and here is Paris and its insulted parliament wait- 
 ing but for opportunity." 
 
 •' And here, said Cinq Mars, with a melancholy 
 smile, following the example uf his companion, and 
 pointing out with his sword, as if on a map, the sup- 
 posed situations of the various places to which he 
 referred — " And here is JPeronne, and Rouen, and 
 Havre, and Lyons, and Tours, and Brest, and Bor- 
 deaux, and every town or fortress in France, filled 
 with his troops and governed by his creatures 5 and 
 here is Flanders, with Chaunes and Mielleray, and 
 fifteen thousand men, at his disposal ; and here is 
 Italy, with Bullion, and as many more, ready to 
 march at his command !" 
 
 "But suppose I could ahow, said Fontrailles, lay- 
 ing his hand on his companion's arm, and detaining 
 him as he was about to walk on — " but suppose I 
 could show that Mielleray would not march, — that 
 Bouillon would declare for us, — that England would 
 aid us with money, and Spain would put five thou- 
 sand men at our command, — that the king's own 
 brother — " 
 
 Cinq xMars waved his hand : '■' Ko ! no : no !" 
 said he, in a firm, bitter tone : " Gaston of Orleans 
 has led too many to the scaffold already. Tiie 
 weak, wavering duke is ever the executioner of his 
 friends. Remember poor Montmorency 1 ' 
 
 "Let me proceed,'' said Fontrailles; "hear me 
 to an end, and then judge. I say, suppose that the 
 king's own brother should give us his name and in- 
 fluence, and the king himself should yield us his 
 consent." 
 
 " Ha !"' exclaimed Cinq Mars, pausing abruptly. 
 The idea of gaining the king had never occurred to
 
 so RICHELIEU. 
 
 him ; and now it came like a ray of sunshine 
 throujrh a cloud, brigiitening the prospect which 
 had been before in shadow. '• Think you the king 
 would consent V 
 
 " Assurciily 1" replied his companion. '' Does he 
 not hate the cardinal as much as any one ? Does 
 not his blood boil under the bonds he cinnot break ? 
 And would he not bless ihe man who <jave him 
 freedom? Tiiink. Cinq Murs !'• he conliiiued, en- 
 deavouring to throw much energy into his manner, 
 for he knew that tiie ardent mind of his companion 
 wanted but the spark of enthusiasm to infl ime — 
 '• think, what a glorit>us object I to free alike the 
 people and tlieir sovereign, and to rescue the many 
 victims even now destined to prove the tyrant's 
 cruelly ! Tiiink, think of the glorious reward, the 
 tha;iks of a king, the gratitude of a nation, and the 
 blessings of thousands saved from dungeons and 
 from deuh !" 
 
 It worked as he could have wished. The en- 
 thusiasm of his words had their full effect on the 
 mind of his companion. As the other went on, the 
 eye of Cinq Mars lightened with all the wild .ardour 
 of his nature ; and striking his hand upon tlie hilt of 
 his sword, as if longing to draw it in the inspiring 
 cause of his country's liberty, •' Glorious indeed I" 
 he exclaimed — • glorious indeed 1" 
 
 But im npdiately after, fixing his glance upon the 
 ground, he fell into meditation of the many circum- 
 stances of the times ; and as his mind's eye ran over 
 the difficulties and dangers which surrounded the 
 enterprise, tiie enthusiasm which had beamed in 
 his eye. like the last flash of an expiring fire, died 
 away, and he replied, with a sigh, ' What \ou have 
 described, sir, is indeed a glorious form — 'jut it is 
 dead—it wants a soul. The king, though every 
 thing great and noble, has been too long governed 
 now to act for himself. The Duke of Orleans is 
 weak and undecided as a child. Bouillon is far 
 »way — •' 
 
 " And where is Cinq Mars ?" demanded Fonlrail-
 
 niCHELIEU, 81 
 
 Ics, — "where is the man whom the king really 
 loves ? If Cinq M.irs has forgotten his own powers, 
 so lias not, Fr.tiice ; anti she now telis him — ihough 
 by so weak a voice as mine — tlial he is df^stined to 
 be the soul of this great body, to animate tliis good- 
 ly frame, to lead this conspiracy, if that can be so 
 called which has a king at its head and princes for 
 its support." 
 
 In these peaceable days, when we r4re taught to 
 pray against privy conspiracy, both as a crime and 
 misfortinie. the very name is startling to ail ortho- 
 dox ears ; but at the time I speak of. it had no such 
 effect. Indeed, from the commencement of ti:e 
 wars between Henri Qualre and the League, little 
 else had existed but a succession of conspiracies, 
 which c)ne after another had involved every distin- 
 guished [)erson in th.e country, and brought more 
 than one noble head to the block. Mens minds 
 had become so accustomed to tbe sound, tliat the 
 explosion of a new plot scarcely finished matter for 
 a day's wonder, as tiie burgriers of a besieged city 
 at length hardly hear the roaring of the cannon 
 against tlieir walls; and so common had become 
 the name of conspirator, that there were very few 
 mei» in the realm who had not acquired a just title 
 to such an appellation. 
 
 The word •• conspiracy," therefore, carried noth- 
 ing harsh or disagreeable to tiie mind of ("inq Mars. 
 What Fontraiiies proposed to him bore a plausible 
 aspect. Ii ai)j)earcd likely to succeed ; and if it did 
 so. offered him that reward for which, of all others, 
 his heart beat — glory 1 But there was one point on 
 which he paused : '• Voa forget," said he, — •' you 
 forget that I owe all to Piichelieu — you forget that, 
 however he may have wronged this country, he has 
 not wronged me; and thtnjgh I may wish that such 
 a being did not exist, it is not for me to injure him." 
 
 " True, most true !" replied his wily companion, 
 who kne\v that the appearance of frank sincerity 
 would win more from Cinq Mars than aught else : 
 
 VOL. I. 6
 
 $% nicHELiEr. 
 
 " if he has done as you say, be still his friend. For- 
 get your country in your gratitude ; though in the 
 days of ancipul virtue patriotism was lield para- 
 mount. We muat not hope for such things now ; 
 so no more of tliat. But if 1 can show iliat this 
 proud minister has never served you ; if I can 
 prove that every honour wliich of late has fallen 
 upon you, far Irom being a bounty of the cardinal, 
 has proceeded solely from the favour of the king, 
 and lia.? been wrung from the hard churchman as a 
 mere concessio'i lo ti:e monarch's whim ; if it can 
 be made clear tiiat. the iMarquis Cinq Mars would 
 now have been a Duke and Constable of France, 
 had not his kind friend the cardinal whispered he 
 was unfit for such an office, — then will you have no 
 longer tiie excuse of friendship, and your country's 
 call must and shall be heard. ' 
 
 " 1 can scarce credit your words, Fontrailles."' 
 replied cinq Mars. " You speak boldly, but do yon 
 speak truly .''' 
 
 '' Most truly, on my life !'' replied Fontrailles. 
 " Think you, cinq .\Far's, if I did not well know that 
 I couhi prove each word 1 have said, that thus I 
 would have placed my most hidden thouglits in the 
 power of a man who avows himself the friend of 
 Richelieu .'"' 
 
 '• Pri)ve to me, — but prove to me, that I am not 
 bound to him in gratitude,'' cried Cmq M us, vehe- 
 mently ; "take fmm me the bonds by which he has 
 chained my honour, and I wlil hurl him from his 
 height of power, or die in the attempt." 
 
 " Husii '.'' exclaimed Fontrailles. laying his finger 
 on his lip as they turned into another alley ; "we 
 are no longer alone. Govern yourself, Cinq Mars, 
 and 1 will prove every tittle of what 1 have advanc- 
 ed ere we be two hours older." 
 
 This was uttered in alow tone of voice; for 
 there was indeed anotlier group it! the same avenue 
 with themselves. The party, which was rariJIy ap- 
 proaching, consisted of three persons, of whom one 
 was a step in advance, and. though in no degree
 
 RICHELIEU. 8f 
 
 superior to the others in point of dress, was distin- 
 guished from tliem by that indescribable something 
 wiiicli coiislituies tiie idea ol digiuty. He was 
 habited in a plain suit of black silk, wiUi buttons of 
 jet, and every part of his dress, even to the sheath 
 and hdt of his couteau de chasse, corresponding. 
 On his right hand he wor« a tiiick glove, ot tiie par- 
 ticular kind generally used by the sportsmen of the 
 peruid, but more pariicul.irly by those who employ- 
 ed themselves in the then tashionable sport of Oird- 
 caiciiing} and tiie nets and snares of various kinds 
 carried by the other two, seemed to evince that 
 such had been the mornings amusement of the 
 whole party. > 
 
 The king, for such was the person who approach- 
 ed, was ratner above the middle height, and of a 
 spare habit. His complexion was very pale 3 and 
 his hair, which had one time been of the ricliest 
 brown, was now mingled throughout with gray. 
 But still tliere was much to interest, both in his 
 figure and countenance. Tiiere was a certain air 
 of easy self-possession in all his movements j and 
 even when occupied with the most trivial employ- 
 ment, wiiich was often tiie case, there was still a 
 degree of dignity in his manner that seemed to show 
 his innate leeling of their emptiness, and his owa 
 consciousness of how inferii^r they were, both to 
 his situation and hi:* talents. His features at all 
 times appeared handsome, but more especially 
 when any suilden excitement called up the latent 
 animation of his dark-brown eye, recaliin^^ to the 
 minds of those who remembered the days gone be- 
 fore, that young and dery prince wh j could not 
 brook the usurped sway even of his own highly tal- 
 ented mother, but who had now become t le slave 
 of her slave. The consciousness of his fallen situa- 
 tion, and of his situation to call up sufficient energy 
 of mind to diseng.ige himself, generally cast upon 
 him an appearance of profound sadness : occasion- 
 ally, however, flashes of an;,fry irritability would 
 hreak across the cloud of melancli«iy which huaj
 
 84 KICHELTEW. 
 
 over fiim, and show the full expression- of his coun- 
 tenance, which at other times displayed nothing but 
 the traces of deep and bilier tlmujht, or a inoinen-- 
 tsry sparkle of weak, mrtliiuking merriment. So 
 frequent, however, were the changes to be observ- 
 e<i in the depressed monarch, that some persons 
 even doubted whether they were not assumed to 
 cover deeper intentions. It might be so, or it, 
 m^ight not; but at all events, between the infervals 
 of these natural or acquired appearances, would of-* 
 ten shine out strong yleinis of his mother's unyisld- 
 ing spirit, or hi^ fatner's generous heart. 
 
 The rapid pace with wliich he always proceeded, 
 soon brought the king close to Cinq ars and Fon- 
 trailles. •' Good-morroiv, IMonsier de Fontrailles," 
 said he, as the count bowed low at his approach* 
 " Do not remain uncovered. "Tfs a fine day for 
 forest sports, but not for bare heads j though 1 have 
 heard say, that if you were in the thickest mist of 
 all Holland, you would see your way through it. 
 What! mon Grand Ecuycr," he continued, turn- 
 ing to Cinq Mars ; "'as sad as if thou had«t been 
 plotting, and wen dreaming even now of the block 
 and are ?'' And with a kind and famdiar air, he 
 laid his hand upon his favourite's arm; wlio oii lii» 
 part started, as if the monarch liad read his thoughts 
 and foretold his doom. 
 
 A sin_de word has sometimes lost or won an em- 
 pire. Even less than a single word, if we may be- 
 lieve the history of D.irms's hor^e, v/bo, being a 
 less loquacious animal than B-alaam's ass, served 
 his master without speaking However, Fontrail- 
 les fixed his eves on Cinq Mars, and seeing plainly 
 the effect of Louis's speech, he hastened to wipe it 
 away. '-To calculate petty dangers in a great un- 
 dertaking," said he, " were as weak as to think 
 over all the falls one may meet with in the cliase^ 
 before we get on horseback.'" 
 
 Both Cinq Mars and the king were passionately 
 fond of the noble forest sport, so that the similie of 
 Fontraiilea went directly home, more especially to
 
 RICHELIEU, 85 
 
 the king, who, following the idea thus called up, 
 made a personal application of it to him who intro- 
 duced it. "Jesu, that were folly indeed !" he ex- 
 claimed, in answer t© the count's observation, 
 " But you are not fond of the chase either, Mon- 
 sieur de Fontrailles, if I think right; I never saw 
 you follow boar or stag-, that 1 can call to mind." 
 
 " More my misfortune than my fiult, sire," re- 
 plied Fonlrailies. " Had I ever been favoured with 
 an invitation to follow the royal hounds, your mnj- 
 €sty would have found me as keen of the sport as 
 even St. Hubert is said to have been of yore." 
 
 " Blessed be his memory !'" cried the king. " But 
 we wiJl hunt to-day ; w-e wili see yoa ride, Monsieur 
 de •Fontrailles. What say you, Cinq Mars? The 
 parties who went out to turn a stag last night (I re- 
 member now) presented this morning, that in tlie 
 bosquet at the end of the forest, near Argenia, is 
 quartered a fat stag often, and another by Boisjnr- 
 din ; but that by Argenin will be the best, for he 
 has but one reflate by the long alley. Come, gen- 
 tlemen, seek your boots, — seek your boots ; and as 
 our grand veneur is not at Chantilly, you. Cinq 
 Mars, shall superintend the chase. Order tbe mai- 
 ire valet de chiens to assemble the old pack and the 
 relais at the Carrefour d Argenin, and then we will 
 quickly to horse." And so saying, he turned away 
 to prepare for his favourite sport ; but scarcely had 
 gone many paces ere he slackened his pace, and al- 
 lowed the two oentlemen to rejoin him. " What 
 think you, friend 1" said he, ad<jre«sing Cinq Mars j 
 '• they tell me the cardinal is sick. Have you heard 
 of it ■?" 
 
 " I have heard a vague report of the kind," repli- 
 ed Cinq Mars, watching his master's countenance, 
 " but as yet nothing certain. ;Mav 1 crave what in- 
 formation your majesty possesses?" 
 
 " Why, he is sick, very sick," replied Louis, "and 
 perchance may die. May his soul tind mercy k Per- 
 chance he may die, and then—" And the king 
 tell into deep thought.
 
 86 RicHEiiKtr, 
 
 It is possible that at that moment his mind was 
 engnged in calculating all that such an event as the 
 destb oi' liichelreu would produce : for, gradua Iv. 
 as if he dreame J of ruling- for himself, and as hope 
 spread out before him many a future year of power 
 and greatness, his air becanie more dignified, his 
 eyes flisiipd with its long repressed Mre, and his 
 step acq^uired a new degree of firmness and majesty. 
 
 Foiitrailjes watched the alteration of the kinj's 
 countenance, and. skilful at reading the mind's 
 Wi'rkings by the face, he added, as if finishing the 
 sentence which Louis had left unconcluded,, — but 
 taking care to blend what he said with an air of 
 raillery towards the master of the horse, lest he 
 should offend the irritable monarch — " And then," 
 said he. '• Cinq_ .>Iars shall be a duke. Is it not so. 
 sire ?'' 
 
 Louis started. His thoushts had been engaged 
 in fir greater schemes j and yet rewarding his 
 friends and fivourates alwass formed a great part of 
 the pleasure tie anticipated in power, and he replied, 
 without anger, '• Most likely it will be so — Indeed," 
 be added, *• had my wishes, as a man. been follow- 
 ed," and he turned kindly towards the master ofihe 
 horse. — • it sliould have been so long aso, Cinq 
 Mars. But kings, you know, are obliged to yield 
 their private inclinations to what the state re- 
 quires." 
 
 Foiitrailles glanced his eyes towards the grand 
 ecuyer, as if desiring him to remark the king's 
 words. Cinq >|ars bent his head, in token that he 
 comprehended, and replied to the king: " 1 under- 
 stand your majesty ; but, believe me. sire, no hon- 
 our or distinction could more bind Cinq Mars to Ids 
 king, than duty, gratitude, and affection do at this 
 moment.'' 
 
 '• 1 believe thee, friend. — I believe thee, from my 
 soul.'"' said Louis. " God forgive us that we should 
 desire«the death of any man ! and surely do not 1 
 that of the cardinal, for he is a good minister, and a 
 man of powerful mind. But, withal, we may wish
 
 RICHLLIEU. 87 
 
 that he was more gentle and forgiving. IXeverthe- 
 less, he is a great man. See how he thwarts and 
 rules half tile kings in Europe — See how he presses 
 the emperor, and our good broiher-in-law, Philip of 
 Spain; while the great Gustavus, this northern he- 
 ro, is little better than his general." 
 
 " He is assuredly a great man. sire," replied Cinq 
 Mars. '• But permit me to remark, that a great bad 
 man is worse than one of less talents, for he has the 
 extended capability of doing harm ; and perhaps, 
 sire, if this minister contented himself with thwart- 
 ing kings abroad; he would do better than by oppoi- 
 ing the will of his own sovereign at home." 
 
 The time, however, was not yet come for Louis 
 to make even an attempt towards liberating himself 
 from the trammels to which he had been so long 
 accustomed. Habit in this had far more power over 
 his mind than even the vast and aspiring talents of 
 Richelieu. JNo man in France, perhaps, more con- 
 temned or hated the cardinal than the royal slave 
 whom he had so long subjugated to his burdensome 
 sway. Yet Louis, amid all his dreams for the fu- 
 ture, looked with dread upon losing the support of 
 a man whom he detested, but upon whose counsels 
 and abilities he had been accustomed to rely with 
 confidence and security. 
 
 Cinq Miirs saw plainly the state of his master's 
 mind ; and as he entered the palace, he again began 
 to doubt whether he should at all lend himself to 
 the bold and dangerous measures which Fontrailles 
 had suggested.
 
 83 RICflELFEtJ. 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 In wliich H shown how a £;reat king hunted a great beast; and 
 what came of Die hunting. 
 
 While the king's mind, as he returned to the 
 Chateau de Chantilly. was agitated by vasue hopes 
 and fears, which, like the forms that we trace in the 
 clouds, rolled into a thousand strange a'ld almost 
 palpable shapes before his mind's eye, and yet were 
 but a vapour after all ; and while the thoughts of 
 Cinq Mars ran over all ti.e difficulties and dangers 
 ofthefu'ure prospect, reverted to the obligations 
 Richelieu had once conferred upon him, or scanned 
 the faults and crimes of the minister, till the strug- 
 gle of patriotism and gratitude left nothing but doubt 
 behind : the imagination of Fontrailles w.is very dif- 
 ferently occnpied. It was not that he pondered the 
 means of engaging more firmly the wavering mind 
 of cinq Mars. J\o. for he had marked him for his 
 own ; and from that morning's conversation, felt as 
 sure of his companion as the ant-lion does of the 
 insect he sees tremble on the edge of his pit. Nei- 
 ther did he revolve the probable issue of the dan- 
 gerr)us schemes in which he was engaging both 
 himself and others ; for he was confident in his 
 powers of disentangling himself, when it should be- 
 come necessary to his own safety so to do. and he 
 was not a man to distres?; himself for the danirpr of 
 Ins iViends. The occupation of his mind, as they 
 approached the castle, was of a more personal na- 
 ture. The truth is, that so far from discomposing
 
 RICHELMO. 89 
 
 himself upon the score of distant evils, the sole 
 trouble of his thoughts was the hunting party into 
 which he had entrapped himself. Being by no 
 means a good horseman, and caring not one sotis for 
 a past time which involved far too much trouble 
 and risk to accord in any degree with his idea of 
 pleasure, Fontrailles had professed himself fond of 
 hunting, merely to please the king, without ever 
 dreaming tiiat he should be called upon to give far- 
 ther proof of his veneration for the royal sport. 
 
 He saw plainly, however, that his case admitted 
 of no remedy. Go he must; and having enough 
 philosophy in his nature to meet inevitable evils 
 with an unshrinking mind, he prepared to encoun- 
 ter all the horrors of the chase, as if they were his 
 principal delight. 
 
 He accordingly got into his boots with as much 
 alacrity as their nature permitted, for, each weigh- 
 ing fully eight pounds, they were somewhat ponder- 
 ous and untnanageable. He thenliastily loaded his 
 pistols, stuck his couteau de ehasse in his belt, and 
 throwing the feather from his hat, was the lirst 
 ready to mount in the courtyard. 
 
 "Why, how is this, Monsieur de Fontrailles?" 
 said the king, who in a few minutes joined him in 
 the area where the horses were assembled. " The 
 first at your post !" You are, indeed, keen for the 
 sport. Some one see for Cinq Mars. — Oh ! here he 
 comes: Mount, geiillemen, mount ! Our ordinaries 
 of the chase and lieutenants await us at the Carre- 
 four d' Argcnin ; mount, gentlemen, mount! Ha! 
 have you calculated your falls for to-day, IVIonsieur 
 de Fontrailles, as you spoke of this morning.'" And 
 the kiiig'seyes glistened with almost childish eager- 
 ness for Ills favourite pastime. 
 
 in the mean while t'inq Mars had approached 
 with a slow step nnd a gloomy countenance, show- 
 ing none nfthe -ihrritv of Fnntraillps. or the enthu- 
 siastic ardour of the king. " There are other dan- 
 gers than falls to be met with in chase, my liege,"
 
 90 RICHELIEU. 
 
 said the master of the horse, with a bitter expres- 
 sion of displeasure in his manner; "and that Claude 
 de Bienau couKi inform your majesty." 
 
 '* i know not wiiat vou mean, cinq ,Alars,'' answer- 
 ed the king. •■ De Bienau is a aallant cavalier; as 
 stanch to his game as a beagie of the best; and 
 though he shows more service to our queen than to 
 ourself, he is no less valued for that." 
 
 *• He is one cavalier out of ten thousand — "' re- 
 plied Cinq Mirs. warmly ; " my dearest companion 
 and friend; and while Cinq Mars has a sword to 
 wield. De Bienau shall never want one to second 
 his qmrrel.'' 
 
 " VV^hy, what ails thee, Cinq :Mar3 ?'" demanded the 
 king, with some surprise. '' Thou art angry,— what 
 is it now V 
 
 '' It is, sire," replied the master of the horse, 
 " that I have just had a courier from St. Germain, 
 who bears me word, that three days since past, the 
 count, as your raijesly and I hive often done, was 
 hunting in the neighbourhood of Mmtes. and was 
 there most treacherously attacked by an armed 
 band, in which adventure he suffered two wounds 
 that nearly drained his good heart of blood. Shall 
 this be tolerated, sire .'"" 
 
 '' ?so, indeed 1 no. indeed !" replied the king, with 
 much warintli. 'This shall be looked to. Our 
 kingdom must not be overrun with robbers and 
 briganils. " 
 
 '•Robbers I'- exclaimed cinq Mars, indignantly. 
 " I know not — they may have been robbers; but my 
 letters say that one of them wore colours of Isabel 
 and silver." 
 
 " Those are the colours of Chavigni's livery," Te« 
 plied the king, who knew the most minute differ- 
 ence in the bearing of every fimily in the kingdom, 
 with wonderful precision. "This must be looked 
 to, and it shall, or I am not deserving of my name. 
 But now mount, gentlemen, mount! we are waited 
 for at the rendezvous."
 
 RICHELIEU. 01 
 
 The Carre/our d'Argenin, at which the king and 
 his attendants soon arrived, was a large open space 
 in the forest, where four roads crossed. Each of 
 these, but one. cut into a long straight avenue 
 through the wood, opened a view of the country be- 
 yond, forming a separate landscape, as it were, 
 framed, or to use the Frencli terni, eticadre, by llie 
 surrounding trees. The sun had not yet risen suffi- 
 ciently to shine upon any of these forest roads ; but 
 the sweeping hills and dales beyond were to be 
 seen through the apertures, richly lighted up by the 
 clear beams of the morning ; though occasionally a 
 soft wreath of mist, lingering in the bosom of some 
 of the hollows, would roll a transient shadow over 
 llie prospect. Louis had chosen this spot for the 
 rendezvous, perhaps as much on account of its pic- 
 turesque beauty as for any other reason. Deprived 
 as he was of courtly splendour and observance, his 
 mind, unpervertcd by the giddy show and tinsel 
 pomp that generally surround a royal station, re- 
 garded with a degree of enthusiasm the real loveli- 
 ness of nature -, and now it was some time before 
 even the preparations for his favourite sport could 
 call his attention from the picturesque beauty of the 
 sp(<t. 
 
 The policy of Richelieu, which has led him to de- 
 prive the king of many of the externarl marks of 
 sovereignty as well as of the real power, taught him 
 also to encourage all those sports which might at 
 once occupy Louis's mind, and place him at a dis- 
 tance from the scene of government. Thus, the hunt- 
 ing equipage of the king was maintained in almost 
 more than royal luxury. 
 
 The first objects that presented themselves in the 
 Carre/our dArgenin. were a multitude of dogs and 
 horses, grouped together with the lieutenants of the 
 forest, and the various officers of the hunt, under 
 those trees which would best aflord them shade as 
 the sun got up. Various piqueurs and valets were 
 seen about the ground, some holding the horses.
 
 92 RICHELIEU. 
 
 some laying out the table for the royal dejeune, and 
 some busily engaged in cutting long straight wands 
 from the more pliable sort of trees, and peeling off 
 the barii for a certain distance, so as to leave a sort 
 of handle or hilt stdl covered, while the rest of the 
 stick, about three feet in length, remained bare. 
 These, called " batons de chasse," were first pre- 
 sented to tlie i<ing. who, having chosen one. direct- 
 ed the rest to be distributed among his friends and 
 attendants, for the purpose of guarding their heads 
 from tiie boughs, which in the rapidity of the chase, 
 while it continued in the forest, often inflicted 
 serious inj'ines. 
 
 The mailre valet de cJiiens and his ordinaries, each 
 armed with a portentous-looking horn, through the 
 circles of which were passed a variety of dog 
 couples, were busily occupied in distributing the 
 hounds into their different relays, and the grooms 
 and other aitendents were seen trying the girths of 
 the heavy hunting saddles, loading the pistols, or 
 placing them in the holsters, and endeavouring to 
 disting^uish themselves fully as much by their bustle 
 as by their activity. 
 
 However, it w;is an animated scene, and those 
 who saw it could not wonder that Louis preferred 
 the gay excitement of such sports to the sombre 
 monotony of a palace without a court, and royalty 
 without its splendour. 
 
 After examining the preparations with a critical 
 eye, and inquiring into the height, age, size, and 
 other liistinctive sisxns of the stag which was to be 
 hunted. Louis placed himself at the breakfast table 
 whicii had been prepared in the midst of the green, 
 and motioning Cinq Mars and Fontrailles to be 
 seated, entered into a lively discussion concerning 
 the proper spots for placing therelavs of horses and 
 dops. At leuL'lh it was determined that six hounds 
 and four iiunters should be stationed at about two 
 leagues and a half on the high road -, that twelve 
 dogs and four piqueurs, vith an ordinary of the
 
 RICHELIEU. 93 
 
 chase, should take up a position upon the side of a 
 hill under which the stag was likely to pass ; and 
 that ;iiH»tlM;r relay should remain at a spot called 
 Le CroLc de hois, wilhiu sight of which liie hunt 
 would he obliged to come, if the animal, avoiding 
 the open country, made for the other extremity of 
 the forest. 
 
 It lell upon Cinq Mars to communicate these di- 
 rections to the officers of the huat, which he did in 
 that sort of jargon which t[;e sports of ihe field had 
 made common in those days, but which would now 
 be hardly inielligible. He was engaged in giving 
 general orders, that the horses should be kept in 
 the shade and ready to be mounted at a moment's 
 notice, in case the king or any of his suite should 
 require them, and that the ordinary should by no 
 means let slip any of the dogs of the relay upon the 
 stag, even if it pas.-ed piqnreurs of \.he principal hunt 
 — when suddenly he slopped, and pointing with his 
 hand, a man was discovered standing in one of the 
 avenues, apparently watching the royal party. 
 
 The circumstance would have passed without no- 
 tice, had it not been for the extraordinary stature of 
 the intruder, who appeared killy as tall as cinq Mars 
 himself. Attention was farther excited by his dis- 
 appearing as soon as he was observed ; and some 
 grooms were sent to bring him before the king, but 
 their search was in vain, and the matter was soon 
 forgotten. 
 
 The ndnute relation of a royal hunt in France, 
 anno 1642. wouhl afford very little general interest. 
 Enough has been said to show how different were 
 the proceedings of lliat time IVom our method of 
 conducting such things in the present day ; and those 
 who want farther iurormaliou on the subject may 
 find it in a very erudite treatise, •' J)e la Chasse,'' 
 &c., by Le 31eicisr,'n\ the year filly-six of the same 
 century- We must, however, in a moio general 
 manner follow the king over the field, tliougii vsith- 
 out altempting to describe all the minule occurren-
 
 94 RICHELIEU. 
 
 ces of the day, or the particulars of etiquette usual 
 on such occasions. 
 
 'I'iie stag, poor silly beast, who had been dozing 
 away his tune in a Uiicket ut about haii' a mile dis- 
 tance, was soon roused by tlie very unwislied ap- 
 pearance of the huntsmen, and taking his path down 
 the [jfincipal avenue, bounded away towards the op- 
 en country, calculating, more wisely liian the beast 
 recorded by our old friend ..Esop, that the boughs 
 might encumber his head-gear. 'I'lie horns sound- 
 ed loud, the couples were unloosed, the dogs slip- 
 ped, and away went man and beast in the pursuit. 
 For a moment or two the forest was tilled with 
 clang, and cry. and tumult : as the hunt swept away, 
 it grew fainter and fainter, till the sjiind, almost 
 lost in the indistinct distance, left the deep glades 
 of the wood to resume their original silence. 
 
 They did not, however, long appear solitary, for 
 in a few minutes after the hunt had quitted the 
 forest, the same tall figure, whose apparition had in- 
 terrupted cinq Mars in his oratory concerning the 
 relays, emerged from one <;!" the narrower paths, 
 leading a strong black horse, whose trappings were 
 thickly covered with a variety of ilitiereiit figures in 
 brass, representing the signs of the zodiac, together 
 with sundry triangles, crescents, and other siiapes, 
 such as formed part of the astrological quacltery of 
 that day. 'I'he a[>pearance of the master was not 
 less singular in point of dress than that of the horse. 
 He wore a long black robe, somewhat in the shape 
 of that borne by the order of Black Friars, but 
 sprinkled with silver sisjns. This, which mide him 
 look Irulv gigantic, was bound round his waist by a 
 brond girdle <>f while leather, traced all over with 
 strange characters, that miglit have been called 
 hieroglyphics had they sijiiified any thing: but 
 whicij were. prol)a!)lv. as iiiiineaning as the science 
 ihev were intended to dijinfy. 
 
 'J'o say the truth, the wearer did not seem par- 
 ticularly at his ease in his habiliments ; for wlien, 
 after having looked cautiously around, he attempted
 
 UrCHELTLTJ, 95 
 
 to mount his horse, the long drapery of his gown 
 got entangled round his feet at every efi'ort, and it 
 was not till he lind vented several very ungodly exe- 
 crations, and effected a loni^ rent in llie back of his 
 robe, liiat lie accomplished the ascent into the'sad- 
 dle. Once there, however, the dexterity of his 
 horsemanship, and his bearing altogether, made him 
 appear much nmre like the captain of a band of 
 heavy cavalry than an astrologer, notwithstanding 
 the long snowy beard which hung down to his gir- 
 dle, and the profusion of white locks that, escaping 
 from his fur cap, floated wildly over his face, and 
 concealed the greater part of its features. 
 
 The horsemm paused for a moment, seemingly 
 immersed in thought, while his horse, being a less 
 consitlerate beast than himself, kept pawing the 
 ground, eager to set off. " Let me see,'" said the 
 horseman 5 ''the stag will soon be turned on the 
 high road by the carriers for Clermont, and must 
 come round under the hill, and then I would take 
 the world to a chapon de Maine, that that fool 
 Andrieii lets slip his relay, and drives the beast to 
 ^water. If so, I have them at the Croix de bois. At 
 all evei.t-*, one must try.'" And thus speaking, he 
 struck his horse hard wiih a thick kind of truncheon 
 he held in his hand, and soon was out of the 
 forest. 
 
 in the mean while tlse king and his suite follow- 
 ed close upttn liie iiounds ; the monarcii and cinq 
 I^Iars, animated by the love of the chase, and Fon- 
 trailles risking to break his neck rather than be be- 
 hind. The road for sonse way was perfectly unob- 
 Hlructed, and a.s long as it remained so, the stag fol- 
 lowed it without deviation ; but at length a train of 
 carriers' wagons appeared, wending their way to- 
 wards Clermont. The jin;^ling of the bells on the 
 yokes of the oxen, and the tlanting of the red and 
 white ribands on their horns, instantly startled the 
 stag, wild, sti!pt)iiig short in his Highl, stood at gaze 
 for a moment, and then dartmg across the country, 
 entered a uirro'.v trick of that unproductive sandy
 
 90 RICHELILV. 
 
 kind of soil, called in France landes, which border- 
 ed the forest. It so linppened — unfortunately. I was 
 going to siy. but douiliess the sw^ tliou^lii otlier- 
 wise — thit a large herd of his homed kuuired were 
 lying out in tiiis very track, enjoying the morning 
 sunshine, and regaling themselves upon the first 
 fruits that fell from some chestnut-trees, whicli in 
 that place skirted the forest. 
 
 JVovv the B-ag, remembering an old saying, which 
 signalizes tiie solace ol •' company in distress/' pro- 
 ceeded straight into tiie midst of the herd ; who 
 being fat burghers of the wod. and l;ke miny otlier 
 fat burghers somewhat selfish witiial, far from com- 
 passionating his case, received him with scanty 
 courtesy, and. in short, wis! el liim at the devil. 
 However, no time was lobe lost; the d-igs were 
 close upon hi-j steps; '• sauve qui pent .'" was the 
 word among the sligs, and away ihey all went, Hy- 
 ing in every directi.in. 
 
 The hunters h:'d as little cause to be pleased 
 with this inanCBuvre as tlie stags ; for the iiou id.s 
 being young, were ileceived by a strong family iike- 
 ness betweeii o.ie of tiie herd and the one they had 
 so long followed, and all of tliedogs but lour, yield- 
 ing up the real o;)jecl of pursuit, give cli ise to ttse 
 strange stag. who. li.irtin j otf to ihe left, took his 
 way toward.^ the river, (-inq Aiars and most of the 
 pignevrs. misled by se.'dng tiie youiii iioaiids have 
 so great a mijority, followed also. It was in v.iin 
 tiie king c.ilied to him to come back, that he was 
 hunting the wrong beist, and was as great a fool as 
 a young hound; he neither heeded nor heard, and 
 soon uas out ofsi rhf. 
 
 '• Sa Chriiti?' cried Louis. " tiiere they go, just 
 like the world, quilting the true pursuit to tullow 
 the first f>ol that runs, and priding ihemselves on 
 being ia the right, when they are most in error ; 
 b'Ji cr)me, Mofisieur de Fontrailles, we will follow 
 the true stag of the hunt.*' 
 
 Bat Fontrailles loo was gone. The separation of 
 the hounds had afforded an opportunity of quitting
 
 RICHELIEU. 97 
 
 the sport not to be neglected, and he had slunk 
 away towards the palncG bytlie nearest road,\vhich, 
 leading tiiruu^li a narrow dell, skirted the side of 
 the hill opposite lo that over which the king's stag 
 had taken liis course. ' However, he still heard from 
 time to time the dogs give tongue, and the hunting'cry 
 of the king; who, without considering that no one 
 followed, gave the exact number of mofs on his horn, 
 followed by the halloo, and the II dit vrai ! il dlt 
 vrai! which the piqueurs ordinarily give out, to an- 
 nounce that the dog who cried was upon the right 
 scent. Still Fontrailles pursued his way, when sud- 
 denly he perceived the stag, who, having distanced 
 the king, was brought to bay under the bank over 
 which his road lay. 
 
 At that season of the year, the stag is peculiarly 
 dangerous, but Fontrailles did not want personal 
 courage, and, dismounting from his horse, he sprang 
 to the bottom of the bank 3 where, drawing hig 
 cauteau de chasse, he prepared to run in upon the 
 breast ; but remembering at the moment that the 
 king could not be far distant, he paused, and waiting 
 till Louis came up, held the stirrup and offered his 
 weapon to the monarch, who instantly running in, 
 presented the knife with all the dexterity of an ex- 
 perienced sportsman, and in a moment laid the stag 
 dead at his feet. 
 
 It was now the task of Fontrailles to keep off the 
 hounds, while the king, anxious to have all the hon- 
 ours of the day lo himself, began what is called in 
 France the section^ and curee aux chiens, without 
 waiting for piqueurs or ordinaries. Nevertheless, 
 he had only time to make the longitudinal division 
 of the skin, and one of the transverse sections from 
 the breast to the knee, when the sound of a horse's 
 feet made him raise his head from his somewhat 
 ankingly occupation, thinking that some of the other 
 hunters must be now come up. 
 
 " Qiie Viable!" cried the king, viewing the 
 strange figure of the astrologer we have alreadv po 
 
 VOL. I. 7
 
 98 RICHELIEU. 
 
 ticed in this profound chapter. " Je veuxdire, Vive 
 JDieu! What do you want ? and who are you 1" 
 
 " A friend to the son of Henri Quatre," replied the 
 Btranger, advancing his horse closer to the king, who 
 stood gazing on him with no small degree of awe — 
 for be it remembered, that the superstitious belief 
 in all sorts of necromancy was at its height both in 
 England and France. 
 
 " A friend to the son of Henri Quatre ! and one 
 who comes to warn him of near-approaching dan- 
 gers." 
 
 " What are they, friend T" demanded the king, 
 with a look of credulous surprise : " Let me know 
 whence they arise, and how they may be avoided, 
 and your reward is sure." 
 
 "I seek no reward," replied the stranger, scorn- 
 fully ; " can all the gold of France change the star 
 of my destiny ? No 1 monarch, 1 come uncalled, and 
 1 will go unrewarded. The planets are still doubt- 
 ful over your house, and therefore 1 forewarn you 
 ere it be too late — A Spaniard is seeking your over- 
 throw, and a woman is plotting your ruin — A prince 
 is scheming your destruction, and a queen is betray- 
 ing your trust." 
 
 " How 1" exclaimed Louis. " Am I to be- 
 lieve — " 
 
 " Ask me no questions," cried the stranger, who 
 heard the trampling of horses' feet approaching the 
 scene of conference, " In this roll is written the 
 word of fate. Read it, O king ! and timely guard 
 against the evil that menaces." So saying, he 
 threw a scroll of parchment before the king, and 
 spurred on his horse to depart j but at that moment, 
 the figure of Cinq Mars, who by this time had run 
 down the stag he had followed, presented itself in 
 his way. " What mumming in this ?" cried the 
 master of the horse, regarding the stranger. 
 
 " Stop Jiim .' Cinq 3Jars." cried Fontrailles, who 
 foresaw that the stranger's predictions might de- 
 ranee his schemes. " He is an impostor : do not 
 let him pass!" And at the same time he laid his
 
 RICHELIEU. &y 
 
 hand upon the astrologer's bridle. But in a mo- 
 ment, the stranger spurring on his charger, over- 
 turned Fontrailles, shivered the hunting sword which 
 Cinq Mars had drawn against him to atoms with one 
 blow of his truncheon, and scattering the grooms 
 and huntsmen like a flock of sheep, was soon out 
 of reach of pursuit. 
 
 " What means all this ?" exclaimed Cinq Mars; 
 — " explain, Fontrailles ! Sire, shall we follow yon 
 impostor ?" 
 
 cut Louis's eyes were fixed with a strained gaze 
 upon the scroll, which he held in his hand, and 
 which seemed to absorb every faculty ia his soul. 
 At length he raised them, mounted his horse in 
 ■ilence, and still holding the parchment tight in his 
 hand, rode on, exclaiming, " To Chantilly." 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 Showing how (he green-eyed monster got hold of a young 
 lady's heart, and what he did with it. 
 
 Who is there that has not dreamed and had their 
 dream broken ? Who is there that has not sighed to 
 see spring-flowers blighted, or summer sunshine 
 yield to wintry clouds ; or bright hopes change to 
 dark sorrows, and gay joys pass away like sudden 
 meteors, that blaze for one splendid moment, and 
 then drop powerless into the dark bosom of the 
 night? 
 
 If memory, instead of softening all the traces, 
 gave us back the original lines of life in their native 
 harshness, who could live on to old age ? for the 
 catalogue of broken hopes, and disappointed wishes, 
 and pleasures snatched from us never to return, 
 would be more than any human mind could bear.
 
 100 RICHELIKV. 
 
 It would harden the heart to humble, or break it in 
 iti youth. It is happy too, that in e^irly years our 
 mind has greater power of resistance, for the novel- 
 ty of sorrow gives it a double sting. 
 
 The fatigues of her journey had long worn off. 
 and left Pauline de Beaumont all the glow of wild 
 and youthful beauty, which had adorned her in her 
 native hills. Her cheek had recovered its fine soft 
 blush in all its warmth, and her eyes all their dark 
 brilliancy. But the cheerful gayety which had dis- 
 tinguished her, the light buoyancy of spirit, that 
 seemed destined to rise above all the sorrow of the 
 world, had not come back, with the rose of her 
 cheek, or the lustre of her eye. She loved to be 
 alone, and instead of regretting the jloom and still- 
 ness which prevailed in the court of Anne of Austria, 
 she often seemed to find its gayety too mueh for 
 her, and would retire to the suite of apartments ap- 
 propriated to her mother and herself, to enjoy the 
 solitude of her own thoughts. 
 
 At first, Madame de Beaumont fancied that the 
 melancholy of her daughter was caused by the sud- 
 den change from many loved scenes, endeared by 
 all the remembrances of infancy, to others in which, 
 as yet, she had acquired no interest. But as a second 
 week followed the first, after their arrival at St. Ger- 
 main's, and the same depression of spirits still con- 
 tinued, the marchioness began to fear that Pauline 
 had some more serious cause of sorrow ; and her 
 mind reverted to the suspicions of De Blenau's con- 
 stancy, which she had been the first to excite in her 
 daughter's bosom. 
 
 The coming time is filled with things that we 
 know not, and chance calls forth so many unexpected 
 events, that the only way in life is to wait for Fate, 
 and seize the circumstances of the day ; by the 
 errors of the past to correct our actions at present, 
 and to leave the future to a wiser judgment and a 
 stronger hand. Madame de Beaumont took no no- 
 tice of her daughter's melancholy, resolving to be 
 guided in her conduct by approaching circumstan-
 
 RICHELIEU. 101 
 
 ces 5 for clouds were gathering thickly on the politi- 
 cal horizon of France, which, like a thunder-storm 
 depending on the tickle breath of the wind, might 
 break in tempests over their head, or be wafted afar, 
 and leave them still in peace. 
 
 It vvas one of those still evenings, when the world, 
 as if melancholy at the sun's decline, seems to watch 
 in silence the departure of his latest beams. All had 
 sunk into repose, not a cloud passed over the clear 
 expanse of sky, not a noise was stirring upon earth; 
 and Pauline felt a sensation of quiet; pensive melan- 
 choly steal over all her thoughts, harmonizing them 
 with the calmness of the scene, as it lay tranquilly 
 before her, extending far away to the glowing verge 
 of heaven, unawakened by a sound, unruffled by a 
 breath of air. 
 
 The window at which she sat looked towards St. 
 Denis, where lay the bones of many a race of kings, 
 who had, in turn, worn that often-contested diadem, 
 which to the winner had generally proved a crown 
 of thorns. But her thoughts were not of them. The 
 loss of early hopes, the blight of only love, was the 
 theme en v.hich her mind brooded, like a mother 
 over the tomb of her child. The scene before her 
 — its vast extent — the dying splendour of the sun — 
 the deep pureness of the evening sky — the sublimity 
 of the silence — all wrought upon her mind ; and 
 while she thought of all the fairy hopes she had 
 nourished from her youth, while she dreamed, over 
 again, all the dreams she had indulged of one on 
 whose fame, on whose honour, on whose truth she 
 had fondly, rashly raised every wish of her future 
 life; and while new-born fears and doubts came 
 sweeping away the whole, — the tears rose glisten- 
 ing in her eyes, and rolled, drop after drop, down 
 her cheeks. 
 
 " Pauline !" said a voice close behind her. She 
 started, turned towards the speaker, and with an 
 impulse stronger than volition, held out her hand 
 to Claude de Blenau. "Pauline," said he, printing 
 a warm kiss on the Boft white hand that he held
 
 102 RICHELIEU. 
 
 in his, " dear, beautiful Pauline, we have met at 
 last." 
 
 From the moment he had spoken, Pauline resolv- 
 ed to believe him as immaculate as any human be- 
 ing ever was since the first meeting of Adam and 
 Eve; but still she wanted him to tell her so. It 
 was not coquetry 5 but she was afraid that after 
 what she had seen, and what she had heard, she 
 ought not to be satisfied, — common propriety, she 
 thought, required that she should be jealoin till 
 such time as he proved to her that she had no right 
 to be so. She turned pale, and red, and drew back 
 her hand without reply. 
 
 De Blenau gazed on her for a moment in silent 
 astonishment ; for, young, and ardent, and strongfy 
 tinged with that romantic spirit of gallantry which 
 Anne of Austria had introduced from Spain into the 
 court of France, the whole enthusiasm of his heart 
 had been turned towards Pauline de Beaumont ; and 
 he had thought of her the more, perhaps, because 
 forbid to think of her. JSor had the romance he 
 had worked up in his own mind admitted a particle 
 of the cold ceremonies of courtly etiquette ; he had 
 loved to figure it as something apart from the world. 
 A life with her he loved, of ardour, and passion, 
 and sunshiny hours, unclouded by a regret, unchiled 
 by a reserve, but all boundless confidence, and un- 
 restrained affection : such had been the purport of 
 his letters to Pauline de Beaumont, and such 
 had been the colouring of her replies to him. 
 And who is there that has not dreamed so once ? 
 
 De Blenau gazed on her for a moment in silence. 
 " Do you not speak to me, Pauline T" said heat 
 length. " Or is it that you do not know me ? True, 
 true ! years work a great change at our time of life. 
 But I had fancied — perhaps foolishly fancied — that 
 Pauline de Beaumont would know Claude de Ble- 
 nau wheresoever they met, as well as De Blenau 
 would know her." 
 
 While he epoke, Pauline knew not well what to
 
 do with her eyes ; so she turned them towards the 
 terrace, and they fell upon Mademoiselle de Haule- 
 Ford, who was walking slowly along before the pal- 
 ace. Less things than that have caused greater 
 events in this world than a renewal of all Pauline's 
 doubts. Doubts did I call them ? Before Made- 
 moiselle de Hauteford, with all the graceful dignity 
 for which she was conspicuous, had taken three 
 iteps along the terrace, Pauline's doubts had be- 
 come almost certainties ; and turning round, with 
 what she fancied to be great composure, she repli- 
 ed, " I have the pleasure of knowing you perfectly. 
 Monsieur de Blenau ; I hope you have entirely re- 
 covered from your late wounds." 
 
 " Monsieur de Blenau ! — The pleasure of know- 
 ing me !'■' exclaimed the count. " Good God, is 
 this my reception ? JSot three months have gone 
 since your letters flattered me with the title of 
 * Dear Claude.' — My wounds are better, Mademoi- 
 selle de Beaumont, but you seem inclined to inflict 
 others of a more painful nature." 
 
 Pauline strove to be composed, and strove to re- 
 ply, but it was all in vain ; Nature would have way, 
 and she burst into tears and sobbed aloud. " Pau- 
 line, dearest Pauline !" cried De Blenau, catching 
 her to his bosom unrepulsed : " This must be some 
 mistake — calm yourself, dear girl, and, in the name 
 of Heaven, tell me, what means this conduct to one 
 who loves you as I do !•' 
 
 " One who loves me, Claude !" replied Pauline, 
 wiping the tears from her eyes 5 "Oh no, no — But 
 what right had I to think that you would love me ? 
 None, none, 1 will allow. Separated from each 
 other so long, I had no title to suppose that you 
 would ever think of the child to whom you were 
 betrothed, but of whom you were afterward com- 
 manded not to entertain a remembrance — would 
 think of her, after those engagements were broken 
 by a power you could not choose but obey. But 
 still, De Blenau, you should not have written those 
 letters filled with professions of regard, and vows
 
 104 RICHELIEU. 
 
 to retain the engagements your father had formed 
 for you, notwithstanding the new obstacles which 
 had arisen. You should not, indeed, unless you 
 had been very sure of your own heart ; for it was 
 cruelly trifling with mine," and she gently disen- 
 gaged herself from his arms. — " 1 only blame you," 
 Bhe added, " for ever trying to gain my affection, 
 and not for now being wanting in love to a person 
 you have never seen since she was a child.'" 
 
 "Never seen you !" replied De Blenau, with a 
 smile : '*' Pauline, you are as mistaken in that, as in 
 any doubt you have of me. A year has not passed 
 since last we met. Remember that summer sunset 
 on the banks of the Rhone : remember the masked 
 cavalier who gave you the ring now on your finger : 
 remember the warm hills of Languedoc, glowing 
 with a blush only equalled by your cheek, when he 
 told you that that token was sent by one who loved 
 you dearly, and would love you ever — that it came 
 from Claude de Blenau, who' had bid him place the 
 ring on your finger, and a kiss on your hand, and 
 renew the vow that he had long before pledged to 
 you. — Pauline, Pauline, it was himself." 
 
 " But why, dear Claude," demanded Pauline, 
 eagerly, forgetting coldness and pride and suspicion, 
 in the memory of his words called up, " why did 
 you not tell me ? why did you not let me know that 
 it was you ?" 
 
 " Because if I had been discovered," answered the 
 count, " it might have cost me my life, years of im- 
 prisonment in the Bastille, or worse — the destruc- 
 tion of her I loved ? The slightest cry of surprise 
 from you might have betrayed me." 
 
 " But how did you escape, without your journey 
 being known ?" demanded Pauline ; " they say in 
 Languedoc, that the cardinal has bribed the evil 
 spirits of the air to be his spies on men's actions." 
 
 " It is difficult indeed to say how he acquires his 
 information," replied De Blenau ; " but, however, I 
 
 Eassed undiscovered. It was thus it happened : 1 
 ad gone as a volunteer to the siege qf Perpignan,
 
 RICHELIEU. lOS 
 
 or rather, as one of the Arriere-ban of Languedoc, 
 which was led by the young and gallant Due d'Eng- 
 hien, to whom, after a long resistance, that city de- 
 livered its keys. As soon as the place had surren- 
 dered, 1 asked permission to absent myself for a 
 few days. His highness granted it immediately, 
 and 1 set out. For what think you, Pauline ? what, 
 but to visit that spot, round which all the hopes of 
 my heart all the dreams of my imagination, had 
 hovered for many a year. But to proceed, — taking 
 the two first stages of my journey towards Paris, I 
 suddenly changed my course, and embarking on the 
 Rhone, descended as far as the Chateau de Beau- 
 mont. You remember, that my page, Henry La 
 Mothe, is the son of your mother's fermier, old La 
 Mothe, and doubtless know full well his house 
 among the oaks, on the borders of the great wood. 
 It was here I took up my abode, and formed a thou- 
 sand plans of seeing you undiscovered. At length 
 fortune favoured me. Oh ! how my heart beat as, 
 standing by one of the trees in the long avenue, 
 Henry first pointed out to me two figures coming 
 slowly down ihe path from the chateau — yourself 
 and your mother, — and as, approaching towards me, 
 they gradually grew more and more distinct, my 
 impatience almost overpowered me, and 1 believe 1 
 should have started forward to meet you, had not 
 Henry reminded me of the danger. You passed 
 close by. — Oh Pauline ! I had indulged many a wak- 
 ing dream. I had let fancy deck you in a thousand 
 imaginary charms — but at that moment, I found all 
 that 1 had imagined, or dreamed, a thousand times 
 excelled. I found the beautiful girl, that had been 
 torn from me so many years before, grown into 
 woman's most surpassing loveliness ; and the charms 
 which fancy and memory had scattered from their 
 united stores, faded away before the reality, like 
 stars on the rising of the sun. But this was not en- 
 ough. I watched my opportunity. I saw you, as 
 you walked alone on the terrace, by the side of the 
 glittering Rhone,— I spoke to you,— I heard the
 
 106 RICHELIEU, 
 
 tones of a voice to be remembered for many an 
 after hour, and placing the pledge of my affection 
 on your hand, I tore myself away" 
 
 De Blenau paused. Insensibly, why he was 
 speaking, Pauline had suffered his arm again to glide 
 round her waist. Her hand somehow became 
 clasped in his, and as he told the tale of his affec- 
 tion, the tears of many a mingled emotion rolled 
 over the dark lashes of her eye, and chasing one 
 another down her cheek, fell upon the lip of her 
 lover, as he pressed a kiss upon the warm sunny 
 spot which those drops bedewed. 
 
 De Blenau saw that those tears were not tears of 
 sorrow, and had love been with him an art, he 
 probably would have sought no farther 5 for in the 
 whole economy of life, but more especially in that 
 soft passion, Love, holds good the homely maxim, 
 to let well alone. But De Blenau was not satisfied} 
 and like a foolish youth, he teased Pauline to know 
 why she had at first received him so coldly. In 
 good truth, she had by this time forgotten all about 
 it 5 but as she was obliged to answer, she soon 
 again conjured up all her doubts and suspicions. 
 She hesitated, drew her hand from that of the count, 
 blushed deeper and deeper, and twice began to 
 speak without ending her sentence. 
 
 " I know not what to think," said she at length, 
 "De Blenau: I would fain believe you to be all 
 you seem, — I would fain reject every doubt of what 
 you say." 
 
 Her coldness, her hesitation, her «mbarrassment, 
 alarmed De Blenau's fears, and he too began to be 
 suspicious. 
 
 "On what can you rest a doubt?" demanded he, 
 with a look of bitter mortification ; and perceiving 
 that she still paused, he added sadly, but coldly, 
 " Mademoiselle de Beaumont, you are unkind. Can 
 it be that you are attached to another ? Say, am I 
 so unhappy ?" 
 
 "^o, De Blenau, no!" replied Pauline, strug- 
 gling for firmness : " but answer me one question,
 
 RKHELIHU. 107 
 
 explain to me but this one thing, and I am satisfi- 
 ed." 
 
 " Ask mo any question, propose to me any 
 doubts," answered the count, " and I will reply truly, 
 upon my honour." 
 
 "Then tell me," said Pauline,— But just as she 
 was about to proceed, she felt some difficulty in 
 
 Eroposing her doubts. She had a thousand times 
 efore convinced herself they were very serious 
 and well founded ; but all jealous suspicions look 
 so very foolish in black and white, or what is quite 
 as good, in plain language, though they may seem 
 very respectable when seen through the twilight of 
 passion, that Pauline knew not very well how to 
 give utterance to hers. " Then tell me," said Pau- 
 line, with no small hesitation — " then tell me, what 
 was the reason you would suffer no one to open 
 your hunting-coat, when you were wounded in the 
 forest — no, not even to stanch the bleeding of your 
 side ? ' 
 
 " There was a reason, certainly," replied de Ble- 
 nau, not very well perceiving the connexion be- 
 tween his hunting-coat and Pauline's coldness : 
 " there was a reason, certainly ; but how in the 
 name of Heaven does that affect you, Pauline V 
 
 " You shall see by my next question," answered 
 she. " Have you or have you not received a letter, 
 privately conveyed to you from a lady ? and has not 
 Mademoiselle de Hauteford visited you secretly 
 during your illness ?" 
 
 It was now De Blenau's turn to become embar- 
 rassed ; he faltered, and looked confused, and for a 
 moment his cheek, which had hitherto been pale 
 with the loss of blood, became of the deepest crim- 
 son, while he replied, " I did not know that I was 
 BO watched." 
 
 " It is enough. Monsieur de Blenau," said Pau- 
 line, rising, h«r doubts almost aggravated to cer- 
 tainties. " To justify myself, sir, I will tell you 
 that you have not been watched. Pauline de Beau- 
 mont would consider that man unworthy of her af-
 
 108 RICHELIEtr. 
 
 fection, whose conduct would require watching. 
 What I know has come to my ears by mere acci- 
 dent. In fact,'" and her voice trembled the more, 
 perhaps, that she strove to preserve its steadiness 
 — " in fact, I have become acquainted with a pain- 
 ful truth through my too great kindess for you, in 
 sending my own servant to inquire after your health, 
 and not to watch you, Monsieur de Blenau." 
 
 " Stop, stop, Pauline j in pity, stop," cried De 
 Blenau, seeing her about to depart. " Your ques- 
 tions place me in the most embarrassing of situa- 
 tions. But, on my soul, 1 have never suffered a 
 thought to stray from you, and yourself will one day 
 do me justice. But at present, on this point, I am 
 bound by every principle of duty and honour, not to 
 attempt an exculpation," 
 
 "jN'one is necessary, Monsieur de Blenau," re- 
 plied Pauline. " Jt is much better to understand 
 each other at once. 1 have no right to any control 
 over you. You are of course free, and at liberty lo 
 follow the bent of your own inclinations. Adieu ! 
 I shall always wish your welfare." And she was 
 qutting the apartment, but De Blenau still detained 
 'her, though she gently strove to withdraw her 
 hand. 
 
 " Yet one moment, Pauline," said he. " You 
 were once kind, you were generous, you have more 
 than once assured me of your affection. Now, tell 
 me, did you bestow that affection on a man destitute 
 of honour ? on a man who would sully his fame by 
 pledging his faith to what was false 1" Pauline's 
 hand remained in his without an effort, and he went 
 on. " 1 now pledge you my faith, and give you my 
 honour, however strange it may appear that a lady 
 should visit me in private, I have nerer loved or 
 sought, any but yourself. Pauline, do you doubt me 
 now !" 
 
 Her eyes were fixed upon the ground, and she did 
 not reply, but there was a slight motion in the hand 
 he held, as if it would fain have returned his pres- 
 sure had she dared. "I could," he continued,
 
 RICHELIETJ. 109 
 
 "within an hour, obtain permission to explain it all. 
 But oh, Pauline, how much happier would it make 
 me to find, that you trust alone to my word, tliat 
 you put full confidence in a heart tliat loves you !"' 
 
 " I do ! Ido!" exclaimed Pauline, with all her 
 own wild energy, at the same time placing her 
 other hand also on his, and raising her eyes to his 
 fa«e : " Say no more, De Blenau. I believe I have 
 been wrong; at all events, I cannot. 1 will not 
 doubt, what makes me so happy to believe.'' And 
 her eyes, which again filled with tears, were hid- 
 den on his bosom. 
 
 De Blenau pressed her to his heart, and again 
 and again thanked the lips that had spoken such 
 kind words, in the way that such lips may best be 
 thanked. "Dearest Pauline," said De Blenau. af- 
 ter enjoying a moment or two of that peculiar hap- 
 piness which shines but once or twice even in the 
 brightest existence, giving a momentary taste of 
 heaven, and then losing itself, either in human 
 cares, or less vivid joys. The heart is a garden, 
 and youth is its spring, and hope is its sunshine, 
 and love is a thorny plant, that grows up and bears 
 one bright flower, which has nothing like it in all 
 the earth — 
 
 " Dearest Pauline," said De Blenau, " 1 leave you 
 for a time, that 1 may return and satisfy every doubt. 
 Within one hour all shall be explained." 
 
 As he spoke, the door of the apartment opsneu, 
 and one of the servants of the palace entered, with 
 a face of some alarm. " Monsieur de Blenau," said 
 he, " I beg a thousand pardons for intruding, but 
 there have been, but now. at the palace gate, two 
 men of the cardinal's guard inquiring for you : so I 
 told them that you were most likely at the other 
 side of the park, for — for — ''' and after hesitating a 
 moment, he added, "They are the same who ar- 
 rested Monsieur de Vitry."' 
 
 De Blenau started, " Fly, fly, Claude !" exclaim- 
 ed Pauline, catching him eagerly by the arm — ' Oh
 
 110 RICHELIEU. 
 
 fly, dear Claude, while there is yet time. ■ I am 
 sure they seek some evil towards you." 
 
 " You have done well,'' said De Blenau to the 
 attendant. " I will speak to you as I come down. 
 Dearest Pauline," he continued, when the man was 
 gone^ " I must see what these gentlemen want. 
 Nay, do not look frightened ; you are mistaken 
 about their errand. I have nothing to fear, believe 
 me. Some trifling business, no doubt. In the mean 
 time, I shall not neglect my original object. In 
 half an hour all your doubts shall be satisiied." 
 
 '•I have none, Claude," replied Pauline; "in- 
 deed I have none, but about these men." 
 
 De Blenau endeavoured to calm her, and assur- 
 ed her again and again that there was no danger. 
 But Pauline was not easy, and the count himself 
 had more suspicions concerning their objeet than 
 he would suffer to appear. 
 
 i
 
 RICHELISU. llj 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 Con(aining a great deal that would not have been said had U 
 not been neccssafy. 
 
 In front of the Palace of St. Germain's, but con- 
 cealed from the park and terrace by an angle of the 
 building, stood the Count de Chavigni, apparently 
 engaged in the very undignified occupation of mak- 
 ing love to a pretty-looking soubrette, no other than 
 Louise, the waiting-maid of Mademoiselle de Beau- 
 mont. But, notwithstanding the careless noncha- 
 lance with which he affected to address her, it was 
 evident that he had some deeper object in view 
 than the trifling of an idle hour. 
 
 " Well, ma belle," said he, after a few words of 
 a more tender nature, " you are sure the surgeon 
 said, though the wound is in his side, hit heart is 
 uninjur«d" 
 
 " Yes, exactly," said Louise, " word for word j 
 and the queen answered, ' I understand you,' But 
 1 cannot think why you are so curious about it." 
 
 '' Because I take an interest in the young count," 
 replied Chavigni. *•' But his heart must be very 
 hard if it can resist such eyes as yours." 
 
 " He never saw them," said Louise, " for I was 
 not with my lady when they picked him up wound- 
 ed in the forest." 
 
 "So much the better," replied Chavigni, "for 
 that is he turning that angle of the palace : I must 
 speak to him ; so farewell, bcUe Louise, and remem- 
 ber ihe signal. — Go through that door, and he will 
 not see you." 
 
 Speaking thus, Chavigni left her, and a few steps 
 brought him up to De Blenau, who at that moment 
 traversed the angle in which he had been standing
 
 11 J RICHELIEU. 
 
 with Louise, and was hurrying on with a rapid pace 
 in search of the queen. 
 
 " Good morrow, Monsieur de Blenau," said Cha- 
 vigni : " you seem in haste." 
 
 " And am so, sir," replied De Elenau, proudly 5 
 and added, after a moment's pause, " Have you any 
 commands for me V for Chavigni stood directly in 
 his way, 
 
 '' J^one in particular," answered the other, with 
 perfect composure — '-'only if you are seeking the 
 queen, I will go with you to her majesty} and as 
 we go, I will tell you a piece of news you may per- 
 haps like to hear."" 
 
 " Sir Count de Chavigni, I beg you would mark 
 me, replied De Blenau. '• You are one of the 
 king's council — a gentleman of good repute, and so 
 forth 5 but there is not that love between us that 
 we should be seen taking our evening's walk to- 
 gether, unless, indeed, it were for the purpose of 
 using our weapons more than our tongues." 
 
 " indeed, Monsieur de Blenau," rejoined Cha- 
 vigni, his lip curling into a smile which partook 
 more of good-humour than scorn, though, perhaps, 
 mingled somewhat qf each — ■'• indeed you do not do 
 me justice ; I love you better than you know, and 
 may have an opportunity of doing you a g-ood turn 
 some day, whether you will or not. So with your 
 leave I walk with you, for we both seek the 
 queen." 
 
 De Blenau was provoked. " Must I tell you, sir," 
 exclaimed he, " that your company is disagreeable 
 to me ? — that 1 do not like the society of men who 
 herd with robbers and assassins V 
 
 " Psha T' exclaimed Chavigni, somewhat peevish- 
 ly. " Captious boy, you'll get yourself into the 
 Bastille some day, where you would have been long 
 ago, had it not been for me." 
 
 " When you tell me, sir, how such obligations 
 have been incurred," answered the count, " 1 shall 
 be happy to acknowledge them." 
 
 " Why, twenty times, Monsieur de Blenau, you
 
 RICHEimtf. 113 
 
 have nearly been put there/' replied Chavigni, with 
 that air of candour which it is very difficult to affect 
 when it is not genuine. " Your hot and boiling 
 spirit, sir, is always running you into danger. JNot- 
 withstanding all your late wounds, a little bleeding, 
 even now, would not do you any harm. Here the 
 first thing you do is to quarrel with a man who has 
 served you, is disposed to serve you, and of whose 
 service you may stand in need within five min- 
 utes. 
 
 " But to give you proof at once that what 1 ad- 
 vance is more than a mere jest — Do you think that 
 your romantic expedition to Languedoc escaped 
 me? Monsieur de Blenau, you start, -as if you 
 dreamed that in such a country as this, and under 
 such an administration, any thing could take place 
 without being known to some member of the gov- 
 ernment. JSo, no, sir ! there are many people in 
 France, even now, who think they are acting in 
 perfect security, because no notice is apparently 
 taken of the plans they are forming, or the intrigues 
 they are carrying on ; while, in reality, the hun- 
 dred eyes of Policy are upon their every action, and 
 the sword is only suspended over their heads, that 
 it may eventually fall with more severity." 
 
 " You surprise me, 1 ovv-n," replied De Blenau, 
 " by showing me that you are acquainted with an 
 adventure, which I thought buried in my own bo- 
 som, or only confided to one equally faithful to 
 me." 
 
 "You mean your page," said Chavigni, with the 
 same easy tone in whicii he had spoken all along. 
 " You have no cause to doubt him. He has never 
 betrayed you (at least to my knowledge.) But 
 these things come about very simply, without 
 treachery on any part. The stag never flies so fast, 
 nor the hare doubles so often, but they leave a 
 scent behind them for the dogs to follow, — nnd so 
 it is with the actions of man ; conceal them as lie 
 will, there is always some trace by which thev may 
 vol.. I. 8 "
 
 114 RICHELIEW. 
 
 be discovered ; and it is no secret lo any one, now- 
 a-days, that there are people in every situation of 
 life, in every town of France, paid to give informa- 
 tion of all that happens; so that the schemes must 
 be well concealed indeed, which some circum- 
 stance does not discover, i see, you shake your 
 head, as if you disapproved of the principle. 
 
 " De Blenau, you and 1 are engaged in different 
 parties. You act firmly convinced of the rectitude 
 of your own cause 3 do me the justice to believe 
 that I do the same. You hate the minister — I ad- 
 mire him, and feel fully certain that all he does is 
 for the good of the state. On the other hand. I ap- 
 plaud your courage, your devotion to the cause you 
 have espoused, and your proud unbending spirit ; 
 and I would bring you to the scaffold to-morrow, if 
 I thought it would really serve the party to which I 
 am attached." 
 
 The interesting nature of this conversation, and 
 the bold candour it displayed, had made De Blenau 
 tolerate Chavigni's society longer than he had in- 
 tended ; and even his dislike to the statesman had 
 in a degree worn away before the easy digoity and 
 frankness of his manner. But still he did not like 
 to be seen holding any kind of companionship with 
 one of the queen's professed enemies j and, taking 
 advantage of the first pause, replied, 
 
 " You are frank, Monsieur de Chavigni, but my 
 head is well where it is. And now may I ask, to 
 what does all this tend V 
 
 " You need not hurry the conversation to a con- 
 clusion," replied Chavigni. •' You see that we are 
 in direct progress towards the part of the park 
 where her majesty is most likely to be found." But 
 seeing that De Blenau seemed impatient of such re- 
 ply, he proceeded : '' However, as you wish to 
 know to what rny conve satioa tend^, 1 will tell 
 you. If you please, it tends to your own good. The 
 cardinal wishes to see you — '' 
 
 He pTusocI, and e'ar.ced his evo over the counte- 
 nance ot his c()ini);inion ; from wiiich, however, """ 
 
 'i
 
 RlOHEtlEW. Hi 
 
 could gather no reply, a slight frown being all the 
 emotion that was visible. 
 
 Chavigni then proceeded: "The cardinal wishes 
 to see you. He entertains some suspicion of you. 
 If you will take my advice, you will set out for Pa- 
 ris immediately, wait upon his eminence, and be 
 frank with him ; nay, do not start I I do not wish 
 you to betray any one's secrets, or violate your own 
 honour. Bui be wise, set out instantly.*' 
 
 " I suspected something of this," replied De 
 Blenau, " when 1 heard that there were strangers 
 inquiring for me. But whatever I do, I must first 
 see the queen j" and observing that Chavigni was 
 about to ofter some opposition, he added decidedly, 
 *' It is absolutely necessary — on business of impor- 
 tance." 
 
 " May I ask," said Chavigni, " is it of importance 
 to h«r majesty or yourself 2" 
 
 " 1 have no objection to answer that at once," re- 
 plied De Blenau : ''it concerns myself alone." 
 
 " Stop a moment," cried Chavigni, laying his 
 hand on the count's arm, and pausing in the middle 
 of the avenue, at the fairther extremity of which a 
 group of three or four persons was seen approach- 
 ing. " No business can be of more importance than 
 that on which I advise you to go. Monsieur de 
 Blenau, I would save you pain. Let me once more 
 press you to set out without having any farther con- 
 versation with her majesty than the mere etiquette 
 of taking leave for a day." 
 
 De Blenau well knew the danger which he incur- 
 red, but still he could not resolve to go without 
 clearing the doubts of Pauline, which five minutes' 
 coaversation with the queen would enable him to 
 do "It is impossible," replied he, thoughtfully j 
 '•besides, let the cardinal send for me. I do not 
 see v/hy I should walk with my eyes open into the 
 deii of a lion." 
 
 " Well then, sir," answered Chavigni, with some- 
 what more of coldness in his manner, " I must tell 
 you, his eminence has sent for you, and that, per-
 
 lit RIOHBLIBV. 
 
 baps, in a way that may not suit the pride of yoaf 
 dispoiition. Do you see those three men that arc 
 coming down the avenue ? they are not here with- 
 out an object. Come, once more, what say you, 
 Monsieur le Comte ? Go with me to take leave of 
 the queen, for 1 must suffer no private conversa- 
 tion. Let us then mount our horses, and ride as 
 friends to Paris. There pay your respects to the 
 cardinal, and take ChavignCs word that, unless you 
 •uffer the heat of your temper to betray you into 
 any thing unbecoming, you shall return safe to St. 
 Germain's before to-morrow evening. If not,thingt 
 must take their course." 
 
 " You offer me^fair, sir," replied the count, " if I 
 understand you rightly, that the cardinal has sent U> 
 arrest me 5 and of course I cannot hesitate to ac- 
 cept your proposal. I have no particular partiality 
 for the Bastile, 1 can assure you.'" 
 
 *' Then you consent V said Chavigni. De Blenau 
 bowed his head. " Well, then, I will speak to these 
 gentlemen,'' he added, " and they will give us their 
 room." 
 
 By this time the three persons, who had continu- 
 ed to advance down ihe avenue, had approached 
 within th« distance of a few paces of Chovigni and 
 the count. Two of them were dressed in the uni- 
 form of the cardinal's guard ; one as atimple troop- 
 er, the other being the lieutenant who bore the let- 
 tre de cachet for the arrest of Dc Blenau. The third 
 we have had some occasion to notice in the wood 
 of Mantts, being no other than the tall Norman who 
 on that occasion was found in a rusty buff jerkin, 
 consorting with the banditti. His appearance, how- 
 ever, was now very much changed for the better. 
 The neat trimming of his beard and mustaches, the I 
 ■mart turn of his broad beaver, the flush newness of I 
 his long-waisted blu« silk vest, and even the hang- ' 
 ing of his sword, which, instead of offering its hilt ■ 
 on the left hip, ev«r ready for the hand, now swung 
 far behind, with the tip' of the scabbard striking 
 against the right calf— all denoting a change of trade
 
 RICrtELlBn. 117 
 
 and circumstances, from the poor bravo who won his 
 daily meal at the sword's point, to the well-paid 
 b«lly who fattered at his lord's second table, on the 
 merit of services mora real than apparent. 
 
 De Blenau's eye fixed full upon the Norman, cer- 
 tain that he had seen him somewhere before ; but 
 the change of dress and circumstances embarrassed 
 his recollection. 
 
 In the mean while Chivigni advanced to the car- 
 dinal's officer. " Monsieur Chaxcville," said he, " fa- 
 vour me by preceding me to his eminence of Riche- 
 lieu. Offer him my salutation, and inform him that 
 Monsieur le Comte de Blenau and myself intend to 
 wait upon him this afternoon." 
 
 Chauville bowed and passed on, while the Nor- 
 man, uncovering hie head to Chavigni, instantly 
 brought back to the mind of De Blenau thecircum- 
 fltances under which he had first seen him. 
 
 " You have returned, I see," said Chavigni. 
 ^ Have you found an occasion of fulfilling my or- 
 ders V 
 
 "To your heart's content, monseigneur," replied 
 the Norman ; " never was such an astrologer since 
 the days of Intrim of Blois." 
 
 " Hush !" said Chavigni, for the other spoke 
 aloud. " If you have done it, that is enough. But 
 for a time keep yourself to Paris, and avoid the 
 court, as some one may recognise you, even in these 
 fine new feathers." 
 
 " Oh, I defy them," replied the Norman, in a lower 
 tone than he had formerly spoken, but still so loud 
 that De Blenau could not avoid hearing the greater 
 part of what he said : " [ defy them ; for I was so 
 wrapped up in my black robes and my white beard, 
 that the devil himself would not know me for the 
 same mortal in the two costumes. But I hope, 
 Monsieur le Comte, that my reward may be equal 
 to the risk 1 have run, for they sought to stop me j 
 and had I not been too good a necromancer for 
 them, I suppose I should have been roasting at a 
 Btake by this time. But one wave of wy magic wand
 
 H8 RICHSLIEU. 
 
 •ent the sword of Monsieur de Cinq Mars out of 
 his hand, and opened me a passage to the wood j 
 otherwise I should have fared but badly among 
 them." 
 
 " You must not exact too much, MonsieurlMarte- 
 viUe," replied Chavigni. " But we will speak of thi« 
 to-night. I shall be in Paris in a few hours ; at pres- 
 ent, you see, I am occupied 5" and leaving the Nor- 
 man, he rejoined De Blenau, and proceeded in 
 search of the queen. 
 
 •• If my memory serve me right, Monsieur de Cha- 
 vigni," saidDe Blenau, in atone of some bitternets, 
 " I have seen that gentleman before, and with bis 
 sword shining at my breast." 
 
 " It is very possible," answered Chavigni, with the 
 most indifferent calmness. " I have seen him in the 
 same situation with repect to myself." 
 
 " Indeed 1" rejoined De Blenau, with some sor- 
 
 Erise ; *• but probably not with the same intention,'* 
 e added. 
 
 " I do not know," replied the statesman, with a 
 smile. " His intentions in my favour were to run 
 me through the body." 
 
 '' And is it possible, then," exclaimed De Blenau^ 
 " that with such a knowledge of his character and 
 habits, you can employ and patronise him ?" 
 
 " Certainly," answered Chavigni ; " I wanted a 
 bold villain. Such men are very necessary in a 
 state. Now, 1 could not have better proof that thi» 
 man had the qualities required, than his attempting 
 to cut my throat. But you do him some injustice j 
 be is better than you suppose — ia not without f«el- 
 ing — and has his own ideas of honour." 
 
 De Blenau checked the bitter reply which was 
 rising to his lips, and letting the conversatioa drop, 
 they proceeded in silence in search of the queen. 
 They had not gone much farther when they perceiv- 
 ed her leaning familiarly on the arm of Madame de 
 Beaumont, and seemingly occupied in some con- 
 versation of deep interest. However, her eye fell 
 upon the count and Chavigoi as they came up, and*
 
 RICHELIEU. XIJI 
 
 surprised to see them together; she abruptly paused 
 in what she was saying. 
 
 <' Look there, De Beaumont," said she ; "-some- 
 thing is not right. I have seen more than one of 
 these creatures of the cardinal hanging about the 
 
 Eark to-day. 1 fear for poor De Blenau. He has 
 ean too faithful to his queen to escape long." 
 
 " I salute your majesty," said Chavigni, as soon 
 as they had come within a short distance of th« 
 queen, and not giving De Blenau the time to ad- 
 dress her : " I have been the bearer of a message 
 from his eminence of Richelieu to Monsieur de 
 Blenau, your majesty's chamberlain, requesting the 
 pleasure of entertaining him for a day in Paris. 
 The count has kindly accepted the invitation j and 
 I have promised that the cardinal shall not press 
 his stay beyond to-morrow. We only now want 
 your majesty's permission and good leave, which in 
 his eminence's name I humbly crave for Monsieur 
 de Blenau-" 
 
 " His eminence is too condescending," replied 
 the queen. " He knows that his will is law j and 
 we, humble kings and queens, as in duty, do him 
 reverence. I doubt not that his intentions towards 
 our chamberlain are as mild and amiable as his 
 general conduct towards ourself." 
 
 " The truth is, your majesty," said De Blenau, the 
 " cardinal has sent for me, and (however Monsieur 
 de Chavigni's politeness may colour it) in a way 
 that compels my attendance." 
 
 " I thought so," exclaimed the queen, dropping 
 the tone of ir»ny which she had assumed towards 
 Chavigni, and looking with mingled grief and kind- 
 ness upon the young cavalier, whose destruction 
 she deemed inevitable from the moment that Riche- 
 lieu had fixed the serpent eyes of his policy upon 
 him ; " 1 thought so. Alas, my poor De Blenau I 
 all that attach themselves to me seem devoted to 
 persecution." 
 
 "Not so, your majesty," said Chavigni, with 
 some degree of feeling j " I can assure you, Men-
 
 120 RICHELIEU. 
 
 sieur de Blenau goes at perfect liberty. He is un- 
 der no arrest ; and, unless he stays by his own wish, 
 will return to your majesty's court to-raorrow night. 
 The cardinal is far from wishing to give unueces- 
 sary pain." 
 
 " Talk not to me, Sir Counsellor," replied the 
 queen, angrily ; " do I not know him ? 1, who of 
 all the world have best cause to estimate his base- 
 ness ? Have I not under his own hand the proof 
 of his criminal ambition ? but no more of that — " 
 And breaking off into Spanish, as was frequently 
 her custom when angry, she continued, " Jso se si 
 es la misma vanidad, la sobervia, 6 la arrogancia, 
 que todo esto, segun creo es el cardenal."' 
 
 " It is useless, madara," saidDe Blenau, as soon 
 as the queen paused in her angry vituperation of the 
 minister, " to distress you farther with this conver- 
 sation. I know not what the cardinal wants, but 
 he may rest assured that De Blenau-'s heart is firm, 
 and that no human means shall induce him to 
 swerve from his duty 5 and thus I humbly take my 
 leave." 
 
 '' Go then, De Blenau," said the queen : *' Go, 
 and whether we ever meet again or not, your faith- 
 ful services and zealous friendship shall ever have 
 my warmest gratitude ; and Anne of Austria has no 
 other reward to bestow." Thus saying, she held 
 out her hand to him. De Blenau in silence bent his 
 head respectfully over it, and turned away. Cha- 
 vigni bowed low, and followed the count, to whose 
 hotel ihey proceeded, in order to prepare for their 
 departure. 
 
 In the orders which De Blenau gave on their ar- 
 rival, he merely commanded the attendance of hia 
 page. 
 
 '•'Pardon me. Monsieur de Blenau, if I observe 
 upon your arrangements," said Chavigni, when be 
 heard this order. " But let me remind you, once 
 more, that you are not going to a prison, and that 
 it might be better if your general train attended 
 you, as a gentleman of high etalion about to visit
 
 RICHELIEU. 121 
 
 the prime miniBter of his sovereign. They will 
 find plenty of accommodation in the Hotel de Bou- 
 thiliers." 
 
 " Be it so, then," replied De Blenau, scarcely 
 able to assume even the appearance of civility to- 
 wards his companion. " Henry de La Mothe," he 
 proceeded, " order a dozen of my best men to at- 
 tend me, bearing my full colours in their sword- 
 nots and scarfs. Trick out my horses gayly, as if I 
 were going to a wedding, for Claude de Blenau is 
 about to visit the cardinal, and remember," he con- 
 tinued, his anger at the forced journey he was tak- 
 ing overcoming his prudence, " that there be sad- 
 dled for my own use the good black barb that car- 
 ried me so stoutly when I was attacked by assassins 
 in th« wood of Mantes j" and "as he spoke, his eye 
 glanced towards the statesman, who sitting in the 
 window-seat, had taken up the Poems of Rotrou, 
 and apparently inattentive to all that was passing, 
 read on with as careless and easy an air ns if no 
 more important interest occupied his thoughts, and 
 no contending passions struggled in his breast.
 
 122 RICHELIEU. 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 ^bows how the Count He Blcnau supped in a place that he lit- 
 tle expected. 
 
 Though the attendants of the Count de Blenau 
 did not expend much time in preparing to accom- 
 pany their master, the evening was nevertheless too 
 far spent, before they could proceed, to permit the 
 hope of reaching Paris ere the night should have 
 set in. It was still quite light enough, however, to 
 show all the preparations for the count's departure 
 to the boys of St. Germain's, who had not beheld 
 for many a good day such a gay cavalcade enliven 
 the streets of that almost deserted town. 
 
 Chavigni andDe Blenau mounted theirghorses to- 
 gether 3 and the four or five servants which the 
 statesman had brought with him from Paris, ming- 
 ling with those of De Blenau, followed the two 
 gentlemen as they rode from the gate, Having the 
 privilege of the park, Chavigni took his way imme- 
 diately under the windows of the palace, thereby 
 avoiding a considerable circuit, which would have 
 occupied more time than they could well spare at 
 that late hour of the evening. 
 
 The moment Pauline de Beaumont had seen her 
 lover depart, the tears, which she had struggled to 
 repress in his presence, flowed rapidly down her 
 cheeks. The noble, candid manner of De Blenau 
 had nearly quelled all suspicion in her mind. The 
 graces of his person, the tone of his voice, the 
 glance of his eye, had realized the day-dreams 
 which she had nourished from her youth. 
 
 Fame had long before told her that he was brave, 
 high-spirited, chivalrous ; and his picture, as well 
 aa memorj; bad shown him as strikingly handsome;
 
 RtCHELIEe. lis 
 
 but still it did not speak, it did not move ; and 
 though Pauline had often sat with it in her hand, 
 and imagined the expressions of his various letters 
 as coming from the lips, or tried in fancy to animate 
 the motionless eyes of the portrait, still the hero 
 of her romance, like the figure of Prometheus ere 
 he had robbed the sun of light to kindle it into ac- 
 tive being, wanted the energy of real life. But at 
 length th«y had met, and whether it was so in 
 truth, or whether she imagined it, matters not, but 
 every bright dream of her fancy seemed fulfilled in 
 De Blenau ; and now that she had cause to fear for 
 his safety, she upbraided herself for having enter- 
 tained a suspicion. 
 
 She wept then — but her tears were from a very 
 different cause lo that which had occasioned them 
 to flow before. However, her eyes were still full, 
 ■when a servant entered to inform her that the 
 queen desired her society with the other ladies of 
 her scanty court. Pauline endeavoured to efface 
 the marks which her weeping had left, and slowly 
 obeyed the summons, which being usual at that 
 hour, she knew was on no business of import ; but 
 on entering the closet, she perceived that tears had 
 also been in the bright eyes of Anne of Austria. 
 
 The circle which consisted of Madame de Beau- 
 mont, Mademoiselle de Hauteford, and another 
 lady of honour, had drawn round the window at 
 which her majesty sat, and which, thrown fully 
 open, admitted the breeze from the park. 
 
 " Come hither, Paulirie,"Baid the queen, as she 
 saw her enter, " What ! have you been weeping 
 too? Nay, do not blush, sweet girl ; for surely a 
 subject need not be ashamed of doing once what a 
 queen is obliged to do every day. Why, it is the 
 only resource that we women have. But come 
 here : there seems a gay cavalcade entering the 
 park gates. These are the toys with which we are 
 taught to amuse ourselves. Who are they, I won- 
 der t Come near, Pauline, and see if your young 
 *yef can tell." / ^ 6
 
 114 RICHELIEU. 
 
 Pauline approached the window, and took her 
 station by the side of the queen, who, rising from 
 her seat, placed her arm kindly through that of 
 Mademoiselle de Beaumont, and leaning gently 
 upon her, prevented the possibility of her retiring 
 from the spot where she stood. 
 
 In the meanwhile the cavalcade approached. 
 The gay trappings of the horses, and the rich suits 
 of their riders, with their silk scarfs and sword- 
 knots of blue and gold, soon showed to the keen 
 eyes of th« queen's ladies that the young Count de 
 Blenau was one of the party j while every now and 
 then a horseman in Isabel and silver appearing 
 among the rest, told them, to their no small sur- 
 prise, that he was accompanied by the Count de 
 Chavigni, the sworn friend of Richelieu, and one of 
 the principal leaders of the cardinal's party. The 
 queen, however, evinced no astonishment, and her 
 attendants of course did not attempt to express the 
 wonder they felt at such a companionship. 
 
 The rapid pace at which the two gentlemen pro- 
 ceeded soon brought them near the palace ; and 
 Chavigni, from whose observant eye nothing passed 
 without notice, instantly perceived the queen and 
 her party at the window, and marked his salutation 
 with a profound inclination, low almost to servility, 
 while De Blenau raised his high-plumed hat and 
 bowed, with the dignity of one conscious ,that he 
 had deserved well of all who saw him. 
 
 Chavigni led the way to Marly, and thence to 
 Ruel, where night began to come htavily upon the 
 twilight ; and long before they entered Paris, all 
 objects were lost in darkness. " You must be pay 
 guest for to-night. Monsieur de Blenau, said Chavig- 
 ni, as they rode on down the Rue St. Honor6, " for it 
 will be too late to visit the cardinal this evening." 
 However, as they passed the Palais Royal, 
 the blaze of light, which proceeded from every 
 window of the edifice, told that on tliat night the 
 superb minister entertamed the court ; — a court, of 
 which he had deprived his king, and which he had
 
 mcHELIKVv 125 
 
 appropriated to himself. De Blenau drew a deep 
 sigh as he gazed upon the magnificent edifice, and 
 compared the pomp and luxury which every thing 
 appertaining to it displayed, with the silent, deso- 
 late melancholy which reigned in the royal palaces 
 of France. 
 
 Passing on do\Vn the Rue St, Honore, and cross- 
 ing the Rue St. Martin, they soon reached the 
 Place Royale, in which Chavigni had fixed his resi- 
 dence. Two of De Blenau's servants immediately 
 placed themselves at the head of his horse, and 
 held the bridle short, while Henry de La Mothe 
 sprang to the stirrup. But at that moment a gen- 
 tleman who seemed to have been waiting the ar- 
 rival of the travellers, issued from the Hotel de 
 Bouthiliers, and prevented them from dismount- 
 ing. 
 
 "Do not alight, gentlemen," exclaimed he; "his 
 eminence the Cardinal de Richelieu has sent me 
 to request that Messieurs de Blenau and Cha- 
 vigni will partake a small collation at the Palais 
 Cardinal, without the ceremony of changing their 
 dress." 
 
 De Blenau would fain have excused himself, alleg- 
 ing that the habit which he wore was but suited to 
 the morning, and also was soiled with the dust of 
 their long ride. But the cardinal's officer overbore 
 all opposition, declaring that his eminence would 
 regard it as a higher compliment, if the count would 
 refrain from setting foot to the ground till he enter- 
 ed the gates of his palace. 
 
 " Then we must go back,'' said Chavigni. " We 
 are honoured by the cardinal's invitation. Monsieur 
 de Blenau, pardon me for having brought you so 
 far wrong. Go in, Chatenay," he added, turning to 
 one of his own domestics, "and order flam- 
 beaux." 
 
 In a few moments all was ready ; and preceded by 
 half a dozen-torcli-bearers on foot, they once more 
 turned towards the dwelling of the minister. As 
 they did so, De Blenau's fselings were not of the
 
 12« RICHELIEU. 
 
 most agreeable nature, but he acquiesced ia silence, 
 for to have refused his presence would have baen 
 worse than useless. 
 
 The Palais Royal, which, as we have said, was 
 then called the Palais Cardinal, was a very diflFerent 
 building when occupied by the haughty minister of 
 Louis the Thirteenth, from that which we have 
 Been it in our days. The unbounded resources 
 within his power gave to Richelieu the means of 
 lavishing on the mansion which he erected for him- 
 self, all that art could produce of elegant, and all 
 that wealth could supply of magnificence. For 
 seven years the famous Le Mercier laboured to per- 
 fect it as a building; and during bis long adminis- 
 tration, the cardinal himself never ceased to deco- 
 rate it with every thing rare or luxurious. The 
 large space which it occupied was divided into an 
 outer and an inner court, round which, on every 
 side, the superb range ofbuildingSjforming the palace, 
 was placed in exact and beautiful proportion, pre- 
 senting every way an external and internal front, 
 decorated with all the splendour of architectural or- 
 nament. 
 
 The principal fa9ade lay tewards the Rue St. 
 Honore, and another of simpler, but perhaps more 
 correct design, towards the gardens, which last 
 were themselves one of the wonders of Paris at the 
 time. Extending over the space now occupied by 
 the Rue de Richelieu, the Rue de Valois, and 
 several other streets, they contained, within them- 
 selves, many acres of ground, and were filled with 
 every plant and flower that Europe *hen possessed, 
 scattered about among the trees, which, being plan- 
 ted long before the formality of the Dutch taste was 
 introduced in France, had in general been allowed 
 to fall into natural groups, unperverted into the long 
 avenues and straight alleys which disfigure so 
 many of the royal parks and gardens on the Conti- 
 nent. 
 
 The right-wing of the first court was principally 
 occupied by that beautiful theatre,, so strongly con-
 
 RICHELIKU. 127 
 
 nee ted with every classic remembrance of the 
 French stage, in which the first tragedies of Rotrou 
 and Corneille were produced, — in which many of 
 the inimitable comedies of Moliere were first given 
 to the world, and in which he himself acted till his 
 death. 
 
 In the wing immediately opposite was the chapel, 
 built in the Ionic order, and ornamented in that pure 
 and simple manner which none knew better how to 
 value than the Cardinal de Richelieu. 
 
 The two courts were divided from each other by 
 a massive pile of building, containing the grand 
 saloon, the audience-chamber, and the cabinet of 
 the high council. On the ground floor was the 
 banqueting-room and its ante-chamber 3 and a great 
 part of the building fronting the gardens was occu- 
 pied by the famous gallery of portraits, which Rich- 
 elieu had taken care should comprise the best pic- 
 tures that could be procured of all the greatest 
 characters in French history. 
 
 The rest of the palace was filled with various 
 suites of apartments, generally decorated and fur- 
 nished in the most sumptuous manner. Great part 
 of these the cardinal reserved either for public en- 
 tertainments, or for his own private use; but what re- 
 mained was nevertheless fully large enough to con- 
 tain that host of ofiicers and attendants by which 
 he was usually surrounded. 
 
 On the evening in question almost every part of 
 that immense building was thrown open to receive 
 the multitude that interest and fear gathered round 
 the powerful and vindictive minister. Almost all 
 that was gay, almost all that was beautiful, had been 
 assembled there. All to whom wealth gave some- 
 thing to secure — all to whom rank gave something 
 to maintain — all whom wit rendered anxious for dis- 
 liction — ail whom talent prompted to ambition. 
 Equally those that Richelieu feared or loved, hated 
 or admired, were brought there by some means, and 
 for some reason. 
 
 The scene which met the eye of De Blenau and
 
 Chavigni, as they ascended the grand staiacase and 
 entered the saloon, can only be qualified by the 
 word princely. The blaze of jewels, the glare of 
 innumerable lights, the splendid dresses of the 
 guests, and the magnificent decorations of the apart- 
 ments themselves, all harmonized together, and 
 formed a coup-d/oeil of surpassing brilliancy. 
 
 The rooms were full, but not crowded ; for there 
 were attendants stationed in various parts for the 
 purpose of requesting the visiters to proceed, when- 
 ever they observed too many collected in one spot. 
 Yet care was taken that those who were thus treat- 
 ed with scant ceremony should be of the inferior 
 class admitted to the cardinal's fete. Each officer 
 of the minister's household was well instructed to 
 know the just value of every guest, and how far he 
 was to be courted, either for his mind or influence. 
 
 To render to all the highest respect, was the gen- 
 eral order, but some were to be distinguished. Care 
 was also taken that none should be neglected, and 
 an infinite number of servants were seen gliding 
 through the apartments, offering the most costly 
 and delicate refreshments to every individual of the 
 mixed assembly. 
 
 De Blenau followed Chavigni through the grand 
 saloon, where many an eye was turned upon the 
 elegant and manly figure of him. who on that night 
 of splendour and finery, presumed to show himself 
 in a suit, rich indeed and well-fashioned, but evi- 
 dently intended more for the sports of the morning 
 than for the gay evening circle in which he then 
 stood. Yet it was remarked, that none of the ladies 
 drew back as the cavalier passed them, notwith- 
 standing his riding-dress and his dusty boots ; and 
 one fair demoiselle, whose rank would have sanc- 
 tioned it, had it been done on purpose, was unfor- 
 tunate enough to entangle her train on his spurs. 
 The Count de Coligni stepped forward to disengage 
 it, but De Blenau himself had already bent one knee 
 to the ground, and easily freeing the spur from the 
 robe of Mademoiselle de Bourbon, he remained for
 
 RroHELIEU. i^ 
 
 a moment in the same attitude. " It is but just," 
 said he, " that I should kneel, at once to repair my 
 awkwardness, and sue for pardon." 
 
 "It was my sister's own fault, De Blenau," said 
 the Duke d'Enghien, approaching them, and em- 
 bracing the young count. " We have not met, dear 
 friend, since the rendering of Perpignan. But what 
 makes you here ? Does your proud spirit bend at 
 last to ask a grace of My Lord Uncle Cardinal V 
 
 " No, your highness," replied De Blenau ; " no 
 farther grace have I to ask, than leave to return to 
 St. Germain's as soon as I may." 
 
 " What !" said the duke, in the abrupt heedless 
 manner in which he always spoke, ''does he threaten 
 you too with that cursed bugbear of a Bastille ? a 
 bugbear, that makes one man fly his country, and 
 another betray it ; that makes one man run his 
 sword into his heart, and another marry j" — allud- 
 ing without ceremony to his own compelled es- 
 pousal of the cardinal's niece. " But there stands 
 Chavigni," he continued, " waiting lor you, I sup- 
 pose. Go on, go on ; there is no stopping when 
 once you have got within the cardinal's magic cir- 
 cle — Go on, and God speed your suit ; for the soon- 
 er you are out of that same circle the better." 
 
 Quitting the young hero, who had already, on 
 more than one occasion, displayed that valor and 
 conduct which in after-years procured for him the 
 immortal name of the Great Cond^, the Count do 
 Blenau passed another group, consisting of the beau- 
 tiful Madame de Montbazon and her avowed lover, 
 the Duke of Longueville, who soon after, notwith- 
 standing his unconcealed passion for another, be- 
 came the husband of Mademoiselle de Bourbon. 
 For be it remarked, in those days a bitter quarrel 
 existed between Love and Marriage, and they were 
 seldom seen together in the same society. It is 
 said indeed, that in France, a coolness remains be- 
 tween them to this day. Here also was the Duke 
 of Guise, who afterward played so conspicuous a 
 vot. I. U
 
 ISO RICHELIEU, 
 
 part in the revolution of jS^aples, and by his singular 
 adventures, his gallantry and chivalrous courage ac- 
 quired the name of I'Hero de laFuhle. as Conde had 
 been called V Hero de la Histoire. Still passing on, 
 De Blenau rejoined Chavigni, who waited for him 
 at the entrance of the next chamber. 
 
 It was the great hall of audience, and at the far- 
 ther extrf mity stood the Cardinal de Richelieu him- 
 self, leaning for support against a gilt railing, which 
 defended from any injurious touch the beautiful pic- 
 ture of Raphael, so well known by the title of '• La 
 Belle Jardiniere.'" He was dressed in the longpur- 
 ple robes of his order, and v.'ore the peculiar hat of 
 a cardinal ; the bright color of which made the 
 deadlv hue of his complexion look still more ghast- 
 ly. But the paleness of his countenance, and a cer- 
 tain attenuation of feature, was all that could be 
 discerned of the illness from which he suffered. The 
 powerl'ul mind within seemed to conquer the feeble- 
 ness of the body. His form was erect and dignified, 
 his eye beaming with that piercing sagacity and 
 haughty confidence in his own powers, which so 
 distinguished his policy 5 and his voice clear, deep, 
 and firm, but of that peculiar quality of sound, that 
 it seemed to spread all round, and to come no one 
 knew from whence, like the wind echoing through 
 an empty cavern. 
 
 It was long since De Blenau had seen the cardi- 
 nal ; and on entering the audience-chamber, the 
 sound of that voice made him start. Its clear hollow 
 tone seemed close to him, though Richelieu was 
 conversing with some of his immediate friends at 
 the farther end of the room. 
 
 As the two cavaliers advanced. De Blenau had an 
 opportunity of observing the manner in which the 
 minister treated those around him : but far from 
 tellin':' aught of dungeons and of death, his conver- 
 sation seemed cheerful, and his demeanor mild 
 and placid. '• And can this be the man,'* thought 
 the count, "' tlie fabric of whose power is cemented 
 by blood and torture V
 
 RiOHELIECr. 131 
 
 They had now approached within a few paces of 
 the spot where the cardinal stood ; and the figure 
 of Chavigni catching his eye, he advanced a step, 
 and received him with unaffected kindness. To- 
 wards De Blenau, his manner was full of elegant 
 Soliteness. He did not embrace him as he had 
 one Chavigni ; but he held him by the hand for a 
 moment, gazing on him with a dignified approving 
 smile. Those who did not well know the heart of 
 the subtle minister, would have called that smile 
 benevolent, especially when it was accompanied by 
 many kind inquiries respecting tlie young noble- 
 man's views and pursuits. De Blenau had been 
 taught to judge by actions, not professions ; and the 
 cardinal had taken care to imprint his deeds too 
 deeply in the minds of men to be wiped out with 
 soft words. To dissemble was not De Blenau's 
 forte 5 and yet he knew, that to show a deceiver he 
 cannot deceive, is to make him an open enemy for 
 ever. He replied, therefore, caifniy and politely j 
 neither repulsed the cardinal's advances, nor court- 
 ed his regard ; and after a few more moments of 
 desultory conversation, prepared to pursue his way 
 through the various apartments. 
 
 *' There are some men, Monsieur le Comte," said 
 the cardinal, seeing him about to pass on, " whom I 
 might have scrupled to invite to such a scene as this, 
 is their riding-dress. But the Count de Blenau is not 
 to be mistaken." 
 
 " I felt no scruple." answered De Blenau, "in pre- 
 senting myself thus, when yorur eminence desired it 5 
 for the dress in which the Cardinal de p.ichelieu 
 thought fit to receive me, could not be objected 
 to by any of his circle.*' 
 
 The cardinal bowed ; and De Blenau adding, that 
 he would not intrude farther at that moment, took 
 his way through the suite of apartments to Rich- 
 elieu's left hand. Chavigni was about to follow, 
 but a sign from the cardinal stopped him, and the 
 young count passed on alone. 
 
 Each of the varioas rooms he entered was throng-
 
 132 R:CHE|.«fJ. 
 
 ed with it own peculiar groups. In one, was an as- 
 sembly of famous artists and sculptors ; in another, 
 a close convocation of philosophers, discussing 3 
 thousand absurd theories of the day ; and in the last 
 he caine to, was a buzzing hire of poets and beaux 
 esprit s ; each trying to distinguish himself, each 
 jealous of the other, and all equally vain and fuU of 
 themselves. 
 
 In one corner was Scuderi, haranguing upon the 
 nature of tragedy, of which he knew nothing, la 
 another place, Voiture, throwing off little empty 
 coup-lets and bon-mots, like a child blowing bubbles 
 from a tobacco-pipe ; and farther on was Rotroa, 
 surrounded by a select party more s;lent than the 
 rest, to whom he recited some of his unpublished 
 poems, marking strongly the verse, and laying great 
 emphasis upon the rhyme. De Blenau stopped for 
 a moment to listen while the poet proceeded : — 
 
 '^L'aube desia se leve, ct le mignard Zepliire, 
 Parfuioaiil I'hori&on du dous air quMI aespire, 
 Va u'lWi soa agreille esveiller les oUeaux 
 Pour saluer le joui qui parpist siir les eaux." 
 
 But though the verses he recited were highly poetic, 
 the extravagant affectation of his manner soon neu- 
 tralized their effect upon De Blenau ; and passing 
 on down a broad flight of steps, De Blenau found 
 himself in the gardens of the palace. These, as well 
 as the whdle front of the building, were illuminated 
 in every direction. Bands of musicians were dis- 
 persed "in the different walks, and a multitude of ser- 
 vants were busily engaged in laying out tables for 
 supper with all the choicest viands of the season. 
 and in trimming the various lamps and tapers which 
 hung from the branches of the trees, or were dis- 
 played on fanciful frames of wood, so placed as to 
 give the fullest light to the banquests which were 
 situated near them. 
 
 Scattered about in various parts of the garden, but 
 more especially near the palace, were different
 
 RICHELIEU. 133 
 
 groups of gentlemen, all speaking of plays, assem- 
 blies, or fetes, and all taking care to make their 
 conversation perfectly audible, lest the jealous sus- 
 picion ever attendant on usurped power, should at- 
 tribute to them schemes which, it is probable, fear 
 alone prevented them from attempting. 
 
 JNevertheless, the gardens, as we have said, con- 
 taining several acres of ground, there were many 
 parts comparatively deserted. It was towards these 
 more eccluded spots that De Blenau directed his 
 steps, wishing himself many a league away from the 
 Palais Cardinal and all its splendor. Just as he 
 had reached a part where few persons were to be 
 *een, some one struck him slightly on the arm, and 
 turning round, he perceived a man who concealed 
 the lower part of his face with his cloak, and tender- 
 ed him what seemed to be a billet. 
 
 At the first glance De Blenau thought he recognis- 
 ed the Count de Coligni, a reputed lover of Made- 
 moiselle De Bourbon, and imagined that the little 
 piece ©f gallantry he had shown that lady on his 
 first entrance, might have called upon him the wrath 
 of the jealous Coligni. But no sooner had he taken 
 the piece of paper, than the other darted away 
 among the trees, giving him no time to observe more, 
 either of bis person or his dress. 
 
 Approaching a spot where the number of lamps 
 gave him sufficient light to read, De Blenau opened 
 th« note, which contained merely these words : 
 " Beware of Chavigni ; — they will seek to draw 
 something from you which may criminate you here- 
 after." 
 
 As he read, De Blenau heard a light step advanc- 
 ing, and hastily concealing the note, turned to see 
 who approached. The only person near was a lady, 
 who had thrown a thick veil over her head, which 
 not only covered her face, but the upper part of her 
 figure. She passed close by him, but without turn- 
 ing her head, or by any other motion seeming to no- 
 tice him ; but as she did so, De Blenau heard a low 
 roice from under the v«il, desiring him to follow.
 
 134 RICHELIEU. 
 
 Gliding on, without pausing for a moment, the lady 
 led the way to the very extreme of the garden. De 
 Blenau followed quick upon her steps, and as he did 
 so, endeavored to call to mind where lie had seen 
 that graceful and dignified figure before. At length 
 the lady stopped, looked round for a moment, and 
 raising her veil, discovered the lovely countenance 
 of Mademoiselle de Bourbon. 
 
 "Monsieur de Blenau," said the princess, "i 
 have but one moment to tell you, that the cardinal 
 and Chavigni are plotting the ruin of the queen j 
 and they vvi«h to force or persuade you to betray 
 her. After you had left the cardinal, by chance 1 
 heard it proposed to arrest you even to-night 3 but 
 Chavigni said, that he had given his word that you 
 should return to St. Germain's to-morrow. Take 
 cars, therefore, of your conduct while here, and if 
 you have any cause to fear, escape the moment you 
 are at liberty. Fly to Flanders, and place yourself 
 under the protection otDon Francisco de Mello." 
 
 " 1 have to return your highness a thousand 
 thanks,"' replied De Blenau; "but as far as inno- 
 cence can give security,! have no reason to fear." 
 
 " Innocence is nothing here," rejoined the lady. 
 " But you are the best judge. Monsieur de Blenau. 
 1 sent Coligni to warn you, and taking an opportuni- 
 ty of escaping from the supper-table, came to re- 
 quest that you will otter my humble duty to the 
 queen, and assure her that Marie de Bourbon is ever 
 hers. But here is some one coming — Good God, it 
 is Chavigni I" 
 
 As she spoke, Chavigni came rapidly upon them. 
 Mademoiselle de Bourbon drew down her veil, and 
 De Blenau placed himself between her and the 
 statesman, who, aftecting an excess of gayety, total- 
 ly foreign to his natural character, beg^n to rally the 
 count upoa what he termed his gallantry. '• So, 
 Monsieur de Blenau," cried he, " already paying 
 your devoirs to our Parisian dames. iS'ay, 1 must 
 offer ray compliments to your fair lady on her con-
 
 RlCHELIEty. 135 
 
 quest j" and he endeavored to pass the count to- 
 wards Mademoiselle de Bourbon. 
 
 De Blenau drew his sword. " Stand off", sir," ex- 
 claimed he, " or by Heaven you are a dead man \" 
 And the point came fiashing so near Chavigni's 
 breast, that he was fain to start back a step or two. 
 The lady seized the opportunity to pass him, for the 
 palisade of the garden had prevented her escaping 
 the other way. Chavigni attempted to follow, but 
 De Blenau caught his arm, and held him with a 
 grasp of iron. 
 
 "JVotone step, sir!" cried he. "Monsieur de 
 Chavigni, you have strangely forgot yourself. How 
 is it you presume, sir, to interrupt my convensation 
 with any one ? And let me ask, what affair is it of 
 yours, if a lady chose to give me five minutes of her 
 company even here ! You have slackened your gal- 
 lantry not a little." 
 
 " But was the cardinal's garden a place fitted for 
 8uch love stories?" demanded Chavigni, feelmg at 
 the same time very sure that the conversation he 
 had interrupted had not been of love ; for in those 
 days politics and faction divided the heart of a 
 Frenchwoman with gallantry, and, instead of quar- 
 relling for the empire of her breast, these apparent- 
 ly opposite passions went hand in hand together; 
 and exempt from the more serious dangers incur- 
 red by the other sex in similar enterprises, wo- 
 men were often the most active agents and zealous 
 partisans in the factions and conspiracies of the 
 times. 
 
 it had been Chavigni's determination, on accom- 
 panying De Blenau to the Palais Cardinal, not to lose 
 sight of his companion for a moment, in order that 
 no communication might take place between him 
 and any of the queen's^ party till such time as the 
 cardinal had personally interrogated him concerning 
 the corrpspondence which they supposed th;U Anne 
 of Austria carried on with her bother, Philip of 
 Spain. Chavigni, however, had been stopped, as 
 we have seen, by the cardinal himself; and detained
 
 196 RIOUELH.U. 
 
 for some time in conversation, the principal object 
 of which was, the Count de Blenau himselT, and the 
 means of either persuading him by favor, or of 
 driving him by fear, not only to abandon, but to be- 
 tray the party he had espoused. The cardinal 
 thought ambition would do all ; Chavigni said that 
 it would not move De Blenau : and thus the discus- 
 sion was considerably prolonged. 
 
 As soon as Chavigni could liberate himself, he 
 had hastened after the count, and found him as we 
 have described. To have ascertained who was his 
 companion, Chavigni would have risked his life j 
 but now that shs had escaped him, the matter was 
 past recall ; and willing again to throw De Blenau 
 off his guard, he made some excuses for his intru- 
 sion, saying he had thought that the lady was not 
 unknown to him. 
 
 " Well, well, let it drop,*' replied De Blenau ful- 
 ly more desirous of aroiding farther inquiries than 
 Chavigni was of relinquishing them. " But the next 
 time you come across me on such an occasion, be- 
 ware of your heart's blood, Monsieur de Chavigni." 
 And thus saying, he thrust back his sword into the 
 scabbard. 
 
 Chavigni, however, was resolved not to lose sight 
 of him again, and passing his arm through that of 
 the count, " You are still too hot, Monsieur de 
 Blenau," said he j " but nevertheless let us be friends 
 again." 
 
 " As far as we ever were friends, sir," replied De 
 Blenau. " The open difference of our principles in 
 every respect, must always prevent our greatly as- 
 similating." 
 
 Chavigni, however, kept to his purpose, and did 
 not withdraw his arm from that of De Blenau, nor 
 quit him again during the whole evening. 
 
 Whether the statesman suspected Mademoiselle 
 de Bourbon or not, matters little j but on entering 
 the banquet-room, where the principal guests were 
 preparing to take their seats, they passed that lady 
 with her brother and the Count de Coligni, and the
 
 RICHKLIEU. 137 
 
 eye of Chavigni glanced from the countenance of 
 De Blenau to hers. But they were both upon their 
 guard, and not a look betrayed that they had met 
 since De Blenau's spur had been entangled in her 
 train. 
 
 At that moment the master of the ceremonies 
 exclaimed with a loud voice, " Place au Comte de 
 Blenau," and was conducting him to a seat higher 
 than his rank entitled him to take, when his eye 
 Jell -upon the old Marquis de Brion ; and with the 
 deference due not only to his station, but to his 
 high military renown, De Blenau drew back to give 
 him precedence. 
 
 " Go on, go on, mon cher de Blenau," said the old 
 soldier; and lowering his voice to a whisper, he 
 added, " honest men like you and f are all out of 
 place here ; so go on, and never mind. If it were 
 in the field, we would strive which should be first ; 
 but here there is no knowing which end of the table 
 is most honorable." 
 
 '• Wherever it were, I should always be happy to 
 follow Monsieur de Brion," replied De Blenau ; 
 " but as you will have it, so let it be." And follow- 
 ing the master of the ceremonies, he was soon 
 placed among the most distinguished guests, and 
 within four or five seats of the cardinal. Like the 
 spot before a heathen altar, it was always the place 
 cither of honor or sacrifice ; and De Blenau scarce- 
 ly knew which was to be his fate. At all events, 
 the distinction which he met with was by no means 
 pleasing to him, and he remained in silence during 
 greater part of the banquet. 
 
 Every thing in the vast hall where they sat was 
 magnificent beyond description. It was like one of 
 thovse scenes in fairy romance, where supernatural 
 powers lend their aid to dignify some human festi- 
 val. All the apartment was as fully illuminated as 
 if the broad sun had shone into it in his fullest 
 splendor ; yet not a single light was to be seen. 
 Soft sounds of music also occasionally floated
 
 138 RICHELIEU. 
 
 through the air, but never so loud as to interrupt 
 the conversation. 
 
 At the table all was glitter, and splendor, and 
 luxury; and from the higher end at which De 
 Blenau sat, the long perspective of the hall, decked 
 out witli all a mighty kingdom's wealth, and crowd- 
 ed with the gay, the bright, and the fair, offered an 
 interminable \iew of beauty and magnihcence. 
 
 I might describe the passing of the banquet, and 
 the bright smiles that were given, and the bright 
 things that were said. 1 might enlarge upon llie 
 crowd of domestics, the activity of the seneschals 
 and officers, and tell of ihe splendor of the decora- 
 tions. I might even introduce the famous court 
 fool, L'Angeli, who stood behind the chair of his 
 young lord the Duke d'Enghien, But no — a master's 
 hand has given to the world so many splendid pic- 
 tures of such scenes, that mine would seem but a 
 feeble imitation. Let such things rest with Scott, 
 whose magic wand has had power to call up the 
 spirit of the past with as much truth as if it were 
 again substantially in being. 
 
 To pursue our theme, however. The Cardinal 
 de Richelieu, who held in his hand the fate of all 
 who sat around him, yielding to his guests the most 
 marked attention, treating them with the profound 
 humility of great pride ; trying to quell the fire of 
 his eye' till it should become nothing but affability; 
 and to soften the deep tones of his voice, from the 
 accent of command to an expression of gentle cour- 
 tesy ; but notwithstanding all his efforts, a degree of 
 that haughtiness with which the long habit of des- 
 potic rule had tinged his manners, would occasion- 
 ally appear, and still show that it was the lord en- 
 tertaining his vassals. His demeanor towards De 
 Blenau, however, was all suavity and kindness. He 
 addressed him several times in the most marked 
 manner during the course of the banquet, and listen- 
 ed to his reply with one of those approving smUes, 
 so sweet upon the lips of power. 
 
 De Blenau was not to be deceived, it is true. Yet
 
 RICUfclLHiU- 139 
 
 though he knew that kindness to be assumed on pur- 
 pose to betray, and the smile to be as false as hell, 
 there was a fascination in the distinction shown him, 
 against which he could not wholly guard his heart. 
 His brow unbent of its frown, and he entered into 
 the gay conversation which was going on around} 
 but at that moment he observed the cardinal 
 glance his eye towards Chavigni with a meaning 
 smile. 
 
 De Blenau marked it. " So,'" thought he, '• my 
 Lord Cardinal, you deem me your own.'' And as 
 the guesta rose, De Blenau took his leave, and re- 
 turned with Chavigni to the Place Royale. 
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 
 Containing a Conference, vrliich ends much ai it began. 
 
 The music of the cardinal's fete rang in De 
 Blenau's ears all night, and the lights danced in his. 
 eyes, and the various guests flitted before his imagi- 
 nation, like the figures in some great phantasma- 
 goria. One time he seemed wandering in the gar- 
 dens with Pauline de Beaumont, and offering up all 
 the dearest treasures of his heart, when suddenly 
 the lady raised her veil, and it was Mademoiselle 
 de Bourbon. Then again he was seated on the car- 
 dinal's right hand, who poured out for him a cup of 
 wine : he raised it to his lips, and was about to 
 drink, when some one dashed it from his hand, ex- 
 claiming, " It is poison !' then, turning round to see 
 who had thus interposed, he beheld a figure with- 
 out V. head, and the overthrown cup poured forth a 
 stream of blood. The next moment it was all the 
 cardinal's funeral, and the fool L'Angeli appeared 
 as chief mourner. At length, however, towards
 
 140 RIOHKLIEU. 
 
 the approach of morning, the uneasy visions died 
 away, and left him in deep sleep, from which he 
 rose refreshed, and prepared to encounter the events 
 of a new day. 
 
 Alas ! that man should still rise to sorrow and to 
 danger, and that the kindest gift of Heaven should 
 be the temporary forgeifulness of existence. Sor- 
 row ! how is it that thy coarse thread is so intimate- 
 ly mingled with the web of life, that he who would 
 tear thee out must rend the whole fabric ? Oh life, 
 thou long sad dream I when shall we rise from all 
 thy phantom agenies to that bright waking which we 
 fondly hope ? 
 
 De Blenau prepared his mind, as a man arming 
 for a battle ; and sent to notify to Chavigni, that he 
 was about lo visit the cardinal. In a few minutes 
 after, the statesman himself appeared, and courte- 
 ously conducted the young count to his horse, but 
 did not offer to accompany him to the minister. 
 " Monsieur de Blenau," said he, ''it is better you 
 should go alone. After your audience, you will 
 doubtless be in haste to return to St. Germain's ; 
 but if you will remain to take your noon meal at my 
 poor table, I shall esteem myself honored." 
 
 De Blenau thanked him for his courtesy, but de- 
 clined, stating that he was anxious to return home 
 before night, if he were permitted to do so at all. 
 " My word is passed for your safety," replied Cha- 
 vigni ; "so have no doubt on that head. But take 
 my counsel, Monsieur le Comte: moderate your 
 proud bearing towards the cardinal. Those who 
 
 Elay with a lion, must take good care not. to irritate 
 im." 
 
 On arriving at the Palais Cardinal, De Blenau left, 
 his attendants in the outer court, and following an 
 officer of the household, proceeded through a long 
 suite of apartments to a large saloon, where he found 
 several others waiting the leisure of the minister, 
 who was at that moment engaged in conference 
 with the ambassador from Sweden. 
 De Blenau's own feelings were not :S the most
 
 RlCriKLlEU. 141 
 
 comfortable nature 5 but on looking round the room, 
 he guessed, from the faces of all those with whom 
 it was tenanted, that suc!i sensations were but too 
 common there. One had placed himself at a win- 
 dow, and gazed upon the stones of the court-yard 
 with as much earnestness as if they had inspired 
 him with the deepest interest. Another walked up 
 and down his own corner with irregular steps and 
 downcast looks. Another leaned back in his seat, 
 'with his chin resting on his breast, and regarded in- 
 Itently a door in the other side of the saloon. And 
 I another sat bending his hat into so many shapes, 
 that he left it, in the end, of no shape at all. But 
 all were marked by the knitted brow and anxious 
 eye, for men whose fate was hanging on the breath 
 of another. 
 
 There was nothing consolatory in theirlooks, and 
 De Blenau turned to the portraits whicl) covered 
 the walls of the saloon. The first that his eye fell 
 < upon was that of the famous Montmorency. He 
 > was represented as armed in steel, with the head 
 uncovered ; and from his apparent age it seemed 
 that the picture had not been painted long before 
 the unfortunate conspiracy, which, by its failure, 
 brought him to the scaffold. There was also an ex- 
 pression of grave sadness in the countenance, as if 
 I he had presaged his approaching fate. De Blenau 
 (turned to another; but it so happened that each pic- 
 Sture in the room represented some one of the many 
 jwhom Richelieu's unsparing vengeance had over- 
 f taken. Whether they were placed in that wailiog- 
 : room in order to overawe those whom the minister 
 wished to intimidate; or whether it was that the 
 famous gallery, which the cardinal had filled with 
 portraits of all the principal historical characters of 
 France, would contain no more, and that in conse- 
 iquerice the pictures of the later dates had been 
 placed in tliis saloon, without any deeper intent, 
 matters not ; but at all events they offered no very 
 pleasant subject of contemplation. 
 De Blenau, however, was not long ker>t in sua-
 
 14) RIOHELIEtl. 
 
 pense ; for, in a few minutes, the door on the other 
 side of the room opened, and the Swedish ambas- 
 sador passed out. The door shut behind him, but 
 in a moment after an attendant entered, and although 
 several others had been waiting before him, De 
 Blenau was the first summoned to the presence of 
 the cardinal. 
 
 He could not help feeling as if he wronged those 
 he left still in doubt as to their fate : but following 
 the officer through an ante-room, he entered the 
 audience closet, and immediately perceived Riche- 
 lieu seated at a table, over which were strewed a 
 multitude of papers of different dimensions, some of 
 which he was busily engaged in examining; — read- 
 ing them he was not, for his eye glanced so rapidly- 
 over their contents, that his knowledge of each> 
 could be but general. He paused for a moment as 
 De Blenau entered, bowed his head, pointed to a 
 seat, and resumed his employment. When he had 
 done, he signed the papers, and gave them to a dull- 
 looking personage, in a black silk pourpoint, who 
 stood behind his chair. ' 
 
 " Take these three death-warrants."' said he, "to 
 Monsieur Lnfemas, and then ttiese others toPoterie ' 
 at the Bastille. But no — stop." he continued, after ' 
 a moment's thousht; "you had better go to the' 
 Bastille first, for Poteiie can put Caply to the tor- 
 ture, while you are gone to Lafemas ; and you can 
 bring me back his confession as you return." 
 
 De Blenau shuddered at the sand froid with 
 which the minister commanded those things that' 
 make one's blood curdle even to imagine. But the • 
 attendant was practised in such commissions ; and 
 taking the packets, a<? a more matter of course, he 
 bowed in silence, and disappearing by a door on 
 the other side, left De Blenau alone with the car- 
 dinal. 
 
 " Well, Monsieur de Blenau," said Richelieu, 
 looking up with a frank smile, "' your pardon for 
 having detained you. There are many things upon 
 which I have long ^rjshed to speak, to you, and this ;
 
 RIOHELIffU. 14S 
 
 caused me to desire your company. But 1 have no 
 doubt that we shall part perfectly satisfied with each 
 other.-' 
 
 The cardinal paused, as if for a reply. " I hope 
 80 too, my lord. I can, of course, have no cause 
 to be dissatisfied with your eminence ; and for my 
 own part, 1 feel my bosom to be clear/' said De 
 Blenau. 
 
 " 1 doubt it not, Monsieur le Comte," replied the 
 minister, with a gracious inclination of the head } 
 '' 1 doubt it not ; [ know your spirit to be too frank 
 and noble to mingle in petty faction and treasonable 
 cabal. No one more admires your brave and inde- 
 pendent bearing than myself. You must remember 
 that I have marked you from your youth. You have 
 been educated, as it were, under my own eye ; and 
 were it now necessary to trust the welfare of the 
 state to the honor of any one man, I would confide 
 it to the honor of De Blenau." 
 
 " To what, in the name of Heaven, can this lead 1" 
 ! thought De Blenau ; but he bowed without reply, 
 and the cardinal proceeded. 
 
 " I have, for some time past," he continued, 
 I " been thinking of placing you in one of those high 
 I stations, to which your rank and consideration enti- 
 , tie you to aspire. At present, none are vacant; but 
 { as a fore-runner to such advancement, I propose to 
 li call you to the council, and to give you the govern- 
 I Hient of Foitou." 
 
 De Blenau was now, indeed, astonished. The 
 cardinal was not a man to jest: and yet what he 
 proposed as a mere preliminary, was an offer that the 
 first noble in France might have accepted with glad- 
 ness. The count was about to speak. But Riche- 
 lieu paused only for a moment, to observe the effect 
 of what he had said upon his auditor ; and perhaps 
 over-rating the ambition of De Blenau, ho proceed- 
 ed more boldly. 
 
 '' 1 do not pretend to say, notwithstanding my 
 sense of your high merit, and my almost parental 
 feelings towards you, that I am wholly moved to
 
 144 RiCHELlEW. 
 
 this by rny individual regard ; but the truth is, that 
 the state requires, at this raoraent, the services of 
 one, who joins to high talents a thorough knowledge 
 of the affairs of Spain." 
 
 " So !" thought De Blenau, " I have it now. The 
 government of Foitou, and a seat at the council, 
 provided I betray tlie queen and sell my own 
 honor." Richelieu seemed to wait an answer, and 
 De Blenau replied : '• If your eminence means to 
 attribute such knowledge to me, some one must 
 have greatly misled you. I possess no information 
 on the affairs of Spam whatever, except from the 
 common reports and journals of the time." 
 
 This reply did not seem to affect Richelieu's in- 
 tentions. " Well, well, Monsieur de Blenau," said 
 he, with a smile, "you will take your seat at the 
 council, and will, of course, as a good subject and 
 an honorable man, communicate to us whatever in- 
 formation you possess on those points which con- 
 cern the good of the state. We do not expect all at 
 once ; and every thing shall be done to smooth your 
 way, and facilitate your views. Then, perhaps, if 
 Richelieu live to execute the plans he has formed, 
 you, Monsieur de Blenau, following his path, and 
 sharing his confidence, may be ready to take his 
 place when death shall at' length call him from 
 iL" 
 
 The cardinal counted somewhat too much on De 
 Blenau's ambition, and not sufficiently on his know- 
 ledge of the world; and imagining that he had, the 
 evening before, discovered the weak point in the 
 character of the young count, he thought to lead 
 him to any thing by holding out to him extravagant 
 prospects of future greatness. The dish, however, 
 was somewhat too highly flavored; and De Blenau 
 replied, with a smile,— 
 
 " Your eminence is exceedingly good to think at 
 all of me, in the vast and more important projects 
 which occupy your mind. But, alas ! my lord, De 
 Blenau would prove but a poor successor to Riche- 
 lieu. No, my lord cardinal," he continued, ''I have
 
 RICHELIEU. 145 
 
 no ambition ; that is a passion wliich Bhould be re- 
 served for such great and comprehensive minds as 
 yours. I am contented as I am. High stations are 
 always stations of daiiger." 
 
 " I had heard tliat the Count de Blenau was no 
 way fearful," said Richelieu, fixing on him a keen 
 and almost scornful glance. '• Was the report a 
 mistake ? or is it lately he has become afraid of dan- 
 ger ?' 
 
 De Blenaa was piqued, and lost temper. "Of 
 personal dajigcr, my lord, I am never afraid/' repli- 
 ed he. '• But when along with risk to myself is in- 
 volved danger to my friends, danger to my country. 
 danger to my honor, and danger to my soul," and 
 he returned the cirdinal's glance full as proudly as 
 it had been given j " tlien, my lord cardinal, I would 
 say, it were no cowardice, but true coura^^e to fly 
 from sucli peril — unless,'' he added, rensembering 
 the folly of opposing the irritable and unscrupulous 
 minister, and thinking that his words had, perhaps, 
 been already too war.m — '• unless, indeed, one felt 
 within one's breast the mind of Richelieu." 
 
 While Da Blenau spoke, the cardinal's brow knit- 
 ted into a frown. A flush too came over Irs ch )ek ; 
 and untying the riband which served as a lasLcning, 
 he took off the velvet cap he generally wore, as if 
 to give himself air He heard him, however, to the 
 end, and the ) answered dryly, '■ You speak well. 
 Monsieur de Blenau, and, 1 doubt not, feel what you 
 say. But am I to understand you, that you refuse 
 to aid us at the council with your information and 
 advice V 
 
 " So far. your eminence is right," replied the 
 count, who saw that the storm was now about to 
 break upon his head ; " I must, indeed, decline the 
 honors which you o.Tor with so bountiful a hand. 
 But do not suppose that I do so from unwillingness 
 to yield you any inf«)rinali()n ; for, truly, I have none 
 to give. I have never meddled with politics., t 
 have never turned my attention to state affairs 3 and 
 VOL. I. ' 10
 
 146 RICHELIElf. 
 
 therefore still less could 1 yield you any advice. 
 Your eminence weuld be wofully disappointed, 
 when you expected to find a man well acquainted 
 with the arts of" government, and deep read in the 
 designs of foreign states, to meet witli one whose 
 best knowledge is to range a battalion or to pierce 
 a boar; a soldier, and not a diplomatist ; a hunter. 
 and not a statesman. As to the government of 
 Poitou, my lord, its only good would be the emolu- 
 ment, and already ray revenues are far more than 
 adequate to my wants." 
 
 " You refuse my kindness, sir/' replied the car- 
 dinal, with an air of deep determined haughtiness, 
 very different from the urbanity with which he had 
 at nrst received De Blenau ; " I must now speak to 
 you in tnother tone. And let me warn you to be- 
 ware •f what you say ; for be assured, that 1 already 
 possess sufficient information to confound you if you 
 should prevaricate.'"' 
 
 "My lord cardinal," replied De Blenaa. some- 
 what hastily, " I am not accustomed to prevaricate. 
 Ask any questions you please, and, so long as my 
 honor and my duty go with tliem, 1 will answer 
 you." 
 
 "Then there are questions," said the cardinal, 
 "that you would think against your duty to an- 
 ■wer '." 
 
 "I said not so, your eminence," replied Be Blenau. 
 "In the examination I find I am to undergo, give 
 my words their full meaning, if you please, but no 
 more than their meaning.'" 
 
 "Well then, sir, answer me as a man of honor 
 »Dd a French noble," said the cardinal ; " Arc you 
 not aware of a correspondence that has been, and 
 is now, carried on between Anne of Austria and 
 Don Froncisco dc Mello, governor of the Low 
 Countries V 
 
 "I know not whom you mcnn, sir, by Anne of 
 Austria,"' replied Do Blenau. '• If it be her majesty, 
 your queen and mine, that you eo designate, I reply 
 
 /
 
 RICHEL1E9. 147 
 
 at once that I know of no such correspondence, nor 
 do 1 believe that it exists," 
 
 " Do you mean to say, Monsieur de Bienau," de- 
 manded the cardinal, fixing his keen sunken eyes 
 upon the young count with that basilisk glance for 
 which he was famous — "Do you mean to say that 
 you yourself have not forwarded letters from the 
 queen to Madame de Chevreuse and Don Francisco 
 de Mello by a private channel 1 Pause, Monsieur 
 de Bienau, before you answer, and be well assured 
 that I am acquainted with every particular of your 
 conduct." 
 
 " Vour eminence is, no doubt, acquainted with 
 much more intricate subjects than any of my ac- 
 tions," replied the count. " With regard to Madame 
 de Chcvreuso, her majesty has no need to conceal 
 a correspondence with her, which has been fully 
 pernaitted and sanctioned both by your eminence 
 and the still higher authority of the king ; and 1 may 
 add, that to my certain knowledge, letters have gone 
 to that lady by your own courier. On the other 
 point, 1 have answered already ; and have only to 
 say once more, that I know of no such correspon- 
 dence, nor would 1, assuredly, lend myself to any 
 such measures, which I should conceive to be trea- 
 sonable." 
 
 " I have always hitherto supposted you to be a 
 man of honor," said the cardinal, coolly 5 " but what 
 must I conceive now, Monsieur le Comte, when 1 
 tell you that I have those very letters in my posses- 
 sion 1" 
 
 " You may conceive what you please, sir," re- 
 plied De Bienau, giving way to his indignation j 
 " but I will dare any man to lay before me a letter 
 from her majesty to the person you mention, 
 which has passed through the hands of De 
 Bienau." 
 
 The cardinal did not reply : opening an ebony 
 cabinet which stood on his right-hand, he took from 
 one of the compartments a small bundle of papers, 
 from which he selected one, and laid it on the ta-
 
 14S RiOHELIBir. 
 
 ble before the count, who had hitherto looked ort 
 with no small wonder and expectation. *' Do yon 
 know that writing, sir ?" demanded the cardinal, 
 still keeping hia hand upon the paper, in such a 
 manner as to allow only a word or two to be visi- 
 ble. 
 
 De BfenaQ examined the line which the cardinal 
 suffered to appear, and replied — " From what little I 
 can see, I should imagine it to be the handwriting 
 of her majesty. But that does not show that I have 
 any thing to do with it." 
 
 '• But there is that in it which does," answered 
 Richelieu, folding down a Une or two of the letter, 
 and pointing out to the count a sentence which saicl, 
 "This will be conveyed to you by the Count de 
 Blenau, who, you know, never fails." 
 
 " Now, sir V continued the cardinal, " oncie more 
 let me advise yon to give me all you possess upon 
 this subject. From a feeling a personal regard, i 
 have had too much patience with you already." 
 
 "All 1 can reply to your eminence," answered 
 the count, not a little embarrassed, " is, that no let- 
 ter whatever has been conveyed by me, knowingly, 
 to the governor of the Low Countries." 
 
 De Bienau's eyes naturally Mxed on the paper, 
 which still lay on the table, and frf)m wliich the car- 
 dinal had by this time withdrawn his haird ; and feel- 
 ing that both life and honor depended upon that 
 docoment, he resolved to ascertain its authenticity,- 
 of which he entertained some doubt. 
 
 " Slop,'' said he, hastily, '"let me look at the- 
 superscription," and before Richelieu could reply, 
 he had raised it from the table and turned to the ad- 
 dress. One gh\nce was enough to satisfy him, and 
 he returned i^ to the cardinal with a cool and mean- 
 ing smile, repeatin;j the words — " To Madame de 
 ChevreuseJ" 
 
 At first the cardinal had instinctively stretched 
 out his hand to stop De Blerrau in his purpose, but 
 he instantly recovered himself, nor did his counte- j 
 nanc« betray the least change of feeling. " ^V•11,/
 
 RICMELIEW. 149 
 
 sir," replied he, "you said that you would dare 
 any one to lay before you a letter from the queen 
 to the person I mentioned. Did I not mention 
 Madame de Chevreuse, and is not there the let- 
 ter?' 
 
 " Your eminence has mistaken me," replied De 
 Blenau's bowing his head, and smiling at the minis- 
 ter's art; "I meant Don Francisco de Mello. I 
 had answered what you said in regard to Madame 
 de Chevreuse before," 
 
 " I did mistake you then, sir," said the cardinal ; 
 "but it was from the ambiguity of your own words. 
 However, passing over your boldness, in raising that 
 letter without my permission, 1 will show you that 
 I know more of your proceedings than you sus- 
 pect. 1 will tell you the very terms of "the mes- 
 sage you sent to the queen, after you were wound- 
 ed in the wood of Mantes, conveying to her that 
 you had not lost the packet with which you were 
 charged. Did not Seguin tell her, on your part, that 
 though the wound was in your side, your heart was 
 not injured?" 
 
 I " 1 dare say he did, my lord," replied De Blenau, 
 coolly 5 " and the event has proved that he was quite 
 right, for your eminence must perceive that I was 
 quite recovered, which, of course, could not have 
 been the case had any vital part been hurt. But I 
 hope, your eminence, that there is no offence, in 
 your eyes, either in having sent the queen, my mis- 
 tress, an account of my health, or in having escaped 
 the attack of assassins." 
 
 A slight flush passed over Richelieu's cheek. 
 " You may chance to fall into less scrupulous hands 
 than even theirs," replied he. " I am certainly in- 
 formed sir, that you, on the part of the queen, have 
 been carrying on a treasonabl« intercourse with 
 Spain — a country at war with France, to whose 
 crown you are a born subject and vassal ; and 1 
 have to tell you that the punishment of such a 
 jcrime is death. Yes, sir, you may knit your brow.
 
 ISO RICMELIEU. 
 
 But no consideration shall stay me from visiting', 
 with the full severity of the law, such as do so of- 
 fend ; and though the information I want be but 
 small, depend upon it, I shall not hesitate to em- 
 ploy the most powerful means to wring it from 
 you/' 
 
 De Blenau had no difficulty in comprehending 
 the nature of those means to which the cordinal al- 
 luded 3 but his mind was made up to suffer the 
 worst. •• My Lord Cardinal," replied he, " what 
 your intentions are 1 know not 5 but be sure, that to 
 whatever extremes you may go, you can wring no- 
 thing from me but what you have already heard. I 
 once more assure you that 1 know of no treasonable 
 correspondence whatsoever; and firm in my own 
 innocence, I equally despise all attempts to bribe or 
 to intimidate me." 
 
 " Sir. you are intolentl'' replied the cardinal, ris- 
 ing : '• Use no such language to me I — ^-\re you not 
 an insect I can sweep from my path in an instant! 
 Ho, a guard there without ! ' We shall soon see 
 whether you know aught of Philip of Spain." 
 
 Had the cardinal's glance been directed towards 
 De Blenau, he would have seen, that at the name 
 of Philip of Spain, a degree of paleness came over 
 his cheek 3 but another object had caugiit Riche- 
 lieu's eye. and he did not observe it. It was the en- 
 trance of the attendant whom he had despatched 
 with the death-warrants, which now drew his no- 
 tice; and well pleased to show De Blenau the dread- 
 ful means he so unscrupulously employed to extort 
 confession from those he suspected, he eagerly de- 
 manded, " What news ?" 
 
 " May it please your eminence," said the atten- 
 dant, " Caply died under the torture. In truth it 
 was soon over with him. for he did not bear it above 
 ten minutes." 
 
 " But the confession, the confession 1" exclaimed 
 Richelieu. " Where is the proces verbal?" 
 
 " Ho made no oonfession, sir," replied the roan.
 
 RICriELIEU. Iftl 
 
 '■ He protested to the last his innocence, and that he 
 knew nothing." 
 
 " Pshaw !" said Richelieu ; " they let hiin die too 
 soon 3 they should have given him wine to keep him 
 up. Foolish idiot," he continued, as if meditating 
 over the death of his victim j " had he but told what 
 he was commanded, he would have saved himself 
 from a death of horror. Such is the meed of ob- 
 stinacy." 
 
 "Such,'*' thought De Blenau, "is, unhappily, often 
 the reward of firmness and integrity. But such a 
 death is honorable in itself." 
 
 No one could better read in the face what was 
 passing in the mind that Richelieu, and it is proba- 
 ble that he easily say in the countenance of De 
 Blenau, the feelings excited by what had just pas- 
 sed. He remembered also the promise given by 
 Chavigni ; and if, when he called the guard, he had 
 ever seriously proposed to arrest De Bknau, he 
 abandoned his intention for the moment. Not that 
 the high tone of the young count's 4»nguage was 
 either unfelt or forgiven, for Richelieu never par- 
 doned -, but it was as easy to arrest De^lenau at St. 
 Germain's as in Paris ; and the wily minister cal- 
 culated that by giving him a little liberty, and throw- 
 ing him off his guard, he might be tempted to do 
 those things which would put him more completely 
 in the power of the government, and give the means 
 of punishing him for his pride and obstinacy, as it 
 was internally termed by a man long accustomed to 
 any opposition. 
 
 De Blenau was principally obnoxious to the car- 
 dinal, as the confidant of the queen, and from being 
 the chief of her adherents, both by his rank, wealth, 
 and reputation. Anne of Austria having now be- 
 come the only apparent object which could cloud 
 the sky of Richelieu's political power, he had re- 
 solved either to destroy her by driving her to some 
 criminal act, or so to entangle her in liis snares as 
 to reduce her to become a mere instrument in hif
 
 152 RICHELIEU. 
 
 hands and for his purpose?. To arrest De Blenaa 
 would put the queen upon hergua^d : and therefore, 
 the minister, without hesitation, resolved to dissem- 
 ble his resentment, and allow the count to depart 
 in peace 3 reserving for another time the vengeance 
 he had determined should nveriakee him at last. 
 Nor was his dissembling of that weak nature which 
 those employ who have all the will to deceive, 
 without the art of deceiving. 
 
 Richelieu walked rapidly up and down the closet 
 for moment, as if striving to repress some strong 
 emotion, then stepped, and turning to De Blenaa 
 with some frankness of manner, "Monsieur le 
 Comte,"" said he, '' I will own that you have heated 
 me, — perhaps I have given way to it too much. But 
 you ought to be more careful of your words, sir, and 
 remember that with men whose power you cannot 
 resist, it is sometimes dangerous even to be in the 
 right, much more to make them feel it rudely. 
 However, it is all past, and I will now detain you 
 no longer ; trusting to your word that the informa- 
 tion which I have received is without foundation. 
 Let me only add, that you might have raised your- 
 self this day to a height which few men in France 
 would not struggle to attain. But that is past also, 
 and may. perhaps, never return." 
 
 "1 am most grateful, believe me,"' replied De 
 Blenau, " for all the favors your eminence intended 
 me ; and 1 have no doubt that you will soon find 
 some other person on whom to bestow them, much 
 more worthy of them than myself.'" 
 
 Richelieu bowed low, and fixed his eyes upon the 
 count without a reply — a signal that the audience 
 was over, which was not lost upon De Blenau, who 
 Yery gladly took his leave of the minister, hoping 
 most devoutly never to see his face again. The 
 ambiguity of his Inst sentence, however, had not 
 esca()ed the cardinal. 
 
 '• So, Monsieur de Blenau !'" said he, as soon a» 
 the count had left him, " you can make speeches
 
 RICH ELI EO. 15 J 
 
 with a double meaning also ! Can you so ? you may 
 rMe it though, for I will find means to bend your 
 proud spirit, or to break it ; and that before three 
 days be over. Is every thing prepared for my pas- 
 sage to Chantilly V he continued, turning to the 
 attendant. 
 
 " All is prepared, please your eminence," 
 replied the man ; " and as I passed I saw Mon- 
 sieur de Chavigni getting into his chaise to set 
 out." 
 
 " We will let him be an hour or two in advance," 
 said the cardinal. " Send in the Marquis de Gou- 
 mont ;" and he agrain applied himself to other af- 
 fairs.
 
 154 RICHELIEU. 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 "Au entire new comedy, with new scenery, dresses, and 
 decorations." 
 
 The little village of Mesnil St. Loup, all insig- 
 nificant as it is, was at the time of my tale a place 
 of even less consequence than it appears now-a-days, 
 when nine people out of ten have scarcely ever 
 heard of its existence. 
 
 It was, nevertheless, a pretty-looking place ; and 
 had its little auberge on the same scale and in the 
 same style as the village to which ii belonged, — 
 small, neat, and picturesque, with its high pole be- 
 fore the door, crowned with a gay garland of flowers, 
 which served both for sign and inscription to the 
 inn ; being fully as comprehensible an intimation 
 to the peasantry of the day, that " Bon vin et bonne 
 chere" were to be obtained within, as the most art- 
 ful flourish of a modern sign-painter. 
 
 True it is that the little cabaret of Mesnil St. 
 Loup was seldom troubled with the presence of a 
 traveller; but there the country people would con- 
 gregate after the labors of the day, and enjoy their 
 simple sports with a relish that luxury knows not. 
 The high road from Paris to Troyes passed quite in 
 another direction ; and a stranger in Mesnil St. Loup 
 wais a far greater stranger than he could possibly 
 have been anywhere else, except perhaps in newly- 
 discovered America. For there was nothing to ex- 
 cite either interest or curiosity ; except it were the 
 little church which had seen many a century pass 
 over its primitive walls, remaining still unaltered, 
 while five or six old trees, which had been its com- 
 panions for time out of mind, began to show strong 
 iigni of decay in their rifted bark and falling
 
 RICHELIEU, 155 
 
 branches, but still formed a picturesque group, with 
 a great stone cross and fountain underneath them, 
 and a seat for the weary traveller to rest himself in 
 their shade. 
 
 Thus Mesnil St. Loup was little known to stran- 
 gers, for its simplicity had no attractions for the 
 many. Nevertheless, on one fine evening, some- 
 where about the beginning of September, the 
 phenomenon of a new face showed itself at Mesnil 
 St. Loup. The personage to whom it appeartained 
 was a horseman of small mean appearance, who, 
 having passed by the church, rode through the vil- 
 lage to the auberge, and having raised his eyes to 
 the garland over the door, he divined from it, that 
 he himself would find there good champaigne wine,, 
 and his horse would meet with entertainment 
 equally adapted to his peculiar taste. Thereupon 
 the stranger alighted and entered the place of pub 
 lie reception, without making any of that bustle 
 about himself, which the landlord seemed well in- 
 clined to do for him ; but on the contrary sat him- 
 self down in the most shady corner, ordered his bot- 
 tle of wine, and inquired what means the house af- 
 forded of satisfying his hunger, in a low quiet tone 
 of voice, which reached no farther than the person 
 he addressed. 
 
 " As for wine," the host replied, " Monsieur 
 should have such wine that the first merchant of 
 Epernay might prick his ears at it j and in regard to 
 eatables, what could be better than stewed eels, out 
 of the river hard by, and a. civet de lievre? — Monsieur 
 need not be afraid," he added ; "it was a real hare 
 he had snared that morning himself, in the forest 
 under the hill. Some dishonorable innkeepers," 
 he observed — " innkeepers unworthy of the name, 
 would dress up cats and rats, and such animals, in 
 the form of hares and rabbits ; even as the devil 
 had been known to assume the appearance of an 
 angel of light; but he scorned such practices, and 
 could not only show his hare's skin, but his hare 
 in the skin. Farther, be would give monsieur an
 
 156 KICH£LIE¥. 
 
 ortolan in a vine leaf, and a dish of stewed sor- 
 rel." 
 
 The stranger underwent the innkeeper's oration 
 with most exemplary putience. signitied bis appro- 
 bation of the proposed dinner, without attacking 
 the hare's reputation ; and when at length it was 
 placed before liim, he ate his meal and drank his 
 wine in profound silence, without a word of praise 
 or blame to either one or the other. The landlord, 
 with all his sturdy loquacity, failed in more than 
 one attempt to draw him into conversation ; and the 
 hostess, though none of the oldest or ugliest, could 
 scarce win a syllable from his lips, even by asking 
 if he were pleased with his fare. The taciturn 
 stranger merely bowed his head, and seemed little 
 inclined to exert his oratorical powers, more than 
 by the simple demand of what he wanted ; so that 
 both mine host and hostess gave him up in despair 
 — the one concluding that he was " an odd one," 
 and the other declaring that he was as stupid as he 
 was ugly. 
 
 This lasted some time, till one villager after an- 
 other having exhausted every excuse for staying to 
 hear whether the stranger would open his lips, 
 dropped away in his turn, and left the apartment 
 vacant. It was then, and not till then, that mine 
 host was somewhat surprised by hearing the silent 
 traveller pronounce in a most audible and impera- 
 tive manner, " Gaultier. come here." The first 
 cause of astonishment was to hear him speak at all j 
 and the next to find his own proper name of Gaul- 
 tier so familiar to the stranger, forgetting that it had 
 been vociferated at kast one hundred times that 
 night in his presence. However. Gaultier obeyed 
 his summons with all speed, and approaching the 
 stranger with a low reverence, begged to know his 
 good-will and pleasure. 
 
 " Your wine is good, Gaultier," said the stranger, 
 raising his clear gray eyes to the rosy round of 
 Gaultier's physiognomy. Even an innkeeper is sus- 
 ceptible of flattery j and Gaultier bent hia head down
 
 RICH EMEU. 157 
 
 towards the ground, as if he were going to do kou- 
 tou< 
 
 " Gaultier, bring me another bottle," said the 
 stranger. This phrase was better than the former ; 
 that sort of substantial flattery that goes straight to 
 an innkeeper's heart. Truly, it is a pity that inn- 
 keepers are such selfish beings. And yet it is na- 
 tural loo 5 — so rapidly does mankind pass by them, 
 that theirs can be, at best, but a stagecoach sort of 
 affection for their fellow-creatures — I'he coachman 
 shuts tlie door — Drive on I — ^and it is all over. Thus, 
 my dear sir, the gayelies, the care, and the bustle 
 in which you and 1 live, render our hearts but as an 
 inn, where many a traveller stays for an hour, pays 
 his score, and is forgotten. 1 am resolved to let 
 mine upon lease. — 
 
 The bottle of wine was not long in making its ap- 
 pearance ; and as G.iultier set it on the table be- 
 fore the stranger, he asked if he could serve him 
 farther. 
 
 " Can you show me the way to the old Chateau 
 of St. Loup ?" demanded the stranger. 
 
 " Surely, I can, sir," replied the innkeeper j " tliat 
 is to say, as far as knowing where it is. But I hope 
 monsieur does not mean to-night." 
 
 " Indeed do I," answered the stranger j " and pray 
 why not ? The night is the same as the day to an 
 honest man." 
 
 " No doubr, no doubt !" exclaimed Gaultier, with 
 the greatest doubt in the world in his own mind. — 
 " No doubt I But. Holy Virgin ! Jesu preserve us I" 
 — and he signed the cross most devoutly — " vve all 
 know that there are spirits, and demons, and astrolo- 
 gers, and the devil, and all those sort of things ; and 
 1 would not go throu<,ri) liie grove where old Pere 
 Le i^ouge, the sorcerer, was burnt alive, not to be 
 prime minister, or the Cardinal de Richelieu, or any 
 other great man,— that is to say, after nightfall. In 
 the day I would go anywhere, or do any thing. — I 
 am no coward, sir, — I dare do any thing. My lather 
 Bcrvad in the blessed league against the cursed
 
 158 RIOflKtlE^;. 
 
 Huguenots— ^so I am no coward ; — but bless you, tir, 
 I will tell you how it happened, and then you will 
 see — '' 
 
 "1 know all about it," replied the stranger, in a 
 voice that made the innkeeper start, and look 
 ever his left shoulder; " I know all about it ; but sit 
 down and drink with me, to keep your spirits up, 
 for you must show me the way this very night. Pere 
 Le Rouge was a dear friend of mine, and before he 
 was burnt for a sorcerer, we had made a solemn com- 
 pact to meet once every ten years. Now, if you 
 rtmember aright, it is just ten years, this very day, 
 since he was executed ; and there is no bond in hell 
 fast enough to hold him from meeting me to-night 
 at the old chateau. So sit you down and drink 1" — 
 And he poured out a full cup of wine for the inn- 
 keeper, who looked aghast at the portentous com- 
 pact between the stranger and Pere La Rouge. 
 However, whether it was that Gaultier was too 
 much afraid to refuse, or had too much esprit de 
 corps not to drink with any one who would drink 
 with him, can hardly be determined now; but so it 
 was, that sitting down, according to the stranger's 
 desire, he poured the whole goblet of wine down his 
 throat at one draght, and, as he afterwards averred, 
 could not help thinking that the stranger must have 
 enchanted the liquor, for no sooner ha!d he swallow- 
 ed it, than his fears of Pere La Rouge began to die 
 away, like morning dreams. However, when the 
 goblet was drained, Gaultier began more justly to 
 estimate the danger of drinking with a sorcerer ; 
 and that the stranger was such, a Champenois 
 aubergiste of 1642 could never be supposed to doubt, 
 after the diabolical compact so unscrupulously con- 
 fessed. Under this impression, he continued rolling 
 his empty cup about upon the table, revolving at the 
 same time his own critical situation, and endeavor- 
 ing to determine what might be his duty to his king 
 and country under such perilous circumstances. 
 Rolling the'cup to the right— he resolved instantly 
 to denounce this milignant enchanter to the proper
 
 RICHELIEU. 169 
 
 authorities, and have him forthwith burnt alive, and 
 Bent to join P^re Le Rouge in the other world, by 
 ▼irtue of the humane and charitable laws in that 
 case especially made and provided. Then rolling 
 his cup to the other side — his eye glanced towards 
 the stranger's bottle, and resting upon the vacuum 
 which their united thirst had therein occasioned, 
 his heart overflowed with the milk of human kind- 
 ness, and he pitied from his soul that perverted taste 
 which could lead any human being from good 
 liquor, comfortable lodging, and the society of an 
 innkeeper, to a dark wood and a ruined castle, an 
 old roasted sorcerer, and the devil perhaps into the 
 bargain. 
 
 " Would you choose another bottle, sir V de- 
 manded Gaultier J and as his companion nodded his 
 head in token of assent, was about to proceed on 
 this errand — with the laudable intention also of 
 sharing all his newly arisen doubts and fears with 
 his gentle help-mate, who, for her part, was busily 
 engaged in the soft domestic duties of scolding the 
 stable-boy and boxing the maid's ears. But the 
 stranger stopped him, perhaps divining^and not very 
 much approving the aforesaid communication. He 
 exclaimed, " La Bourgeoise !" in a tone of voice 
 which over-powered all other noises : the abuse of 
 the dame herself — the tears of the maid — the excul- 
 pation of the stable-boy — the cackle of the cocks 
 and hens, which were on a visit in the parlor — and 
 the barking of a prick-eared cur included. The 
 fresh bottle soon stood upon the table; and while 
 the hostess returned to her former tender avoca- 
 tions, the stranger, whose clear gray eye seemed 
 reading deeply into Gaultier's heart, continued to 
 drink from the scanty remains of his own bottle, 
 leaving mine host to fill from that which was hith- 
 erto unconlaminated by any other touch than his 
 own. This Gaultier did not fail to do, till such 
 lime as the last rays of the sun, which had con- 
 tinued t«) linger fondly amid a flight of light feathery
 
 160 RICHELIEU. 
 
 clouds overhead, had ealircly left the sky, and all 
 was gray. 
 
 At that moment the stranger drew forth hi^ purse, 
 let it full upon ihe table with a he ivy sort of clink- 
 ing sound, shovving that the louis-d'ors wicliin had 
 hardly room to josUe against each oilier. It was a 
 lound of comfortable plenty, which had something 
 in it irresistibly attractive to the ears of Gaultier j 
 and as he stood watching while the stranger insin- 
 uated his finger and thumb into the little leathern 
 bag, drawing forth first one broad piece and then 
 another, so splendid did the stranger's traffic with 
 the devil begin to appear in the eyes of the innkeeper, 
 that he almost began to wish that he had been 
 brought up a sorcerer also. 
 
 The stranger quietly pushed the two pieces of 
 gold across the table till they got within the inn- 
 keeper's sphere of attraction, when they become 
 suddenly hurried towards him. with irresistible velo- 
 city, and were plunged into the abyss of a large 
 pocket on his left side, close upon his heart. 
 
 The stranger looked on w.th philosophic compo- 
 sure, as if considering some natural phenomenon, 
 till such time as the operation was complete. '-iXow, 
 Gaultier," cried he, '' put on your beaver, and lead 
 to the beginning of the grove. I will find my way 
 through it alone. But hark ye, say no word to your 
 wife." 
 
 G:iultier was all complaisance, and having placed 
 his hat on his head, he opened the door of the 
 auberge, and brought forth the stranger's horse, 
 fancying that what w^ith a bottle of wine, and two 
 pieces of gold, he could meet BeeFzebub him?;elf, or 
 any other of thoje gentlemen of the hnver house, 
 with whom the care used to frighten the little boys 
 and girls when they went to their first communion. 
 However, the stranger had scarcely passed the 
 horse's bridle over liis arm, and led him a step or 
 two on the way, when tiie cool air and reflection 
 made the innkeeper begin to think differently of 
 the devil, and be more inclined to keep at a respect-
 
 RICIIELIEUw 16i 
 
 Jul distance from so grave and antique a gentleman. 
 A few steps more made him ns frightened as everj 
 and before they had got to the end of the village, 
 Gaultier fell hard to work^ crossing himself most 
 laboriously, and trembling every time he remem- 
 bered that he was conducting one sorcerer to meet 
 another, long dead and delivered over in form, with 
 fire and fagot, into the hands of Satan. 
 
 It is probable that he would have run, but the 
 stranger was close behind, and cut off his retreat. 
 
 At about a mile and a half from the little village 
 of Mesnil, stood the old Chateau of St. Loup, sit- 
 uated upon an abrupt eminence, commanding a view 
 of almost all the country round. The valley at its 
 foot, and the slope of the hill up to its very walls, 
 were covered with thick wood, through which pas- 
 sed the narrow deserted road from Mensil, winding 
 in and out with a thousand turns and divarications, 
 ] and twice completely encircling the hill itself, be- 
 fore it reached the castle gate, which once, in the 
 hospitable pride of former days, had rested con- 
 stantly open for the reception equally of tiie friend 
 and the stranger, but vvhich now only gave entrance 
 to tl:e winds and tempests — rude guests, that con- 
 tributed, even more than Time himself, the great 
 destroyer, to bring ruin and desolation on the de- 
 serted mansion. Hard by, in a little cementery, 
 attached to the chapel, lay* many of the gay hearts 
 that had once beat there, now quiet in the still cold 
 i earth. There mouldering like the walls that over- 
 shadowed them, were the last sons of the brave and 
 noble race of Mensil, without one scion left to 
 dwell in the halls of their forefathers, or to grieve 
 over the desolation of their heritage. There, too, 
 lay the vassals, bowed to the will of a sterner lord, 
 and held in the surer bondage of the tomb-, and yet 
 perhaps, in life, they had passed on, happier than 
 their chief, without his proud anxiety and splendid 
 cares; and now, in death, his bed was surely made 
 as low, and the equal wind that whispered over the; 
 
 VOL. I. 11
 
 J^ RICHELIEtr. 
 
 grave of the one, offered no greater flattery to the 
 nioxurnpfv: s the otbter. But, beyond nil these, 
 and '*::^('ve:. without the precincts of conbecrated 
 groiiriij ws.- a heap of sharJs and Hints — the sorce- 
 rer • 2"ave Above it, some pious liand had raised 
 tr.c a^iiiuoi of salvation — a deed of chnr.ty, truly, in 
 those days, when eternal merry was formed by tiie 
 church, like a turnpike on the high road, and none 
 couhl pass but such as paid toil. But, however, 
 there it rose, a tall while cross, standing, as that 
 symbol should always stand, high above every sur- 
 rounding object, and full in the view of all who 
 sought ir. 
 
 As the aubergiste and his companion climbed the 
 hill, which, leading fr?!m the village of Mrs lil, com- 
 manded a full prospect of the rich woody valley be- 
 low, and overhung that spot which, since the trage- 
 dy ot poor Pcre Le Rouge, had acquired the nnme 
 of the Sorcerer's Grove, it was this tall white cross 
 that first caught their attention. It stood upon the 
 opposite eminence, distinctly marked on the back- 
 grounl of the evening sky, catching every ray of 
 light that remained, while behind it, pile upon pile, 
 lay the tiiick clouds of a coming storm. 
 
 '' There, monsieur," cried Gaultier, "there is the 
 cross upon the sorcerer's grave !'' And the fear 
 whic'n agitated him while bespoke, made the stran- 
 ger s lip curl into a smile of bitter contempt. But 
 as they turned the side of the hill, which had hith- 
 C'to concealed the castle itself from their sight, the 
 teeth of Gaultier actually chattered in his head, 
 when he beheld a bright light shining from several 
 windows of the deserted building. 
 
 " 'I'here !"■ exclaimed the stranger, "there, you 
 see how well Pere Le Rouge keeps his appointment, 
 I am waited for, and want you no farther. 1 can 
 now find my way alone, I would not p?:pose you, 
 my friend, to the dangers of that grove." J 
 
 The innkeeper's heart melted at the strangers' j 
 words, and he was filled with compassionate zeal 
 upon the occasion. " Pray doa't go," cried Gaul-
 
 RICHELI15C 168 
 
 ^ler, almost blubbering betwixt fear and tender- 
 lietrtedness ; " pray don't go ! Have pity upon your 
 precious soul ! You'll go to the devil, indeed you 
 will ! — or at least to purgatory for a hundred thou- 
 sand years, and be burnt up like an overduiie rabbit. 
 You are committing murder, and conspiracy, and 
 treason," — the stranger started, but Ganitier went 
 on— '-and heresy, and pleurisy, and sorcery, and you 
 will go to the devil, indeed you will — and tiien you'll 
 remember what I told you.'' 
 
 " What is fated, is fated !'' replied the stranger, 
 in a solemn voice, though GauUier's speech had 
 produced that sort of tremulous lone, excited by 
 an inclination eitlier to laugh or to cry ."I have prom- 
 ised, and I must go. But let me warn you,'' he 
 continued, sternly, '• never to mention one word of 
 what has passed to night, if you would live till i 
 come again. For if you reveal one word, even to 
 your wile, the ninth night after you have done so, 
 Fere Le Rouge will stand on one side of your bed, 
 and I on ihe other, and Satan at your feet, and we 
 1 will carry you away body and soul, so that you shall 
 never be heard of again." 
 
 When he had concluded, the stranger waited for 
 no reply, but sprang upon his horse, and galloped 
 down into the wood. 
 
 In the mean time, the landlord climbed to a point 
 of the hill, from whence he could see both his own 
 village, and the ruins of the castle. There, the 
 sight ot the church steeple gave him courage, and 
 he paused to examine the extraordinary light which 
 proceeded from the ruin. In a few minutes, he 
 saw several figures flit across the windows.and cast 
 a momentary obscurity over the red glare which 
 was streaming forth from them upon the darkness 
 of the night. " There they are !" cried he, " Pere 
 Le Rouge, and his pot companion ! — and surely the 
 devil must be with them, for 1 see more than two, 
 and one of them has certainly a tail — Lord have 
 mercy upon us !" 
 
 As he spoke, a vivid flash of lightning burst from
 
 164 RICHELIEI/* 
 
 the clouds, followed instantly by a Iremenduous 
 peal of thunder. The terrified innkeeper, startled 
 at the sound, and more than ever convinced that 
 mans enemy was on earth, to( k to his heels, nor 
 ceased running till he reached his own door, and 
 met liis better angel of a wife, who boxed his ears 
 for his absence, and vowed he had been gallanting- 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 The motto of which should he, "Out of the frjiiig-p ra into 
 the file." 
 
 The jingle of Claude de Blenau's s-purs, as he 
 doscende;i with a quick step the staircase of the 
 Palais Cardinal, told as plainly as a pair of French 
 spurs cfjuld tell, that his heart was lightened of a 
 heavy load since he had last tried their asce:ii ; and 
 the spring of nis foot, as he leaped upon his horse, 
 spoke much of renewed hope and banished appre- 
 hension. 
 
 But the devil of it is (for I must use that homely 
 but happy expression) — the devil of it is. that the 
 rebound of hope raises us as much above the level 
 of truth, as tlie depression fif fear sinks U3 below 
 it; and De Blenau, striking his spurs into the sidea 
 of his horse, cantered olf towards St. Germain as 
 gayly as if all doubt and danger were over, and be- 
 gan to look upon bastilles, tortures, and racks, with 
 all the other et cetera of Richelieu's government^ 
 as little better than chimeras of the imagination, 
 with which he had nothing further to do, 
 
 Hope sets off at a hand-gallop. Consideration soo: 
 contents herself with a more moderate pace, am 
 Doubt is reduced, at best, to a slow trot. Thus, afl t 
 De Blenau began to reflect, he unconsciously i.\Teyf 
 in the bridle of his horse ; and before he had pro- 
 
 afl
 
 RICHELIIU. leS 
 
 ceeded one league on the way to St. Germain's, the 
 marks of deep thought were evident both in the 
 pace of the courser and the countenance of the ri- 
 der ; Do Blenau, knitting his brow and biting his 
 lip, as the variousdangers that surrounded him cros- 
 sed his mind 5 and the gentle barb, seemingly ani- 
 mated by the same spirit as his master, hentiing his 
 arched neck, and liirowing out his feet with as much' 
 consideration as if the tirn> C/iemin de St. Ger- 
 main had been no better than a quagmire. 
 
 Le Blenau well knew that even in France n man 
 miglit smile, and smile, and he a viUain j and that 
 the fiiir words of Richelieu too often preceded liia 
 most remorseless actions. He remembered also the 
 warning of Mademoiselle de Bourborn, and felt too 
 strongly liow insecure a warranty was conscious 
 innocence for his safety ; but still he possessed that 
 sort of chivalrous pride which made him look upon 
 flight as degrading under any circumstance, and 
 more especially so when the danger was most ap- 
 parent. Like the lion, he miuht iiave slowly avoi- 
 ded the hunters while unatfacked ; but once pres- 
 sed by ttie chase, be turned to resist or to suffer. 
 Such was the quality of his mind ; and in the pre- 
 sent instance lie resolved to await his fate with 
 firmness, whatsoever that fate might be. 
 
 1 know not whether an author, like an Old Bailey 
 witness, be, by the laws in that case made and pro- 
 vided, obliged to tell, on every occasion, not only 
 the truth, but the whole truth : however, lest I 
 should offend against any known or unknown stat- 
 ute, be it remarked, that the whole credit due to 
 the determinatinn of De Blenau is not to be attribu- 
 ted to that great and magnanimous quality called 
 by some persons nndaimted resolution, and by oth- 
 ers /ooZ-/mrdmess; for in this, as in almost every 
 other proceeding of the human heart, there were 
 two or three little personal motives which mingled 
 with all his ideas, and, without his knowing any 
 thing about it, brought his reasoning to the conclu- 
 sioa aforesaid.
 
 169 RICnElIEU 
 
 Of these little motives I shall only pick oat one 
 as a specimen; but this one in the breast of a young^ 
 man of five-and-twenty, living in a romantic age, 
 and blessed with a romantic disposition, inav be 
 considered all-sufficient. Now if it should be luvel — 
 As 1 write this volanie entirely for ladies^ we are 
 all agreed" — Love it was/ and who is there that 
 will fM-esume to say Claude de Blenau was iiot com- 
 pletely justified in resolving to hazard all, ratlier 
 than part with Pauline de Beaumont ? 
 
 As long as any hesitation had remained in the 
 mind of De Blenau, he had proceeded, as we have 
 seen, with a slow unequal pace ; but the moment 
 his determination was fixed, his thoughts turned to- 
 wards St. Ciermain's, and all his ideas concentrating 
 into one of those day-drean>s that every young 
 heart is fond to indulge, he spurred on his horse, 
 eager to realize some, at least, of the bright prom- 
 ises which hope so liberally held forth. It was late, 
 however, before he arrived at the end of his jour- 
 ney J and internally cursing the etiquette which 
 required him to change his dress before he could 
 present himself at the palace, he sent forward liis 
 page to announce his return, and beg. an audience 
 of the queen. 
 
 His toilet was not long; and without waiting for 
 the boy s return, he set out on foot, hoping to join 
 the queen's circle before it separated for the eve- 
 ning. In this he was disappointed. Anne of Aus 
 tria was alone ; and though her eyes sparkled with 
 gladness for his unexpected return, and her recep- 
 tion was as kind as his good services required, De 
 Blenau would have been better pleased to have 
 been welcomed by other lips. 
 
 " I could scarce credit the news till I siw you, 
 mon diambellan,' said the queen, extending her hand 
 for him to kiss ; " nor can I truly believe that it is 
 you that I behold even now. How have you esca- 
 .oaped from that dreadful man 1" 
 
 "■ I will tell your majesty all that has happened," 
 replied the count j "and as I have a boon to asfe^ I
 
 RIOUELIE*. 167 
 
 think I must represent my sufferings in your majes- 
 ty's cause in the most tremendous colors. But 
 ivitliout a jest, I have ha.d little to undergo beyond 
 1 force! attendance at the cardinal's fSte, where 
 tlie only hard word I received was from L'Angeli, 
 tlie Duke of Enghien's fool, who seeing mv riding- 
 dr. s8, asked if i were Puss in boots." De Blenau 
 then shortly related all tliat had occurred during 
 his stay in Paris. "And thus, madam," he added, 
 ' yt<u see tliat Chavisni has kept his word ; for had 
 it not been for that promise, t d"uht not 1 sh«'uld 
 have been even now comfortably lod;.'ed in the Bas- 
 tille, with a table at his majesty's expense." 
 
 The queen mused for a moment without making 
 any reply) hut from her countenance it seemed 
 that she was not a little troubled by what she had 
 heard. 
 
 ''De Blenau.^' said she at length, in a calm hut 
 melancholy voice. '' there is ^omething concealed 
 here. The car-dinal has deeper plans in view. As 
 Marie de Bourbon told you. tiiey are plotting my 
 ruin. When first I entered Frajice, that man of 
 blood and treachery resolved to make me his slave. 
 He fl ittered my tastes, he prevenied my wisl^es — 
 like an insidious serpent he wound himself into my 
 confidence; and 1 was weak enouTlj to dream that 
 my husband's minister was my best friend. With 
 as much vanity as insolence, he mistook condescen- 
 sion for love. He sought his opportunity, and dared 
 to insult my ears with his wishes, I need not tell 
 you De Blenau, what was my reply j but it was 
 8uch as stung him to the soul. He rose from where 
 he had been kneelinL"- at my feet, and threatened 
 such vengeance that, as he said, my whole life 
 should be one long success'o i of miseries. Too truly 
 has he kept his word." — ^The queen paused and as 
 was ofcen her custom when anv circums', r.ie cal- 
 led her memory back to the bitter evrr < f her 
 past life, fell into a deep revery, from wriicn it was 
 not easy to rouse her. 
 
 " Too much of this," said she «t length j "wo
 
 161 RrCHELIEir, 
 
 must look to the present, De Blenau. As the 
 mother of two princes, Richelieu both hales and 
 fears me j and I see they are plotting my ruin. But 
 yours shall not be involved therein. De Blenau, 
 you must fly till this storm has passed by." 
 
 '•' Pardon me, madam," replied the count, ''but in 
 this 1 cannot vield your majesty that obedience I 
 would wiilingly show under any other circumstan- 
 ces. I cannot, I must not, fly. My own honor, 
 madam, requires that I shonld stay ; for if flight be 
 not construed into an evidence of guilt, it may at 
 least be supposed a sign of cowardice." 
 
 " Indeed, indeed ! De Blenau," said the queen, 
 earnestly, '^ you must do as 1 require 3 nay," fhe 
 added with a mixture of sweetness and dignity, "as 
 I command. If they can prove against yru that 
 you have forwarded letters from me to my brother 
 the king of Spain, they will bring you to the block, 
 and will most likely ruin me." 
 
 '• I trust to the promise your majesty gave me 
 •when hrst I undertook to have those letters con- 
 veyed to your royal bRolher King Philip," answer- 
 ed De Blenau : "you then pledged to me your word 
 that they were alone of a domestic nature, and that 
 they should always continue so, withoutever touch- 
 ing upon one subject of external or internal policy, 
 so that my allegiance to my king and my duty to 
 my country shguld alike remain pure and inviol.?te. 
 I'doubt not that your majesty has pointedly kept 
 this promise 5 and De Blenau will never fly while 
 he can lay bis hand upon his heart and feel himself 
 innocent." 
 
 " Yes, but remember, my good youth," replied 
 the queen, " that this cardinal — my husband's tyrant 
 rather than his subject — has commanded me, his 
 queen, to forbear all correspondence with my broth- 
 er, and has narrowly watched me to prevent that 
 very communication between Philip and myself 
 which your kindness has found means to procure. 
 Remember^ too^ his remorseless nature 3 and then
 
 RICHELiKtJ. 169 
 
 judge whether he will spare the man who has ren- 
 dered his precautions vain." 
 
 "Madam,-"' replied De Blenau, "I do not fear; 
 nothing shall make me fly. Though there he no 
 bounds to what the cardinal dare atfenij^t, yet his 
 power does not extend to make me a coward !" 
 
 " But for my sake," still persevered Anne of Aus- 
 tria, laboring to persuade him to a measure on 
 which she too well knew his safety depended : '•'re- 
 member that if there be proved against me even so 
 small a crime as having sent those letters, my ruin 
 is inevitable, and there are modes of torture which 
 will wrench a secret from the most determined con- 
 stancy." 
 
 " I fear me," replied De Blenau, " that some act 
 of mine must have much degraded me in your ma 
 jesty's opinion." 
 
 " No, no, my friend .'" said the queen ; '' not so 
 indeed — I do not doubt you in the least : but I 
 would fain persuade you, De Blenau, to that which 
 I know is best and safest." 
 
 " Your majesty has now given me the strongest 
 reasons for my stay," replied De Bleuau, with a 
 smile ; '' I have now the means of proving my fidel- 
 ity to you. and nothing shall tempt me to leave you 
 at this moment. But in the mean time there is one 
 favour I have to request." 
 
 " Name it," replied the queen j '' indeed, De 
 Blenau, you might command it." 
 
 " Your majesty is too good," said the count. " I 
 will make my story as brief as possible ; but I must 
 explain to you that Mademosiselle de Beaumont 
 and myself were plighted to each other when very 
 young—" 
 
 " 1 know it, I know it all," interrupted^fie queen, 
 "and that you love each other still ; and believe 
 me, my dear De Blenau, neither time nor disap- 
 pointment has so frozen my heart that I cannot en- 
 ter warmly into all you feel. Perhaps you never 
 discovered that Anne of Austria was an enthusiast. 
 But tell me;What difficulty has occurred betweenyou?
 
 170 RICHELIED. 
 
 " Why, in truth, madam," answered De Blenau, 
 *'' the difficulty arises with your majesty." 
 
 " With me I' cried the queen : -'with me, De Ble- 
 nau ! impossible ! ]N"oihii)g could jrive me more 
 pleisure than to see your union. This Pauline of 
 yours is one of the sweetest girls that ever I heheldj 
 and vith all her native unboustht graces, siie looks 
 among the rest of the court like a wild rose in a 
 flo\\e--garden — rot so cultivated, in truth, but more 
 simply elegant, and sweeter than them all.'' 
 
 Tliose who say that all is selfishness, let them 
 tell me iiow it is that one sintple word in praise ot 
 those we love will give a thousand limes more plea- 
 sure than the warmest cominnndation of ourselves. 
 
 De Blenau's heart beat, and his eye sparkled, and 
 he paused a moment ere he could reply 5 nor in- 
 deed were his first sentences very distinct. He 
 said a gr»?at deal about her majesty's goodness,— 
 and his own happiness. — and P;iuline's excellence; 
 all in that sort of coiifusod way, which would make 
 it appear simple nonsense were it written down ; 
 but which very clearly ctmveyed to the queen how 
 much he loved Pauline, and how much obliged he 
 was to her majesty for praising her. 
 
 Aiter this, he entered rather more regularlv into 
 a detail of those circumstances which had induced 
 Mademoiselle de Beaumont to suspect him. "The 
 point which seems to affect her most," continued 
 De Blenau, "is the visit with which Mademoiselle 
 de Hauteford honored me by your majesty's com- 
 mand, in order to receive from me the last letter 
 from your majesty to the King of Spain, which ( 
 was unhappily prevented from forwarding by my 
 late wounds. JNow this, as affecting the character 
 of the lady your majesty employed in the business, 
 does certainly require some explanation. In regard 
 to every thing else. Pauline will, I feel sure, con- 
 eider my word sufficient." 
 
 " Oh, leave it all to me, leave it all to me I" ex- 
 claimed the queen, laughing. " What ! jealous al-
 
 RIOHELIEO 171 
 
 ready is the, fair maid ? But fear not, De Blenau, 
 Did she know you aa well as I do, she would doubt 
 herseli sooner than De Blenau. However, 1 un- 
 dertake to rol) the rose of its thorn for you, and 
 leave love without jealousy. A woman is very ea- 
 sily convinced where she loves, and it will be hard 
 if I cannot show her that she has been in the wrong. 
 But take no unworthy advantage of it, De Bienau," 
 she continued 5 "for a woman's heart will not hesi- 
 tate at triHes, when she wishes to make reparation 
 to a man she loves." 
 
 " All tiie advantage I could ever wish to take," 
 replied the count, " would be, to claim her hand 
 without delay." 
 
 ••' Nay, nav — that is but a fair advantage," said the 
 queen. "Yet," continued she, after a monient's 
 pause, " it were not wise to draw the eyes of suspi- 
 cion upon us at this moment. But there are such 
 thinas as private marriages, De Bienau." 
 
 There was no small spice «)f romance.in the char- 
 acter of Anne of Austria, and this, on niore tlian 
 one occasion, led her into various circumstancps of 
 danger, affecting both herself and the state. Of an 
 easy and generous spirit, she always became the 
 partisan of the oppressed, and any thing that inter- 
 ested or excited her feelings, was certain to meet 
 encourajement and support, however cliimerical or 
 hazardous ; while plans of more judgment and pro- 
 priety were either totally discountenanced, or im- 
 properly pursued. This appeared through her whole 
 life, but more especially at an after period, when the 
 government fell i\>to her own hands, and when, like 
 a child with some fine and complicated machine, 
 she played with the engine of the state till she de- 
 ranged all its functions. 
 
 It was. perhaps, this spirit of romance, more than 
 any political consideration, which, in the present 
 instance, made her suggest to the Count de Blenau 
 the idea of a private marriage with Pauline de Beau- 
 mont; and he, as ardent as herself, and probably as 
 romantic^ caught eargerly at a proposal which seem*
 
 172 RICHEtlEtt 
 
 ed to promise a more speedy union with the object 
 of his love, than was compatible with ail the tedi- 
 ous ceremonies and wearisome etiquette attendant 
 upon a court-marringe of that day. 
 
 " I shall not see your Pauline to-ni'.iht,-"'said the 
 queen, continuiiicr the conversation which this pro- 
 posal had induced. '•' She excused herself attend- 
 ing my evening circle, on account of a slight indis- 
 position ; hut to morrow I will explain every thing 
 on your part, and propose to her myself what we 
 have agreed upon.'' 
 
 •• She is not ill. ! trust ?"' said De Blenau. 
 
 '• Oh no !'-■ replied the queen, emding at the anxi- 
 ety of his look, " not enough even to alarm a lover, 
 1 believe. ' 
 
 I'his answer, however, was not sufficient for De 
 Blenau. and taking leave of the queen, he sent for 
 one of Madame de Beaumont's servants, through 
 whose intervention he contrived to obtain an audi- 
 ence of no less a person than Louise, Pauline's 
 stcivante. Isow Louise was really a pretty woman, 
 and doubtless her face might have claimed remem- 
 brance from many a man who had nothing else to 
 think of De Blenau remembered it too, but with- 
 out any reference to its beauty, which, indeed, he 
 had i.ever staid to inquire into. 
 
 It must be remembered, that the morning previous 
 to his journey to Paris, the moment before he was 
 joined bv Cliavigni, his eye had been attracted by 
 that nobleman, engaged in the earnest conversation 
 with a girl habited In the dress of dear Languedoc ; 
 and he now found in the scniin-ette of Mademoiselle 
 de Beaumont, the very individual he had seen in 
 such circumstances. All this did not very much 
 enhance the regard of De Blenau towards Louise j 
 and he satisfied himself with a simple inquiry con- 
 cerning her mistress's health, adding a slight recom- 
 mendation to herself, to take care wlrom she gossip- 
 ped w ith while she remained at St. Germain, con- 
 veyed in that stately manner, which made Louise 
 resolve to hate him most cordially for the rest of 
 
 I
 
 niCIiELlETJ. 173 
 
 her life, and declare tint he was not half so nice a 
 gentleman as Monsieur de Chavigni, who was a 
 counsellor into the bargain. 
 
 After a variety of confused dreams, concerning 
 queens and cardiii;ils, bastilles and private marriages, 
 De Blenau woke to enjoy one of those bright morn- 
 ings which often shine out in the first of autumn, — 
 memorials of summer, when summer itself is gone. 
 It was too early to present himself at the palace; 
 but he had now a theme on which his thoughts were 
 not unwilling to dwell, and therefore, as soon as he 
 was dressed, he sauntered out, most lover-like, into 
 the park, occupied with the hope of future happi- 
 ness, and scarcely sensible of any external thing, 
 save the soothing influence of the morning air, and 
 the cheerful hum of awakening nature. 
 
 As time wore on, however, — and, probably, did so 
 faster than he fancied, — his attention was called to- 
 wards the palace by an unusual degree of bustle and 
 activity among the attendants, who were now seen 
 passing to and fro along the terrace, with all the 
 busy haste of a nest of emmets disturbed in their 
 unceasing industry. 
 
 His curiosity being excited, he quitted the princi- 
 pal alley in which he had been walking, and ascend- 
 ing the flight of steps leading to the terrace, enter- 
 ed the palace by the small door of the left wing. 
 As none of the servants immediately presented 
 themselves, he proceeded by one of the staircases 
 to the principal saloon, where he expected to meet 
 some of the valets de chamhre, who generally at that 
 hour awaited the rising of the queen. 
 
 On opening the door, however, he was surprised 
 to find Anne of Austria already risen, together with 
 the dauphin and the young Duke of Anjou, the 
 principal ladies of the court, and several menial at- 
 tendants, all habited in (ravelling costume; while 
 various trunk-mails, saddle-bags, portmanteaus, &c., 
 lay about the room ; some already stuffed to the 
 gorge with their appropriate contents, and others 
 opening their wide jaws to receive whatever their 
 owners chose to cranj them withal.
 
 174 RICHELIEU. 
 
 As soon as De Blenau entered this scene ofun- 
 princely confusion, the quick eyes of Anne of Aus- 
 tria lighted upon him, and, advancing from the 
 group of ladies to whom she had been speaking, 
 s'f.e seemed surprised to see him in the simple 
 morning costume of the court. 
 
 " Why, be Blenau I'" exclaimed she, " we vvait 
 for you, and you have neither boots nor cloak. Have 
 you not seen ihe pnge I sent to you ?' 
 
 '• ,\o, indeed, madam," replied De Blenau ; " but 
 having loitered in the park some time, 1 have proba- 
 bly thus missed receiving jour comm:inds." 
 
 •• Then you have not heard," said the queen, " we 
 have been honoured this morning by a summons to 
 join the king atCiiant;ily." 
 
 '• Indeed 1" rejoined De Blenau, thoughtfully, 
 '• What should this mean, 1 wonder ? It is strange ! 
 Riclielieu was to be there last night : so 1 heard it 
 rumored yesterday in Paris."' 
 
 •• I fear me,'' answered the queen, in a low tone, 
 '• that the storm is about to burst upon our head. A 
 servant inforins me, that riding this morning, short- 
 ly after sunrise, near that small open space which 
 separates this, the forest of Laye, from the great 
 wood of Mantes, lie saw a large party of the cardi- 
 nal's guard wiiiding along towards the wooden 
 bridge, at which we usually cross the river." 
 
 •• Oh, I think nothing of that," replied the count. 
 "Your majesty must remember, that this cardinal 
 has his men scattered all over the country : — but. at 
 all events, we can take the slone bridge fiirther 
 down. At what time does your mnjesty depart ? 
 I will but pay my compliments to these ladies, and 
 then go to command the attendance of my train, 
 which will at all events aftbrd some sort of escort." 
 
 During this dialogue, the queen had looked from 
 time to time towards the group of ladies who re- 
 mained in conversation at the other end of the apart- 
 ment ; and with that unsteadiness of thought pecu- 
 liar to her character, she soon forgot all her fears 
 and aniietiea, as she saw the dark eye of Paulino
 
 RICHELIEU 176 
 
 de Beaumont wander every now and then with a 
 furtive glance towards De Blenau, and then sud- 
 denly fall to the ground, or tix upon vacancy, as if 
 afraid of being cauglit in such employment. 
 
 Easily reading every line expressive of a passion 
 to which siie had once been so susceptible, tl.e 
 queen turned with a playful smile to De Blenau. 
 '• Come," said she, " 1 will save you the trouble 
 of pa\ing your compliments to more than one of 
 those lailies, and she shall stand your proxy to 
 all tlie rest. Pauline — Mademoiselle de Beau- 
 mont,'' she continued, raising her voice, •' come 
 hitlior, flower ! 1 would speak a word with you." 
 
 Pauline came forward — not unhappy in iruih, 
 but witii tilo blood rushing up into her cheeks 
 and forehead till timidity became actunl pain, 
 'wliile the clear cold Idue eyes of Mademoiselle 
 de Hauteford followed her across the room, as if 
 she wondered at feelings she herself had appa- 
 rently never experienced. 
 
 De Blenau advanced and lield out his hand. 
 Pauline instantly placed hers in it, and in the 
 confusion of the moment laid the other upon it 
 also. 
 
 '"Well," said the queen with a smile, " De 
 Blenau. you must be satisfied now. Tsay, be not 
 asli;;med, Pauline ; it is ail right and pure, and 
 natural," 
 
 '• I am not ashamed, madam," replied Pauline, 
 sceniag to gain courage from the tbuch of her 
 Jover; '•' J have done De Blenau wrong in ever 
 doubling one so good and so noble as he is ; but 
 he will forgive me now, I know, and I will never 
 do him wrong again." 
 
 1 need not proceed farther with all this. De 
 Blenau and Pauline enjoyed one or two moments 
 of unminded happiness, and then the queen re- 
 minded them that he had yet to dress lor his 
 journey, and to prepare his servants to accompa- 
 ny the carriages. This, however, was soon done,
 
 176 HlCHELItU. 
 
 and in less thnn half an hour De Blenau rejoin- 
 ed the party in the saloon of the palace. 
 
 '•JS"ow, De Blenau," said the queen, as soon as 
 she saw him, "you are prepared for travelling at 
 all points. For once be ruled, and instead of 
 accompanying me to Chantilly, malce the best of 
 your way to Tranche Conite or to Flanders, for I 
 much fear that the cardinal has not yet done with 
 you. I will take care of your interests while 
 you are gone, even belter than I would my own } 
 and 1 promise you that as soon as you are in 
 safety, Madame De Beaumont and Pauline shall 
 follow you, and you may be happy surely, though 
 abroad, for a few short years, till Richelieu's 
 power or his life be passed away." 
 
 De Blenau smiled. •' INay, nay," replied he, 
 " that would not be like a gallant knight and 
 true, either to desert my queen or my lady love. 
 Besides, I am inclined to believe that this jour- 
 ney to Chantilly bodes us good rather than harm. 
 For near three months past, the king has been 
 there almost alone with Cinq Mars, who is as 
 noble a heart as e'er the world produced, and is 
 well affec'ed towards your majesty. So I am 
 looking forward to brighter days," 
 
 "Well, we shall see," said the queen, with a 
 doubtful shake of the head. "You are young, 
 De Bleneau, and full of hopes — all that has pass- 
 ed away with me. jNTow let us go. I have or- 
 dered the carriages to wait at the end of the 
 terrace, and we will walk thither : — perhaps it 
 may be the last time £ shall eter see my favour- 
 ite walk ; for who knows if any of us will ever 
 return ?"' 
 
 With these melancholy anticipations, the queen 
 took the arm of Madame de Beaumont^nd, fol- 
 lowed by the rest, led the way to the terrace, 
 from which was to be seen the vast and beauti- 
 ful view extending from St. Germain's over Paris 
 to the country beyond, Uking ia all the wind-
 
 RICHELIEU 177 
 
 ings of the river Seine, with the rich woods 
 through which it flowed. 
 
 The light mists of an autumnal morning still 
 hung about the various dells and slopes, soften- 
 ing, but not obscuring the landscape ; and every 
 now and then the sunbeams would catch upon a 
 tower or a spire in the distant landscape, and 
 create a glittering spot amid the dark brown 
 woods round about. 
 
 It is ever a bright scene, that view from St. 
 Germain, and many have been the royal, and the 
 fair, and the noble, whose feet have trod the 
 terrace of Henry the Fourth j but seldom, full 
 seldom, has there been there a group of greater 
 loveliness or honor than that which then follow- 
 ed Anne of Austria from the palace. The melan- 
 choly which hung over the whole party took from 
 them any wish for farther conversation than a 
 casual comment upon the beauties of the view; 
 and thus they walked on nearly in silence, till 
 j they had approached within a few hundred yards 
 I of the extremity, where they were awaited by 
 the carriages prepared for the queen and her la- 
 dies, together with the attendants of De Ble- 
 nau. 
 
 At that moment the quick clanging step of 
 armed men was heard following, and all with 
 one impulse turned to see who it was that thus 
 seemed to pursue them. 
 
 The party whiclj had excited their attention, 
 consisted of a soldier-like old man, who seemed 
 to have ridden hard, and half a dozen chasseurs 
 of the guard, who followed him at about ten or 
 twelve paces distance. 
 
 " It is the Count de Thiery,'* said De Blenau ; 
 " 1 know him \vell : as good an old soldier as 
 ever lived." 
 
 Notwithstanding De Blenau's commendation, 
 Anne of Austria appeared little satisfied with the 
 count's approach, and continued walkinj on to- 
 
 VOL." 1. 12
 
 17S ^RICHELIt.^. 
 
 wards the carriages with a degree of anxiety in 
 her eye, which speedily communicated feelings 
 of the same kind to her attendants. Pauline, un- 
 acquainted with the intrigues and anxieties of the 
 court, saw from the countenances of all around 
 that something was to be apprehended 5 and mag- 
 nifying the danger from uncertainty in regard to 
 its nature, she instinctively crept close to De 
 Blenau, as certain of finding protection there. 
 
 Judging at once the cause of De Thiery's com- 
 ing, De Blenau drew the arm of Pauline through 
 his, and lingered a step behind, while the rest of 
 the party proceeded. 
 
 " Dear Pauline V said he, in a low but firm tone 
 of voice, *• my own Pauline ! prepare yourself for 
 what is coming ! 1 think you will find that this 
 concerns me. If, so. farewell ! and remember, 
 whatever be my fate, that De Blenau has loved you 
 ever faithfully, and will love you till his last hour — 
 beyond that — God only knows ! but if ever human 
 affection passed beyond tlie tomb, my love for you 
 will endure in another state.'' 
 
 By this time they had reached the steps, at the 
 bottom of wliich the carrijszes were in wailing, and 
 at the same moment tiie long sirides of the Count 
 de Thiery had brought him to thn same spot. 
 
 ••■ Well, Monsieur de T.'iiery !" said Anne of Au- 
 stria, turning sharp round, and speaking in that 
 shrill tone which her voice assumed whenever she 
 was agitated either by fear or anger j your haste im- 
 plies bad news. Does your busFness lie with me ?"' 
 
 •■■ rso, so please your majesty," replied the old 
 soldier -, " no farther than to wish you a fair jour- 
 ney to Chantilly, and to have the pleasure of s?eing 
 your majesty to your carriage.*' 
 
 The queen paused, and regarded the old man for 
 a moment with a steady e\e. wiiile lie looked down 
 upon the ground and played with the point of his 
 gray beard, in no very graceful embarrassment. 
 
 " Very wellJ replied she at length j " you, Mon- 
 sifiur de Thiery. shall hand me to my carriace- J^o,
 
 mCHELIlf. 179 
 
 De Blenau, I shall not need your attendauce. 
 Mount your horse and ride on." 
 
 " Pardon me, your majesty/' said De Thiery, 
 stepping forward with an air of melancholy gravity, 
 but from whichall embarrassment was now banish- 
 ed. " Monsieur de Blenau, "' he continued, " 1 have 
 a most unpleasant task to accomplish: Lam sorry 
 to say you must give me up your sword ; but be as- 
 Burjcd that you render it to a man o[ honor, who will 
 keep it as a precious and invaluable charge, till he 
 can give it back to that hand, which he is convinc- 
 ed will always use it nobly." 
 
 " I foresaw it plainly !" cried the queen, and 
 turned away her head. Pauline clasped her hands 
 and burst into tears : but among the attendants of 
 De Blenau, who during this conversation had one by 
 one mounted the steps of the terrace, there was 
 first a whisper, then a loud murmur, then a shout of 
 indignation, and in a moment a dozen swords were 
 gleaming in the sunshine. 
 
 Old De Thiery laid his hand upon his weapon, 
 but De Blenau stopped him in his purpose. 
 
 "Silence!" cried he in a voice of thunder; 
 " Traitors, put up your swords 1 My good friends," 
 added he, in a gentler tone, as he saw him.self obey- 
 ed, " those swords which have before so well de- 
 fended their master, must never be drawn in a 
 cause that De Blenau could blush to own. Mon- 
 sieur le Compte de Thiery,'' he continued, unbuck- 
 ling his weapon, •' I thank you for the handsome 
 manner in which you have performed a disagreeable 
 duty. 1 do not ask to see the lettre de catchet, 
 which, of course, you hear; for in giving you the 
 sword of an honorable man, I know 1 could not 
 place it in better hands ; and now, having done so, 
 allow me to lead her majesty to her carriage, and I 
 will then follow you whithersoever you may have 
 commands to bear me." 
 
 " Most certainly," replied De Thiery, receiving 
 his sword ; " I wait your own time, and will remain 
 here till you are at leisure."
 
 t$6 RICHELIEtf. 
 
 De Blenau led the queen to the carriage in si- 
 lence, and having handed her in, he kissed the 
 hand she extended to him, begging her to rely up- 
 on his honor and firmness. He next gave his hand 
 to Pauline de Beaumont, down whose cheeks the 
 tears were streaming unrestrained. '• Farewell, 
 dear Pauline! farewell 1' he said. Her sobs pre- 
 vented her answer, but her hand clasped upon hia 
 with a fond and lingering pressure, which spoke 
 more to his heart than the most eloquent adieu. 
 
 Madame de Beaumont came next, and embraced 
 him warmly. " God protect you, my son !" said 
 she, " for your heart is a noble one." 
 
 Mademoiselle de Hanteford followed, greeting 
 De Blenau with a calm cold smile and a graceful 
 bow ; and the rest of the royal sui'.e having placed 
 themselves in other carriages, the cavalcade mov- 
 ed on. De Blenau stood till they were gone. Rais- 
 ing his hat, he bowed with an air of unshaken digni- 
 ty, as the queen passed, and then turning to the 
 terrace, he took the arm of the Count de gThiery, 
 and returned a prisoner to the palace. 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 Which gives an example of " The way ^to keep him." 
 
 " Well, sir," said De Blenau, smiling with feel- 
 ings mingled with melancholy resignation to his 
 fate and proud disdain for his enemies, " imprison- 
 meiit is too common a lot, now-a-days, to be matter 
 of surprise, even where it falls on the most inno- 
 cent. Our poor country, France, seems to have be- 
 come one great labyrinth, with the Bastille in the
 
 RICHELIEU. 181 
 
 centre, and all the roads terminating there. I sup- 
 pose that such is my destination." 
 
 '^ I am sorry to say it is," replied his companion. 
 '' My orders are to carry you thither direct ; but I 
 hope that your sojourn will not be long within its 
 walls. Without doubt you will soon be able to 
 clear yourself." 
 
 " I must first know of what I am accused," re- 
 plied the count. " if they cry in my case, as in 
 that of poor Clement Marot, Prenez le, il a mangi 
 ie lard, 1 shall certainly plead guilty; but I know of 
 no state crime which I have committed, except 
 eating meat on a Friday. — It is as well, perhaps, 
 Monsieur de Thiery," continued he, falling into a 
 graver tone, " to tal%e these things lightly. 1 can- 
 not imagine that the cardinal means me harm ; for 
 he must well know that I have done nothing to de- 
 
 ! serve ill, either from ray king or my country. Pray 
 
 I God his emilience's breast be as clear as mine 1" 
 " Umph !" cried the old soldier, with a meaning 
 
 j, shake of the head, " I should doubt that, De Blenau. 
 
 j You have neither had time nor occasion to get it so 
 choked up as doubtless his must be. But these are 
 bad subjects to talk upon ; though I swear to Heav- 
 en, Sir Count, that when 1 was sent upon this er- 
 rand, I would have gi«f n a thousand livers to have 
 found that you had been wise enough to set out last 
 night for some other place." 
 
 " Innocence makes one incautious," replied De 
 Blenau ; " but I will own, 1 was surprised to find 
 that the business had been put upon you," 
 
 " So was I," rejoined the other. " I was aston- 
 ished, indeed, when I received the lettre de cachet. 
 But a soldier has nothing to do but to obey, Mon- 
 sieur de Blenau. It is true, I one time thought to 
 make an excuse ; but, on reflection, I found that it 
 would do you no good, and that some one might be 
 sent to whom you would less willingly give your 
 sword than to old De Thiery. But here we are at 
 he palace, sir. There is a carriage in waiting ; 
 will you take any refreshment before you go V
 
 182 RICHELIEU, 
 
 The prospect of imprisonmefil for an uncertain 
 period, together with a few little evils, such as tor- 
 ture, and deaih in the perspective, had not greatly 
 increased De Blenau's appetite, and he declined 
 accepting the Count de Thiery's offer, but request- 
 ed that his page might be allowed to accompany 
 him to Paris. The orders of Richelieu, however, 
 were strict in this respect, and De Thiery was 
 obliged to refuse. " But," added he, *• if the boy 
 has wit, he may smuggle himself into the Bastile 
 afterward. Let him wait for a day or two. and then 
 crave of the jailor to see vou. The prison is not 
 kept so close as those on the outside of it imaigine. 
 I nave been in more than once myself to see 
 friends who have been confinod there. There was 
 poor La Forte, who was aflenvard beheaded, and 
 the Chevnlier de Caply. who is in there stiil. 1 
 have seen them both in the Bastille."' 
 
 " You w ill never sec the Chevalier de Caply 
 again," replied De Blenau, shuddering at the re- 
 memberance of his fate. " He died yesterday 
 morning under the torture." 
 
 '• Grand Dieu .'"' exclaimed De Thiery ; '• this 
 cardinal prime minister stands on no ceremonies. 
 Here are live of my friends he has made awav with 
 in six months. There was i|A Forte, whom t men- 
 tioned just now. and Boifs^and De Reineville, 
 and St. Cheron ; and now, vou tell me, Caply too ; 
 ^nd if you should chance to be beheaded, or die 
 under the torture, you will be the sixth." 
 
 '' You are kind in your anticipations, sir,'' replied 
 De Blenau, smiling at the old man's bluntness, yet 
 not particularly enjoying the topic. " But having 
 done nothingtomerit such treatment, I hope 1 shall 
 not be added to your list." 
 
 *• 1 hope not, I liope not!' exclaimed De Thiery, 
 "God forbid! I think, in all probability, you will 
 escape with five or six weeks imprisonment : and 
 what is that V 
 
 " VVhy, no great matter, if considered philoeophi- 
 cally," aaswercd De Blenau, thoughtfully- " And
 
 FICIlbLIBa 18S 
 
 yet, Monsieur de Thiery. liberty is a great thing. 
 The very freedom of walking amid all the beauties 
 of the vast creation, of wandering at our will from 
 one perfecrion to another, is not to be lost without 
 a si^h. B>jt it is not that alone — the sense, the 
 feeling of liberty, is too innately dear to the soul 
 of man to be parted with as a toy." 
 
 While De Bicnau thus spoke, half rcasoninn with 
 himself, half addressiniT his conversation to the old 
 soldier by his side, who, by long service, had been 
 nearly drilled into a machine, and could not, conse- 
 quently enter fully into the feelings of his more 
 youthful companion, the carriage which was to con- 
 vey them to Paris was brought round to the gate of 
 the palace at which they stood. Figure to yourself, 
 my dearly beloved * re ider, a vehicle in which our 
 pood friend, the (iiant Magog, of Guildhall, could 
 nave stood upright ; its long sides bending inwards 
 with a graceful sweep, like the waist of Sir Charles 
 Grandison in his best and stifTest coat ; and then 
 conceive all this mounted upon an interminable 
 perch, connecting the heavy pairs of wheels, which, 
 straggling and far apart, looked like two unfortunate 
 hounds coupled together against their will, and 
 eternally struggling to get away from each other. 
 Such was the cJmise roxdatite which stood at the gate 
 of the palace, ready to convey the prisoner to Paris. 
 
 The preparations that had been made lor De 
 Blenau's journey to Chantilly, now served for this 
 less agreeable expedition ; and the various articles 
 which he conceived would be necessary to his com- 
 fort, were accordingly disposed about the vehicle, 
 whose roomy interior was not likely to suffer from 
 repletion. 
 
 It is sad to say farewell to any thing, and more 
 especially where uncertainty is "^mingled with the 
 adieu. Had it been possible, De Blenau would fain 
 have quitted St. Germain's without encountering 
 the fresh pain of taking leave of his attendants ; but 
 those who had seen his arrest, had by this time 
 communicated the news to those who had remained
 
 164 RIOOTltEO. 
 
 in the town, and they now all pressed round to kiss 
 his hand, and take a last look of their kind-hearted 
 lord, before he was lost to them, as they feared, for 
 ever. There was something affect' ng in the scene, 
 and a glistening moisture rose even in the eye of 
 the old Count de Thiery, while De Blenau, with a 
 kind word to say to each, bade them farewell, one 
 after another, and then sprang into the carriage that 
 was to convey him to a prison. 
 
 The vehicle rolled on for some way in silence, 
 but at length De Blenau said, '• Monsieur de Thie- 
 ry, you must excuse me if I am sonriewhat grave. 
 Even conscious rectitude cannot make such a jour- 
 ney as this very paiatable. And besidei," he add- 
 ed, "1 have today parted with some that are very 
 dear to me.'' 
 
 " 1 saw that, I saw that," answered the old sol- 
 dier. " It was bad enough parting with so many 
 kind hearts as stood round you just now, but that 
 was a worse farewell at the end of the terrace. 
 Now out upon the policy that can make such bright 
 eyes shed such bitter tears. I can hardly get those 
 eyes out of my head, old as it is. — Oh, if I were but 
 forty years younger !■' 
 
 "What then.^' demandad De BlenaU; with a 
 smile. 
 
 *' Why, perhaps I might have ten times more 
 pleasure in lodging you safe in the Bastille than I 
 have now,"' answered De Thiery. " Oh, Monsieur 
 de Blenau, tal^e my word for it, age is the most ter- 
 rible misfortune that can happen to any man j other 
 evils will mend, but this is every day getting 
 worse." 
 
 The conversation between De Blenau and his 
 companion soon dropped, as all conversation must 
 do, unless it be forced, where there exists a great 
 dissimilaritv of ideas and circumstances. It is true, 
 from time to time, Monsieur de Thiery uttered an 
 observation which called for a reply from De Ble- 
 nau 5 but the thoughts which crowded upon the 
 young count were too many, and too overpowering
 
 RfCHELinr. 185 
 
 in their nature to find relief in utterance. The full 
 dangers of his situation, and all the vague and horri- 
 ble probabilities which the future offered, presented 
 themselves nnore forcibly to his mind now that he 
 had leisure to dwell upon them, than ihey had done 
 at first, when all his energies had been called into 
 action} and when, in order to conceal tlieir effect 
 from others, he had been obliged to fly from their 
 consideration himself. 
 
 A thousand little accessory circumstances also 
 kept continually renewing the recollection of his 
 painful situation. When he dropped his hand, as 
 was his custom, to rest it upon the hilt of his sword, 
 his weapon was gone, and he had to remember that 
 he had been disarmed; and if by chance he cast his 
 eyes from the window of the carriage, the passing 
 and repassing of the guards continually reminded 
 him that he was a prisoner. De Blenau was new to 
 misfortune, and consequently the more sensible to 
 its acuteness. Nor did he possess that buoyant 
 spirit with which some men are happily gifted by 
 nature — that sort of carelessness which acts better 
 than philosophy, raising us above the sorrows and 
 uncomforls of existence, and teaching us to bear our 
 misfortunes hy forgetting them as soon as possible. 
 He had too much courage, it is true, to resign him- 
 self to grief for what he could not avoid. He was 
 prepared to encounter the worst that fate could 
 bring , but at the same time he could not turn his 
 thoughts from the contemplation of the future, 
 though it offered nothing but dark instinct shapes j 
 and out of these his imagination formed many hor- 
 rible images, which derived a greater appearance 
 of reality from the known cruelty of Richelieu, in 
 whose power he was, and the many dreadful deeds 
 perpetrated in the place to which he was going. 
 
 Thus passed the hours away as the carriage roll- 
 ed on towards Paris, it may "be vvell supposed that 
 such a vehicle as I have described did not move with 
 any great celerity ; and I much doubt whether the 
 act of parliament place which hackney coaches are
 
 186 RICHELIEU. 
 
 obliged to adhere to, would not have jolted the un- 
 happy chaise roulante limb from limb, if it had been 
 rigorously enforced. But it so happened that the 
 machine itself was the personal property of Mon- 
 sieur de Thiery, who always styled it xine belle voi- 
 titre ; and looking upon it as the most perfect speci- 
 men of the coach-building art, he was mighty cau- 
 tious concerning its progression. This the postil- 
 lion was well aware of, and therefore never ventur- 
 ed upon a greater degree ef speed than might carry 
 them over the space of two miles in the course of 
 an hour 5 but notwithstanding such prudent modera- 
 tion, the head of Monsieur de Thiery would often 
 be protruded from the mindow, whenever an un- 
 friendly rut gave the wheels a jolt, exclaimed loud- 
 ly, •' Holloa ! postillion ! gardes voiis de carser ma 
 belle voiture ;" and sundry other adjurations, which 
 did not serve to increase the rapidity of their pro- 
 gress. 
 
 Such tedious waste of time, together with the 
 curious gazing of the multitude at the state-prison- 
 er, and uncertain calculations as to the future, crea- 
 ted for De Blenau a state of torment to which the 
 Bastille at once would have been relief; so that he 
 soon began most devoutly to wish his companion 
 and the carriage and the postillion all at the devil 
 together for going so slowly. But, however tardily 
 time's wings seem to move, they bear him away 
 from us notwithstanding. Night overtook the trav- 
 ellers when they were about a league from Paris, 
 and the heaviest day De Blenau had ever yet known 
 found its end at last. 
 
 Avoiding the city as much as possible, the car- 
 riage passed round and entered by the Porte St. 
 Antoine ; and the first objects which presented 
 themselves to the eyes of De Blenau. after passing 
 the gates, were the large gloomy towers of the Bas- 
 tille, standing lone and naked in the moonlight, 
 which showed nothing but their dark and irregular 
 forms, strongly contrasted with the light and rip-
 
 RICHELIEU. 187 
 
 pling water that flowed like melted silver in the 
 fosse below. 
 
 One of the guards had ridden on, before they en- 
 tered the city, to announce their approach 5 and as 
 soon as the carriage came up, the outer drawbridge 
 fell with a heavy clang, and the gates of the court 
 opening, admitted them through the dark gloomy 
 porch into that famous prison, so often the scene of 
 horror and of crime. At the same time, two men 
 advancing to the door, held each a lighted torch to 
 the window of the carriage, which, flashing with a 
 red gleam upon the rough stone walls, and gloomy 
 archways on either side, showed plainly to De Ble- 
 nau all the frowning features of the place, rendered 
 doubly horrible by the knowledge of its purpose. 
 
 A moment afterward, a fair, (soft-looking man, 
 dressed in a black velvet pourpoint (whom De Ble- 
 nau discovered to be the governor^, approached the 
 carriage with an official paper in his hand, and light- 
 ed by one of the attendant's torches, read as fol- 
 lows, with that sort of hurried drawl which showed 
 it to be a matter of form : — 
 
 " Monsieur le Comte de Thiery," said he, ''you 
 are commanded by the king to deliver into my 
 hands the body of Claude Count de Blenau, to hold 
 and keep in strict imprisonment, until such time as 
 his majesty's will be known in his regard, or till he 
 be acquitted of the crimes with which he is charg- 
 ed, by a competent tribunal ; and 1 now require you 
 to do the same." 
 
 This being gone through, De Thiery descended 
 from the carriage, followed by the Count De Ble- 
 nau, whom the governor instantly addressed with a 
 profound bow and servile smile. 
 
 "Monsieur de Blenau," said he, " you are wel- 
 come to the Bastille ; and any thing I can do for 
 your accommodation, consistent with my duty, you 
 shall command." 
 
 " 1 hope you will let it be so, Sir Governor,' said 
 old De Thiery 5 for Monsieur De Blenau is my par- 
 ticular friend, and without doubt he will be liberal-
 
 188 RICHELIEU. 
 
 ed in a few days. Now, Monsieur de Blenau," coh- 
 tiiiued he, *• 1 must leave you for the present, but 
 hope soon to see you in another place. You will, 
 no doubt, find several of your friends here ; for we 
 all take it in turn : and indeed, now-a-days, it would 
 be almost accounted a piece of ignorance not to 
 have been in the Bastille once in one's life. So, 
 farewell!' And he enibraced him warmly, whis- 
 pering as he did so, " Make a friend of the gover- 
 nor — gold will do it !'■' 
 
 De Blenau looked after the good old soldier with 
 feelings of regret, as he got into his belle voiture 
 and drove through the archway. Immediately after 
 the drawbridge rose, and the gates closed with a 
 clang, sounding on De Blenaus ears, as if they shut 
 out from him all that was friendly in the world ; and 
 overpowered by a feeling of melancholy desolation, 
 he remained with his eyes fixed in the direction De 
 Thiery had taken, till he was roused by the gover- 
 nor laying his hand upon his arm. " Monsieur de 
 Blenau," aaid he, " will you do me the favour of 
 following me, and 1 will have the honour of show- 
 ing you your apartment." 
 
 De Blenau obeyed in silence, and the governor 
 led the way into the inner court, and thence up the 
 chief staircase to the second story, where he stop- 
 ped at a heavy door plated with iron, and sunk deep 
 in the stone wall, from the appearance of which 
 De Blenau did not argue very favourably of the 
 chambers within. His anticipations, however, were 
 agreeably disappointed, when one of the attendants, 
 who lighted them, pulled aside the bolts, 'and 
 throwing open the door, exposed to his view a large 
 neat room, fitted up with every attention to com- 
 fort, and even some attempt at elegance. This, 
 the governor informed him, was destined for his 
 use while he did the Bastille the honor of making 
 chateau, and had not had lime to arrange it since its 
 last occupant had left them, which was only the 
 it his abode ; and he then went on in the same po- 
 liie strain to apoligize for the furniture being jn some 
 disorder, as the servants had been very busy in the
 
 RICHELIEU. 189 
 
 morning before. So far De Blenau might have im- 
 agined himself in the house of a polite friend, had 
 not the bolts and bars obtruded themselves on hia 
 view wherever he turned, speaking strongly of a 
 prison. 
 
 The end of the governor's speech also was more 
 in accordance with his office : '' My orders, Mon- 
 sieur de Blenau," said he in continuation, " are to 
 pay every attention to your comfort and conveni- 
 ence, but at the same time to have the strictest 
 guard over you. lam therefore obliged to deny 
 you the Liberty of the court, which some of the 
 prisoners enjoy, and 1 must also place a sentinel at 
 your door, i will now go and give orders for the 
 packages which were in the carriage to be brought 
 up here, and will then return immediately to advise 
 with you on what can be done to make your time 
 pass more pleasantly." 
 
 Thus saying, he quitted the apartment, and De 
 Blenau heard the heavy bolts of the door grate into 
 their sockets with a strange feelin;? of reluctance j 
 for though he felt too surely that liberty was gone, 
 yet he would fain have shrunk from those outv/ard 
 marks of captivity which continually forced the 
 recollection of it upon his mind. The polite at- 
 tentions of the governor, however, had not escaped 
 his notice, and his thoughts soon returrked to that 
 officer's conduct. 
 
 •' Can this man," thought he, " continually ac- 
 customed to scenes of blood and horror, be really 
 gentle in his nature, as he seems to show himself? 
 or can it be that he has especial orders to treat 
 me with kindness ? Yet here I am a prisoner, — 
 and for what purpose, unless they intend to employ 
 the most fearful means to draw from me those se- 
 crets which they have failed in obtaining other- 
 wise 1" 
 
 Such was the nature of his first thoughts for a 
 moment or two after the governor had left him j 
 but rousing himself after a little, from reveries 
 which threw no light upon his situation, he began
 
 190 RICHELIEC. 
 
 to examine more closely the apartment which bade 
 fair to be his dwelling for some lime to come. 
 
 It was evidently one of the best in the prison, 
 consisting of two spacious chambers, which occupi- 
 ed the whole breadth of the square tower in the 
 centre of the Bastille. The tirst, which opened 
 from the staircase and communicated with the sec- 
 ond by means of a small door, was conveniently fur- 
 nished in its way, containing, besides a very fair 
 complement of chairs and tables of the most solid 
 manufacture, that happy invention of our ancestors, 
 a corner cupboard, garnished with various articles of 
 plate and porcelain, and a shelf of books, which last 
 De Blenau had no small pleasure in perceiving. 
 
 On one of the tables were various implements for 
 writing, and on another the attendant w ho had light- 
 ed them thither had placed two silver lamps, which, 
 though of an antique fashion, served very well to 
 light the whole extent of the room. Raising one of 
 these, De Blenau proceeded to the inner chamber, 
 which was fitted up as a bedroom, and contained 
 various articles of furniture in a more modern taste 
 than that which decorated the other. But the at- 
 tention of the prisoner was particularly attracted by 
 a heavy iron door near the head of the bed, which, 
 however, as he gladly perceived, possessed bolts on 
 the inside, so as to prevent the approach of any one 
 from without during the night. 
 
 So much of our happiness is dependent on the 
 trifles of personal comfort, that De Blenau, though 
 little caring in general for very delicate entertp.in- 
 ment, nevertheless felt himself more at ease when, 
 on looking round his apartment, he found that at all 
 events it was no dungeon to which he had been con- 
 signed : and from this he drew a favorable augury, 
 flattering himself that no very severe measures 
 would ultimately be pursued towards him, when 
 such care was taken of his temporary accommoda- 
 tion. 
 
 De Blenau had just time to complete the peram- 
 bulation of his. new abode, when the governor re-
 
 KlCHEtlEU. 191 
 
 turned, followed by two of the subordinate minister 
 of the prison, carrying the various articles with 
 which Henry de La Mothe had loaded the belle 
 voiture of Monsieur de Thiery : and as the faithful 
 page Irad taken care to provide fully for his master's 
 comfort, the number of packages was not small. 
 
 As soon as these were properly disposed about 
 the apartment, the governor commanded his satel- 
 lites to withdraw, and remained alone with his pris- 
 oner, who, remembering the last words of the old 
 Count de Thiery, resolved, as far as possible, to gain 
 the good will of one who had it in his power not 
 only to soften or to aggravate the pains of his cap- 
 tivity, but even perhaps to serve him more esssen- 
 tially. De Thiery had recommended gold, all pow- 
 erful gold, as the means to be employed ; but at 
 first De Blenau felt some hesitation as to the pro- 
 priety of offering sordid coin to a man holding so 
 responsible a situation, and no small embarrassment 
 as to the manner. These feelings kept him silent 
 for a moment, during which time the governor re- 
 mained silent also, regarding his prisoner with a 
 polite and affabie smile, as if he expected him to 
 begin the conversation. 
 
 " 1 will try the experiment at all events," thought 
 De Blenau.' ''1 could almost persuade myself that 
 the man expects it." 
 
 liUckily it so happened, that among the baggage 
 which had not been prepared for Chantilly, was 
 comprised a considerable sum of money, besides 
 that which ho carried about him : and now draw- 
 ing forth his purse, the contents of which might 
 amount to about a thousand iivres, he placed it in 
 the hands of the governor. 
 
 *' Lot me beg ycu to accept of this, Monsieur le 
 Gouverncur," said he, *• not as any inducement to 
 serve me contrary to your duty, but as a slight re- 
 muneration for the trouble which my being here 
 must occasion." 
 
 The smooth-.spoken governor neither testified any 
 surprise at this iiroceeding. nor any sort of reluct-
 
 192 RICHELIEU. 
 
 ance to accept what De Blenau proffered. The 
 purse dropped unrejected into his open palm, and it 
 was very evideiit that his future conduct would 
 greatly depend upon the amount of its contents, ac- 
 cording as it was above or below his expectation. 
 
 " Monseigneur," replied he. " you are very good, 
 and seem to understand the trouble which prisoners 
 sometimes give, as well as if you had lived in the 
 Bastille all your life ; and you may depend upon it, as 
 I said before, that every thing shall be done for your 
 accommodation — always supposing it within my 
 duty.'' 
 
 •' I doubt you not, sir," answered De Blenau. who 
 from the moment the governor's fingers had closed 
 upon the purse, could hardly help regarding him as a 
 menial who had taken his wages : •' 1 doubt you not ; 
 and at the present moment I should be glad of sup- 
 per, if such a thing can be procured within your 
 walls." 
 
 '' Most assuredly it can be procured to-night, sir,'' 
 replied the governor ; •' but I am sorry to say. that 
 we have two meager days in the week, at which 
 times neither meat nor wine is allowed by govern- 
 ment, even for my own table : which is a very great 
 and serious grievance, considering the arduous du- 
 ties I am often called upon tojperform." 
 
 " Butof course such things can be procured from 
 without," said De Blenau ; " and on the days you 
 have mentioned. I beg that you would not allow my 
 table to bear witness of any such ragulations : and 
 farther, as J suppose that you, sir, have the command 
 of all this. 1 will thank you to order your purveyor to 
 supply all that is usual for a man of my quality and 
 fortune, for which he shall have immediate pay- 
 ment through your hands." 
 
 Ths tone in which De Blenau spoke was certainly 
 somewhat authoritative for a prisoner; and feeling, 
 as he proceeded, that he might give offence where 
 it was his best interest to conciliate regard, he added 
 though not without pain.— - 
 
 " When you will do me the honour to partake my
 
 RIGHSLIEU. 19$ 
 
 I sny to-morro':v at dinner, that I shall have the 
 pleasure of your company 1" 
 
 The governor readily a-rcopted the invitation, 
 more especiiiily as the ensuing day clianced to be 
 one of those meager days, which he held in most 
 particular abhorrence. And now. having made some 
 farther arrangemenls with De Blenau. he left him, 
 promising to send the meal which he bad demand- 
 ed. 
 
 There is sometimes r\n art in allowing one*s self 
 to be cheated, and De Blenau had at once perceiv- 
 ed that the best way to bind the governor to his in- 
 terest, was, not only t(» suffer patiently, but even to 
 promote every thin/ which could gratify the cupidi- 
 ty of his jailer or liis underlings ; and thus he had 
 laid much stress upon the provision of his table, 
 ibout which he was really indifferent. 
 
 Well contented with the liberality o^ his new 
 prisoner, and praying God most devoutly that the 
 cardinal would spare his life to grace the tnnals of 
 the B;istille lor rrany years, the governor took care 
 to send De Blenau immediately, the supper which 
 had been prepared for himself; an act of generosity, 
 of which few jailers, high or low, woulu have been 
 guilty. 
 
 it matters little how De Blenau relished his meat 5 
 Kuftice it, that the civility and attention he experi- 
 enced, greatly removed his apprehensions for the 
 future, and made him imagine that no serious pro- 
 ceedings were intended against him. In this frame 
 of mind, as soon as the governor's servant's had ta- 
 ken away the remains of his supper, and the bolts 
 were drawn upon him for tlie night, he took a book 
 from the sheif, thinking that his mind was sufficient- 
 ly r.oniposed to permit of his thus occupying it with 
 some more pleasing employment than the useless 
 contemplation of his own fate. But he was mistak- 
 en. He had scarcely read a sertence, before hi* 
 thoughts, flying from the lettered page before his 
 eyes, had again sought out all the strange uncertaia 
 
 TOL. I. 1'*
 
 IW 
 
 niCHKilKUL 
 
 points of his $ituntif>n. and regardipT ihefn under 
 evei> ligt't, strove t«i draw frtuii il.o presr i»t some 
 ])r('s:'i«:e1br the liiliire. 'I'lius hiiiltnt' the Htteinpt 
 ill vain, iie threw ilie boi)k iuisuly In.i.'. Iumk m or- 
 der to ^Mve hiiu^elf up taiiuiy to li.e iii!|i!!se lie 
 toulil not res'.st. But as llie'vr.lutn« lell tmni his 
 hnnJ Hi)oii ilio table, a small piece it wiiiten paper- 
 Hew outlVfm l;et\\cen ti.e ie:i\es, and alter having 
 made a circle ir iv... in the air, lei! liglalv lo ll;e 
 gr<iuiiit. 
 
 De Blenau carelessly ?r>ok it iip.surpos'inL' it some 
 casuil oniiotaiioii ; t)'ut tlie tirst few f rds tliat 
 Cauu't't bi-s eye riveted bis attentinn It begai; — 
 
 '• 'i\) the nest wrercbed tenint of these apart- 
 ments I bequeathed a st-cret. wliiclr. tbougii useless 
 to uiR, may be of service to him. To-day 1 aiu ct-n- 
 demsied. and to-morrow 1 siiall be Unl to li.e tor- 
 lure or to death. I am innocent ; but kr.owmtr that 
 innocence is not satety. 1 have endeavoured lo make 
 my escape, and have by long labour filcil t! rfiigh 
 the ifick of the iron tioor near the Led whicli anjss 
 the sole f.steni.ig by wliicli it was fCcureil fmin 
 williont. L'nlcMunal ly. this door i niv leads to a 
 Sinajl turret str.ircjise communicating with tie inner 
 court ; l)Ut s'.iuuki my siiccosiT in this ah< de of 
 mi.sery be. like me. dei>arred lr"m exercise, and 
 also from ad converse with his feilow-prisoneis, lliis 
 iifformaii^n may be useiul t<t iiim. J'h tile with 
 which! accomnlisiied my endeavour is bchiid the 
 shelf wliicli coiitaiiis these books. Adieu, whoever 
 Ihoti ait Pray lor the soul oC the unha[.>py Cafdy 1" 
 
 As lie rexd.ilie hopes which DeBierau had ten- 
 ceived t'nmi the comforls that were allowed him 
 fleif in air There also, in tlie same a[)artment. and 
 att'^iided wifeli the same care, had the wretched 
 Caply r.ngered away the last hours of an existence 
 about to be terminated by a dreadful and auj'uizing 
 deat . "And such may he niy fate," tl.oii>rl.t Le Ble- 
 lifto with an involuntary shudder, springing from that 
 a&tipalhy which all things living bear lo death. But 
 fne moment after, the blood rusbed to ^is cheek,
 
 aiCHELIEWi 195 
 
 i-eproaching him for yielding to such a TefVmg, 
 llidiigh no one was present to witness its efiects. 
 "Wliutl" thought he, '-I wlio h:ive coiifroiiled 
 death a thousand limes, to tremble at it now 1 How- 
 ever, let me see the truth ofwliut this pMfier te.ls ;" 
 ai.d enlrniig t!ie be<i-room, he appr^.iiched tiie iion 
 door, <>t' which lie easily drew ha k the liolls. (.'ajdy 
 having taking care to grease them wiih oil (roni tiie 
 lamp, sfj that they moved vviiliout creating the 
 sniaiiest noise. 
 
 The moment that these were drawn, the slightest 
 push opened tlie daor. and De B,fnau Leheiii be- 
 fore him a little winding stone staircase, filling tie 
 wlude ol one of the small lowrr^; which contain- 
 ing no cliambers and only servin r as a back acre?s 
 to the apartments in the square lower, had been 
 saf!'er«d in some degree lo go to<lecay. The walls 
 were pierced with loop-holes, which bring enlarg- 
 ed by some of the stones having fdlen away, af- 
 fordi'd sufficient a[)erture for the moonlight tii^ visit 
 the inlerinr with quite entiugh power to permit of 
 De Blenau's descending without other light. Leav- 
 ing the lamp, therefore iii the hod-room, lie pro- 
 ceeded down the steps till they at once opened from 
 the turret into the inner court, where all was moon- 
 light and silence, it being jud^red unnecessary, after 
 the prisoners were locked in for the night, to sta- 
 tion ev n a single sentry in a place which was oth- 
 erwise so well secured. 
 
 Witiiout venturing out of the shadow of the tow- 
 er, De Blenau returned to his apartment, feelinof a 
 degree of satisfrrction in the idea that he should not 
 now be cut off from all communication w th those 
 below in case he should desire it. He no longer 
 felt so absolutely lonely as before, when his situa- 
 tion I. ad appeared almost as much insulated as many 
 of those that the lower diingeoiis of that verv build- 
 ing contiined, who were condemned to drag out the 
 rest of their years in nearly unbroken solitude. 
 
 Having replaced tlie paper iri.the bo^k, for the 
 benefit of any one who might be confined there in 
 future; De Blenau fastened the iron door on the in-
 
 I9e arcHELiLu. 
 
 s'de. and addressing his pmyers to Heaven, he laid 
 himsel down to rest. For some time liis ti-oughts 
 resuiiied their fonijer train, an J coiir>iiued to w.-vn- 
 der over liis siuat on nnd it- probiUle term nation, 
 but nt length his ideas becauie contused, ii era-iry 
 aui perceptii'U gradually lost their activity, whi.e 
 fatigue and tl;e rernniiiinir weakness t'roui l.K laie 
 ^\ounds overcame him, and he sieoL 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 Which show a'netv use for sn oTJ rattle: and gives a good 
 receipt forleaJiiig a man by llie iio»e. 
 
 -S"ow if the render imigined that I WTote the 
 wlioie f f liie twell'th ch^p'er for the f-cle purpose 
 of tilling a cnck-and-a-bu!l s'ory about a country 
 iniikeejjer and a conjuror's tirsi c«)usin, lie was very 
 liiuch ni:st:!ke:i. Let him immedia'.elv tran-p'-rt 
 hinist-lf biCK to the lil'.le village of Mrsnii St. Loup^ 
 and !el h.ini remember the cluirrh. and the oid 
 trees, and the ruined caslle bevon.l, N\ith al! the 
 circiimftances tliereunto npperiaiidi'g; and if any 
 thing tr..^t has since passed lias put the particwlara 
 out <if his miiid. let Jiim reurn to the aforesaid 
 twelfth chapter, and learn it by heart, as a pennance 
 for having forgotten it. But if. 0:1 the coiurary, he 
 rcmenjbers it fully — I will go (m with my stnry. 
 
 It was in lie old Chate^.u of St. Lot p. near the 
 vilige of Mesnil. on a suitrv evening ai out the end 
 of September, that a partv was assendled, who. in 
 point of rank and greatness of design, had seldom 
 beeuequp.lieu wiihin liii^se walls, cvmi v.-hen tliey 
 Were the liabitation of the great r.nd Leantiful of 
 oii;er days. Bur years and centuries had passed 
 since they had beeu eo tenanted. I'he ccurt-yard 
 was fuil cf wetids. aud grass, and tangled shrubs : 
 the ivy creeping over t'ie ruined walls obtruded its
 
 RICnELlETJ. 197 
 
 iona branches through the unglazed windows, and 
 the breaches which the seige of time h:\d eHec;ed 
 ill the sold innsftnry g:ive entrance to Uie wind of 
 uifiht and the wisiiry tempest. 
 
 'J he clinniber that 1i;k1 been chosen fora place of 
 meeiiiig on the present occaj^jpn was one which, 
 m'>re than any other, hud escaped llie hr.nd of deso- 
 lation. The casements, it is true, had l<mg ceased 
 to btitist of glass, and part ot the wall itself iiad giS'- 
 €n wnv, encumbering with its broken frn^ments the 
 farther end of ihe great saloon, as it had once been 
 called. The rest, jiowever, of ihe chamber was in 
 very tolerable repair, and coniained also several 
 pieces of inrniture. consisting ol" more than one 
 rude seat, and a large uncouth table, which evident- 
 ly had never belonged to tiiS castle in its days of 
 Sjdendour. 
 
 At t!ie head of this table sat Gaston the Duke of 
 Orleans, the younger brother of ihe king, leaning 
 his head upon his hand in an aUitude of listless in- 
 difference, and amusii'.g himself by brushing the 
 <^ust which had gathered on ihe board before him. 
 into a thousand lanciful shapes with the feather of 
 a pen — now forming fortifications with lines and 
 parallels, and half-moons and curtain? — and then 
 sweeping t^iem all heedlessly away ; ottering no bad 
 image of the many vast and intricate plans he had 
 eniiajred in. all of whirh he had overthrown alike 
 by Ids caprice and indecision. 
 
 ISear him sat his two great favourites and advis- 
 ers, Montressor and St. Ibal ; the first ot whom was 
 really the inconsiderate fool he seemed ; the sec- 
 ond, though not wit'iout his shar« of folly, conceal- 
 ed deeper plans under Jiis a sumed carelessness 
 These two men, whos* pride was in daring every 
 thing, afle-^ted to consider noihmg in ihe world 
 worth trouble or atlrn'ion. ^ rofessinLf at the same 
 time perfect indifference to danger and uncoinf- rt, 
 and contending that vice and virtue were n erely 
 names, which sig-nified any thing, according to iheir 
 application. Such was the creed of iheir would-fce
 
 193 RICHELIEtr. 
 
 philosophy ; and Montressor lost no opportunity of 
 evincing th it lieeiiiessness of every ihiui serinus 
 vhicti tunned the principal point of his doctrine. 
 In ihe present lOituice he liad produced a couple 
 of dice from his pocket, and was busily enjaire'l in 
 throwing with St. ib;il lor some pieces of gold 
 wiiich lay between them. 
 
 Two in re completed the party assembled in the 
 old ('hO eau of St. I>oup. 'Ihe rirst of these was 
 Cinq Mars : his quick and ardent spi it did not suf- 
 fer liim to join in the frivolous pastimes of the oth- 
 ers, but on the contmry. he kept walking up and 
 dowr the apartm^^nt, as if impatient for the arrival 
 of some one t.xpncted by all 5 ad every now and 
 then., as he turned at the e.xtremi'y of the chamber, 
 he cast a glance upon the weak duke and his vicioua 
 COinpinions, a!m'>st amounting to scorn. 
 
 Beside the master 0} the liorse, and keeping an 
 equal pace, was the celebrated President De Tnou,^ 
 famous for unswerving inteizrity and the niilcl digni- 
 ty of virtuous c urage. His personal appearance, 
 however, corresponded ill with the excellence of 
 his mind ; and his plain features, ill-formed Hgure,, 
 and inrle;iant movements, contMsted stion^ly with 
 the handsome countenance and princely irait of 
 Cinq Mars, as well as the calm pensive expres^ion 
 of his downcast eye, with the wild and rapid glance 
 of liis companion's. 
 
 As the time wore away, the impatience of Cinq 
 Mars visibly increased ; and every two or three 
 minutes, he would stop, and If»ok out f om' one of 
 tho open caKemenfs. and then approaching the talle 
 would take one of the torches, of which there w ere 
 several lighted in the room, and strike it against 
 the wall to increase the fiame. "It is very extra- 
 ordinary ,"' cried he at length, '■ that Fontrailles his 
 not vet arrived." 
 
 '•Oh! no. Cinq Mars.' replied De Thou, "we 
 are a fall hour before the time. Vou were so impa- 
 tient, ray good friend, that you made us all set olf 
 long before it was necessary."
 
 RICHELIEC. 199 
 
 "Why, it is quite dark," said the master of the 
 horse, '■ and Foutiniiles promised to be hf.ro. at 
 nine. — U i;: surely nine, is it not. JVloiuressi-r V 
 
 •• Size ace," said llie yuiiblcr, " quatre a quair.e, 
 St. UmI. li-hail win yel."' 
 
 " Psiiaw !" cried Cinq Mars — ''who will tell me 
 the time ? I wisli we cmdd iiave clucUs made small 
 enough to put in our pocUels." 
 
 '• i will show you what will lell us the hour as 
 well as if we had," ansuere<l De Thuu. '• Look 
 out there in (he west! Do you see what a red light 
 tlie sun still casts upon tiiose heavy masses of cloud 
 that are conii g i-.p ? Now the sun goes down at 
 seven : so you may judge it can scarre be yet."' 
 
 '•Cinque quatre!" cried Montressor, throwing. 
 '' \ iiave If.'St, alter all — Monsieur de 'I'hmi, will you 
 bet rne a thousand crow, s that if is not past eiyht 
 by the village clocU of Mesnil St. Loup'?' 
 
 " No, in<leed 1" replied ilie president; ' I n^i'her 
 ' wish to win your money, Monsieur Montressor, ».or 
 to lose my own. Nur do I see how such a bet could 
 be determined."' 
 
 "Oil I if you do not take the bet, there is no use 
 of inquiring how it mijrht he determined,'^ rejoined 
 Montressor. " Monseigneur," he continued, turn- 
 ing to (he Buke of Orleans, who had just swept 
 nway His last fortification, and was laying out a 
 flower-garden in its place; '-canNOu tell liow in 
 the name of (ortune these chairs and tliis t.;d)le caine 
 liere, wrien all the rest of the plice is as enipty as 
 your highnesses purse ?' 
 
 '• Or as vour head. Montressor,"' answered tlic 
 duke. •' i>ut the truth is. they were the property of 
 poor ol Pcre Le Rouge, who lived for manv years 
 in these ruins, — half-knave, half-m dman. — till they 
 tried and burnt him for a sore; ler down in the wood 
 there at the font ol" the hill. Since then U has he^n 
 called the Sorcerers Grove, and the country people 
 are not lond of passing through 't. which has doubt- 
 less saved the oid conjurer's furniture from being 
 burnt by iirewuud ; lur none of liie old womeu in
 
 200 RICHELILTJ. 
 
 the neighborhood dare come to fetch it, or infallibly 
 it would undergo the same fate as its master.'' 
 
 '• So, that wood is called the Sorcerer's Grove,'r 
 Baid St. Ibal, laughing ;•• that is the reason yout 
 highness brought us round the other way, is it 
 not r 
 
 Gaston of Orleans coloured a good deal at a jest 
 which touched too near one of his prevailing weak- 
 ness ; lor no one was more tinctured with the su- 
 perstition of the day thr.n himself, yet no one was 
 more ashamed of sue!; nedulity, •'TSo, no!" an- 
 swered he } *• I put no faith in Pere Le Rouge and 
 his prophecies. He made too great a mistake in 
 my own case to show himself to me since his pre- 
 dictions have proved false, 1 will answer for him." 
 
 " Why, what did he predict about yiu, monseign- 
 eur?'* abked De Thou, who knew the faith which 
 the duke still placed in astrology. 
 
 " A great deal of nonsenre/' answ^ered the duke, 
 affecting a tone very foreign to his real feelings* 
 " He predicted that I should marry the queen, af:er 
 the death of Louis. ISow, you see, I have married 
 some one else, and theretore his prophecy was fidse. 
 But however, as I said, these chairs belonged to 
 him : where he got them 1 know not — perhaps frrm 
 the devil ; but at all events, I wish he were here to 
 fill one now ; he would be a good companion in 
 our adventures.'"' As he spoke, a bright flash of 
 lightning blazed through the apartment, followed 
 by a loud and rolling peal of thunder, which made 
 the duke start, exclaiming, Jesu ! what a flash '.'' 
 
 '•Vour highness thought it was Pere Le Rouge." 
 saidSt. Ibal ; "but he would most likely come iil 
 at the door, if he did come ; not through the win- 
 dow.' 
 
 Gaston of Orleans heard the jests of his two com- 
 panions without anger; and a moment or two after, 
 Cinq Mars, who stood near one of the dilapidated 
 casements, turned round, exclaiming, 'Haikl I 
 hear the sound of horse's feet: it js Fontrailles at 
 last. Give me a torch: 1 will show him where we 
 ar«."
 
 RICHELIEU. 201 
 
 " If it should be tlie devil now — " said JVIontres- 
 sor, as Cino Mnrs left the room. 
 
 " Or Peie Lo Rouge," added St. Ibal. 
 
 " Or both/' said the Duke of Orleans. 
 
 "Why ibr cunning and mibchief they would 
 scarcely supply the phnce of one Fontraiiies," re- 
 joined St. Jbal. '■ But here comes one or the oth- 
 er, — I suppose it is the same to jour royal higlincss 
 which.'" >• 
 
 " Oh, yes'.-' answered the duke, " they shall all 
 be welcome. iS'olhing like keeping good company; 
 St. Iba!." 
 
 As he spoke. Cinq Mars returned, accompanied 
 by Fontrailles, botli laughing with no small piee. 
 " Wnat makes ye so merry, my lords ?" (xclaiined 
 Mcntresscr3 " a Inuoh is too good a thing to le 
 lost. Has jVIonsieur de Fontrailles encountered 
 his old friend Sallianas by the rf ad-side, or what ?"' 
 
 '• Not so,-' answered Cinq Mars, " he has only 
 br.mbnozled an inkeeper. But come, Fontrailles, 
 let us not lose time : will you read over the nrlicles 
 of alliance to which we are to put our names j and 
 let us determine upon them to-night, for, if we 
 meet frequently in tliis way, we shall become sus- 
 pected ere our design be ripe." 
 
 " Willingly for my part,'' replied Fontrailles, ap- 
 proaching the table, and speaking with some degree 
 of emphasis, hut without immediately deviating in- 
 to declamation. '• There certainly never was a 
 case when speedy decision was more requisite than 
 the present. Every man in this Icingdom, from the 
 king to the peasant, has felt, and dce^ now feel, the 
 evils which we are met to remedy. It is no longer 
 zeal, but necessity, which urges us lo oppose the 
 tyranny of this daring minister. It is no longer 
 patriotism, but self-defence. In such a case, all 
 means are justifiable 3 for when a man (as Richelieu 
 has done) breaks throuph every law, human and di- 
 vine, to serve the ungenerous purpose of his own 
 aggrandizement ; when he sports with the lives of 
 bis fellow creatures with less charity than a wild
 
 202 RICHELIEU. 
 
 beast; are we not hm;nd to consitler liim such, aid 
 to hunt liim to t'lo death for the iipnprai pnferv ?' 
 
 De 'I'Ikhi JrliooU hi-5 l.ea^l. a.-? il' there was t-ome- 
 thii)^ ill tiie imiposition to whicii ho c.ouUI not sub- 
 scribe j bill (-'iiiq Mars at once <rive liis iiiir|u:i!ilied 
 assent. an>l all being seated rouinl ihe table, Fon- 
 traiiles drew Coith soine j»H|)ers. aiul proceeded. 
 
 "Tiiis. then, is our tir-t <:rand object," said he : 
 "to deprive this tyrant, whose ai)nse ol' p;nver not 
 only extends to ojipress the subject, but who even 
 dares, Aviili most monstrous pjesuniplinn. to curb 
 and overrule the royjil authority, nvikiii-r the mon- 
 arch a mere shive to his will, and the monarciv's 
 name l)ut a sJiield behind whicii to shelter his o\vn 
 crimes and iniquities — I s:iy. to df^prive this usurp- 
 ing favourite ofihe means oi draining the treasures, 
 SHcrihcing the h.onnur. ar.d .spilling the blnod of 
 France ; iherf by to free our king from l)ondage, to 
 restore pea:;e and tranquility to c»ur country, and to 
 bring back to our lumies long banished confidence, 
 security, and ease — To tiiis you all agree ?'" 
 
 A general assent foiiowed, and Fontrailles went 
 on 
 
 " Safely to effect our purpose, it is not only ne- 
 cessary to ii?e every energy of our minds, but to ex- 
 ert all the local power wc possess. F.very mem- 
 ber, therefore, of our association, will use all his 
 indiiPiice with those who are attached to him by 
 fivour or connexion, and prepare all his vassals, 
 troops, and retainers, to act in whatsoev- r manner 
 shall hereafter be determined, and will also amass 
 whatever sums he can procure for the general ob- 
 ject. it will also be necessary to concen'rate cer- 
 tain bodies of men on particular points, for ihe pur- 
 pose of seizing on so ..e strong fortified places. .And 
 farther, it will be advisable n:)rri)wly to watch the 
 movements of tlie cardinal, in order to make our« 
 selves masters of his per.^on." 
 
 " But whose authority shall we have for this V 
 demanded De Thouj 'for while he continues
 
 RrCHEUlTJ. 203 
 
 prime minister by the king's consent, we are com- 
 miltingr lijgii trensou to restrain his person-" 
 
 '• We must not be so scrupulous. De 'i'lioii." re- 
 joined Cinq Mnrs 5 '• we nr.iet i'rt'.e his mijesiy from 
 llfose UKigic chiiiiis in wliirli Riclieiieu ha^ so long 
 held his mind, bel'ore we car. expect him to do any 
 thing openly : but I will take it upon me to pri cure 
 his private assent. 1 have sounrled his inclinations 
 already, and am sure of my ground. Bui proceed, 
 Ftmirailies : let us hear what arraniLiements you 
 liave made respecting troops, for we tnust have 
 son;e power to back us, or we shall fail.'" 
 
 •' Well, then," said Fontrailles, '' 1 bring with me 
 the most generous offers from the noble t)nke of 
 Bouillon. They are addressed to you, Cinq Mars, 
 but wore sent open to me. I may as well, there- 
 fore, give their contents at once, and voii can after- 
 ward peruse them at your leisure. The duke liere 
 offers to place his town and principality of Sedan in 
 our hands, as a depot for arrns and munition, and 
 also as a place of retreat and safety, and a rendez- 
 vous for I'.ie assembling of forces. He fart'ier 
 promises, on the very Hrst call, to inarch his victo- 
 rious troops from Italv, when, as he says, every sol- 
 dier will exult in the effort to liberate his country.'' 
 
 " Generously promised of the duke," exclaimed 
 Monlressor, slipping the table with mock entiiusi- 
 asm. " My head to a bunch of Macon grapes, he 
 expects to be prime minister in Richelieu's place.''" 
 
 '•The Duke of Bi'udlon, Monsieur de iVlontres- 
 sor," replied Cinq Mars somewhat wnrmly, *' has 
 the good of his Cftunlry at heart; and is too much a 
 man of honor lo liaibour the ungenerous thought 
 you would attribute to him.'" 
 
 "My dear Cinq Mars, do not be angry," said 
 Montressor. " Don t vou see how much ihe odds 
 were in my favour ? Why, I betted my head to a 
 bunch of grapes, and who do you think would be 
 fool enough lo hazard a full bunch of orapes apainst 
 an empty head? But go on, Fontrailles; where 
 are the iiext troops to corns from V
 
 204 RICHELIEU. 
 
 " From Spain !'' answered Fontrailles, ca'mly ; 
 while at the name of that country, a: open war with 
 France, and for years considereil as iis most dan- 
 gerous enemy, e^ch countenance rnund the table 
 assumed a look of astonishment and disapprobatii n, 
 \vliicli would probably have (la'inled any other lliun 
 the bohl conspirator who named it. 
 
 ' iSn. no I"' exclaimed Gaston of Orleans, as soon 
 as he had recovered breilh. '• ^one of the Spanish 
 CMtho;ic.')n lor me ;"' alluding to the name wliich 
 had been used to stigmatize the assistance that the 
 League had received from Spain during tue civil 
 wars occK^ioned by the accession of Henry IV. to 
 the throne. 'jNo, no I Monsieur de Fontraiiies, 
 this is liiuh treason at once. '" 
 
 St. Ibal was generally supposed, and with much 
 appearance of truth, to have some secret cormex- 
 ion with the Spanish court ; and liaving now recov- 
 ered from the Hrst surprize into which he had been 
 thrown by the bold mention of an alliance with that 
 obnoxious country, he jested at the fears of the tim- 
 id and unsteady duke, well knowing that by such 
 means he was easily governed. •' Death to my 
 soul!" exclaimed he. — 'Your highness calls out 
 against high treason, when it is w hat you have lived 
 upon all your life ! Why. it is meat, drink, and 
 clothing to you. A little treason is as necesssary to 
 your comfort as a dice-box is to Montressor, a Bar- 
 bary horse to Cinq ]Mars. or a bird-net and hawking- 
 glove to tlio king. But, to j^peak seriously, mon-* 
 seigneur " he continued, '• is it not necessary that 
 we should have some fartlier support than that 
 which Monsieur de Buillon promises ? His enthu- 
 siasm miy have deceived him ; — his troops may not 
 be half so well inclined to our cause as he s h.im- 
 seU ; he micht be taken ill ; he might ei'her be ar- 
 rested bv the gout, to which he is subject ; or by 
 tl'.e cardii\al. to whom we all wish he was not sub- 
 ject. .A thousand causes might prevent his giving 
 us the assistance he intends, and then what a use- 
 ful auxiliary would Spain prove. Besides, we do
 
 RIO fili LIEU. 205 
 
 hot call in Spnin to fight against France, but for 
 France. Spain is not an enemy of the coiinlry, but 
 only of the cardinal ; and the moment that man is 
 removed, who lor liis side inlerast and lo render 
 iiimself nece.^sary has carried on a war wh'fcli lias 
 nearly depupulaied the kingdom, a lasting and glo- 
 rious peace will be eslauiished between liie two 
 countries ; and thus v/e shall confer another great 
 benetit on the nation."' 
 
 •• Why, in that point of view, I have no objec- 
 tion," replied the Duke ofOii^ans. '• But do you 
 not think that Louis will disapprove of it?*' 
 
 " We must not let hir.-. k x w it," said Montres- 
 Eor, '-till Richelieu is removed, and then he will be 
 as glad of it as any oiie." 
 
 '• But still,'' rejoined the duke, with more perti- 
 nacity ijim he generally displayed, '' I am not fond 
 of bringing Spanish troops in-o France. WJio can 
 vouch that we shall ever get rid of them ?" 
 
 "Tiialwill 1," answered St. Ibal. " Has your 
 highness fngot what good faith and courtesy the 
 Spanish government has shown you in your exile ; 
 as also the assistance it yielded to your late royal 
 mother ? Besides, we need not call in a large bcdy 
 of troops. What number do you propose, Fcn- 
 trailles V 
 
 '• Tlio olfer of Spain is five thousand," replied 
 Fontrailles ; "with the pronii^e of ten thousand 
 more, shouM we require it. Nothing can be more 
 cpen and noble than the whole proceeding of King 
 I hilip. He leaves it entirely to ourselves wiiat 
 guarantee wc will place in his hands for the safety 
 of his troops.'" 
 
 •' Wf'U, well." said the Duke of Orleans, getting 
 tired olthe subject, '•' 1 iiave no doubt of their good 
 faith. 1 am saiisfied. St. Ibal ; and whatever you 
 thin.k right I v/ill agree to. I leave it all to you 
 and Montressor." 
 
 " Well then," said Fontrailles, hastily, •' that be- 
 ing settled, we will proceed — " 
 
 ' Your pardon," interposed Do Thou, " I must be 
 heard r.ovv — Your schemes tjctend much farlh»r
 
 206 RICTHELIEC. 
 
 than I had an)' iden of— Cinq Mars, I was not in 
 foimed of all iliis — :i;id 1 been so. I never would 
 have co.ne here. 'I'o serve inv coiintry. lo rid lier 
 oi:i minister who. as ! conceive, lias neirly destroy- 
 ed her, Nvhd lias tr.impied l-Taiice un.ler Ins feef, 
 and enthralled her in a blood-stiiincd cliRin.I would 
 to-morrow l.iy mv head upon t!ie block — Fiown not, 
 Monsieur de Fun r ■ es-^Cuiq M.irs, my noMe 
 friend, d.) not look oifen ii-d — but I cuinoi, I will 
 not be a party to the crime into wiiich misiaken 
 zoal is harrying you. Are we r.ot subjects of 
 France ? and is init Franco at war wiih Spain 7 and 
 though we may all wish and pny God ihat this war 
 mny cease, yet to treat or conspire w iih that ht>sti!e 
 kingdom is an act which makes us traitors to our 
 couiury and rebels to our king-. Oid De Thou lias 
 but two things to lose — his life and his honour His 
 life is valueless. He would sacrifice it at once for 
 the least benefit to his rounlry. He would sacrifice 
 it, Cinq Mars, for his frieiidsiiip for you. But his 
 lioniHir must not be sullied •, and as through life he 
 has kept it unstained, so shall it go with him un- 
 stained to his last hour. Were it merely personal 
 d;ingeryou called upon nie to undergo,! would not 
 bestow a thought upon the risk : but my fame, my 
 allegiance, my very salvation are roncerned, and £ 
 will ne.ver give my sanction to a plan which begins 
 by the treason d»!e propo>al of bringing foreign ene- 
 mies into the heart of the land."' 
 
 '•A=! to your salvation, Monsieur le President." 
 Slid Muntressor, •' I'll uadertike to buy that for 
 you for a hundred crowns. You shall have an indul- 
 gence to commit sins ad libitum, in which li^h 
 treason shall be siiecified bv name. Now, though 
 these red-hot heretics of Germany, who seem in- 
 clinsil to bring that fiery place upon earth, which 
 his hojinsss threatens them with in another v/(n-|d, 
 and who are assisted by our Catholic cardinal with 
 money, troops, ammunition, and all the hell-invent- 
 ed implements of war, — though these Protestants, I 
 s.iy, put no trust in the indulgeuciss which thsir
 
 RICHELIEU. 201 
 
 cpostTcy has rendered cheap in the market, yet I 
 am Mire y<<u r.re by far too stanch a tickler for -.ul 
 aiili;iue a!>u>es to donbl tlieir efficary. I suppose, 
 thoiGiDre, wlieu siiv.iliou can be had for a liimdred 
 crowns, gonj Monsieur de 'IMuui. xou can have no 
 fecniple oii that scdre — luiless indeed )ou areas 
 stinav as the dug in ilie f ible."' 
 
 '• Jests are no Hrguincnt-;, Monsienr de Mentres- 
 sor/' replie.l de Ttion, with stern «.'r'.Vity ; '■ yoii 
 have a bad l);ibit, yoiniir sir, of sf'c.fHDg at wiiiit wis- 
 er men revere. Had you any religion yoiirsell", of 
 any kind, or any reason lor having none, v\e miglit 
 pardon your en or. beouise it was founded on prin- 
 ciple. As lor myseil. sir, what I believe, I believe 
 from conviction, and wiiat I do. I do wiili tl;e Hrm 
 persniision that it is right ; witlioui. endeavi-uriii'jr to 
 chnik a bad cause with a show of spiiit, or It) hide 
 my incap icily to defend it witli stnle jukes and pro- 
 fiue radlery. Gentlemen, you act as you jita^e ; 
 for my purl. 1 enter into iu> pla^ by which Spam is 
 to be employed or treated with." 
 
 "I ihai's it dangerous too,'" said the unsteady 
 DuUeof Orleans. 
 
 " 'i'en times more dangerous to attempt any thing 
 without," exclaimed Fontrailles. " Should Ave not 
 be tools to engage in such an euterpri?e without 
 some foreign power lo support us ? We miclit as 
 well go to the Palais ('ardinal, and oh'er our throats 
 to Richelieu at once." 
 
 Wontressor and St. Ibt! both applied ih.emselves 
 to quiet the fears of the duke, and st.on succeeded 
 in removing from his mind any apprelie .s.oii> uu me 
 score of Spain ; but he cnnti^ :ii liotn time lo 
 time lolook suspiciously at Ue T/if u, who liad ris- 
 en from the tible. and \va ; again ^valking iio and 
 down the apartment. At length viiston beckoned 
 to Cinq Mars, and wluspe ed so leihiih^ in his ear. 
 
 '• You do him wrong, m, L"r .'" ex'-laimed Cinq 
 Mar.<, indign intly. " 1 will an ove lor Jiis faitri. De 
 Thou," he continued, " the duke a'>ks your prom- 
 ise not to reveal what you have heard thisi niglit ;
 
 208 RICHtLIEU. 
 
 and though 1 think my friend ought not to be sus- 
 peclpd. 1 will be obliged by your giving it." 
 
 '•Mr^st as'sureflly/' replied" De T^iou ; •' his high- 
 ness nee;l be under no alarm On my honour, in 
 life or in death. I will never betray what I have 
 heard here. But that I miy he;ir as little as possi- 
 ble, I will take one of these torches, and wait for 
 jou in tlie loue- apartm-^nls.'" 
 
 •• Take care that you do not meet with Perc Le 
 Rouge, Monsieur de'Thou." exclaimed St. Ibal as 
 De Thou left them. 
 
 ■ •• Cease your jesting, gentlemen," said Cinq 
 Mnrs ; ' we have had foo much of it already. A 
 mm with the good conscience of my friend De 
 Thou, need not mind whom he meets. For my 
 own part. J am resolved to go on with the business 
 I have uiuiertaken ; I believe I am in the right; and 
 if not. God i'lirgive me, for my inteistions are good." 
 
 The rest of the pi m was soon settled alter the 
 president had left tiie room ; and the treaty which 
 it was proposed to enter into with Spain was read 
 l!uon;ih and approved. The last question which 
 occurred, was the means of conveying a copy of .his 
 treaty to tiie court of King Philip, v^ ithout taking 
 the circuitous route bv the Low ('ountries. ISum- 
 er:)us ciiificulties presented themselves to every 
 plan that was suggested, till Fontrailles, with an nf- 
 iectvi^Mi of great modesty, proposed to be the bear- 
 er himself, if, as he said, they considered his abili- 
 ties equal to the task 
 
 The oiTer was of course ghully ncc?>ptcd. as he 
 well knew it would be : and now being to the ex- 
 tent of hi.^ wish furnished wi!h unlimited powers, 
 and possessed of a document whith put the lives 
 of all his associates in his power. Fontrailles brought 
 the conference to an end : it being agreed that the 
 parti-^s should not meet again till after his return 
 from Spain. 
 
 A few minutes more were spent in seeking cloaks 
 and hats, and extinguishing the torches ; and then 
 descending to the court-yard, they mounted their
 
 RICHELIEB. 299 
 
 horses, which had found shelter in the rained stnb'e 
 of the <>!ri caslle. and set out on tlieir vaiious roa'is. 
 By this lim", llie storm hail clp.ired aw.iy, Ipavinir 
 llie ai • but the purer anil ihe inoie seroue ; fuid tlie 
 bfiijlit iKOOii sliiniiig near I.er ini;ri<lin!i, servo,! to 
 lijht Cinq Mars nnJ D(3 Thou (tn the way towu'ds 
 Paris, while the JJuke of Orleans and his piity bent 
 their steps towards Bourbon, and Fonlrnilies setoff 
 ior Troves to prepare for liis journey to Spain. 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 Intemltil to prove dial kecn-siiilileil politicians are Imt Iniz- 
 ziids allir :il!, and to show liow Phil p the WouiIii;a;i look' a 
 ride ortiliertlirtii usual. 
 
 I wiSTi to Heaven it were possible, in a friie 
 Btory, to i'liow the old Greeks 'rule, and preserve 
 at least unity ot plAce tliroughout. It wou d sa\e a 
 gre it deal of trouble, both to write- and render, if 
 we could make all our characlors come intu one 
 liall, say they say, and have done with it. Bui there 
 is only one place where they could be supposed to 
 meet — lierf)es and heroines, statesman ad conspira- 
 tors, servant and m isTnr. proud and humble^ — the 
 true Procrustes' bod which is inade to tileverv one. 
 However, as before 1 could gel them there, tiie 
 6tory would be done, and the generation passed 
 away, 1 must even violate nil ihi; unities together, 
 ard gallop alter my characters all over the counii-y,_ 
 as I have often sfcn a sliepheid in tiie liandes of 
 Fran<'e, striding here and there upon his l'>'>g stiUs 
 af'er his wiKul and strigirling sheep, and eudenvor 
 ing in vain to l.cep them alT loget'ier. 1 must ask 
 the reader, therefore, to get into the chaise with 
 
 VOL.1. 14
 
 flO RICHELITO. 
 
 me, and set off for chaniilly ; and as we go, I will 
 tell him a few anecdotes jusl to pass the lime. 
 
 It was a common custom wiih Louis fi^e Thir- 
 teenth to spend a part f;f the morning in that large 
 circular piece of ground at Chantiliy, called then, 
 as now, the manege ; while his various hunters, in 
 which he took great delight, were exercised belore 
 him. Here, v.hile the lew gentlemen tliat general- 
 ly accompanied him. stood a step behird, he would 
 lean against one of the pillars that surrr unded the 
 place, and remark, \\ ith the most minute exacti- 
 tude, every horse as it passed him, expressing his 
 approbation to the grooms when any thing gave him 
 saiisfnction. But on the same morning which had 
 witnessed at St. Germain the arrest of De Blenau, 
 something had gone wrong with the king at Chan- 
 tiliy. He was impatient, cross, and itnplacable : 
 and Lord Montague, an English noblemr.n, who was 
 at that time much rihout h'm. remarked in a h>w 
 voice to one of the gentleman in waiting, " His 
 majesty is as peevish as a crossed child, when Cinq 
 Mars is absent."' 
 
 The name of his grand ecuyer, though spoken 
 very low, caught the king'." enr." 
 
 " Do any ol youkuow when Cinq Mars returns ?'• 
 demnnded he. " ^ye never ))roceed well when he 
 is not here. — Look at that man now, how he rides," 
 continued Louis, pointing lo one of the grooms ; 
 '*' would not any one take him for a monkey on 
 horseback ? Do you know wh^re Cinq Mars is 
 gone, J\Ji Lor?'' 
 
 '' I hear, sire,"' replied Lord Montague," that he 
 is gone with Monsieur de Thou to Troves, where 
 he has an estate, about w liich there is seme dispute, 
 which Monsieur de Thou, who is learned in such 
 matters, is to determine.'' 
 
 •' To Troyes !'' excl.inned the king, '• that is a 
 journey of three days — Did not some of you tell me, 
 that Chavigni arrived last nigi,t. while i was hunt- 
 ing V' 
 
 " 1 did so, please your mnjesty,''' replied one of
 
 RICHELIEU 211 
 
 the gentlemen ; " and I hear, moreover, th^t the 
 cardinal hiiuiclf slept at Luzarciies last nij^ht, with 
 the pi.rpose of being here early this morning." 
 
 '' r.'.e cardinal at Liizarches !" said ihe kinjr, a. 
 cloud coining ovrr liis hiow. ^' It is sirange I ha.l 
 not notice — we sh.all scarce have room for Iheni all 
 —1 expect tie queen to-night — and the cardinal 
 and her m^jeity are as fond of each other r.s a hawk 
 and a heron poidet.'' 
 
 L.iuis was evidently puzzled. Now the best way 
 to cuttlie the gordian knot of an embarras, is to run 
 away from it, and let it settle itself. It is sure to 
 get unravelled somehow 5 and by the lime }oi.i 
 come back, a th.ousand to one the .fracas is over. 
 Louis the 'J'hirteenth, who of all men on earlh hated 
 what is called in the A'ulgar tongue a piece of loork, 
 except when l.e made it hin-se'.f, w;is very much in 
 the habit of adopting 'he expedient above mention- 
 ed, anil, indeed, had been somewhat a loser by the 
 experimant. However, it was a habit now. ci n- 
 ■firined by age, and therefore more powerful tiian 
 nature. 'Accordingly, after thinkiiig f<.r a moment 
 about the queen and the cardinal, and their mutual 
 hatred; and their being pent up together in the small 
 spare of Ciiantilly, like two game cocks in a cock- 
 pit} and seeing no end to it wiialevcr, he suddenly 
 burst forth — 
 
 '• Come, messieurs. Til go hunt. Quick ! saddle 
 thediorses I" and casting kingly care (rom his mind, 
 Tio began humming he old air Qne ne suis je uv, 
 Bergerl vvhile_he walked across the manege to- 
 wards the stables. But just at that moment. (^Iia- 
 vigni prescnied liimsell", doffing his hat with all re- 
 specr. to the king, who could not avoid seeing hiin. 
 
 I.ouis was brougtit to bay. but siill he stood his 
 ground. "Ah ! good day, Monsieur de Chavi-jni,'' 
 exclaimed he, moving on towards the stables. 
 " Come in good time to hunt with us. We know 
 you are free of the forest." 
 
 " I humbly thank your majesty," rcflied the 
 «tatesxaani " but I ara attending tho csTduaal."
 
 212 -RrCHELIETP. 
 
 "And why not attend the king, sir ?' Ha T' e.t- 
 elnimeJ Lnuis, liis brmv gatherinc: into a heavy 
 frown. •• It is our will ihat you attend us. sir." 
 
 Chivigni (lid ii«)t olieii commit sucli blunders, but 
 it was not very easy to remember at all limes lopiy 
 those external marks of respect which generally at- 
 tend real pc»wer, to a person wh.o had weakly re- 
 signed his authority into the hands of another : and 
 as the cardinal not only possessed kinjly sway, but 
 maintained kinely state, it sometimes happeie^l that 
 t'le kiri'T himself was treated v ith scanty ceremony. 
 Tills, however, always iiTitated Louis not a little. 
 He cared not for the .«plendour of a throne, he car- 
 ed not even for the luxuries of royalty ;, but of the 
 personal reverence due to his station, he would not 
 bate an iota, and clung to the shadow when he had 
 let the substance pass away. The statesman now 
 hastened to repair his error, and bowing profnundly, 
 he replied, "' Had I not tiiought that in serving the 
 cardinal 1 best served your mnjesty, I should not 
 have ventured on so bold an answer ; but as your 
 mijestv is good enouah to consid^ my pleasure in 
 the chase, and the still greater pleasure of accom- 
 panying you. your invitation will be more than ex- 
 cuse for breaking my appointment with the cardi- 
 nal." 
 
 To bear the burthen of forcing one of the council 
 to break his engagement with the prime minister, 
 and all for so trifling a cause as an accidental hunt- 
 inj partv, wns not in the least what the king wish- 
 ed or intended, and he would very willinglv have 
 excused Chavigni's attendance ; but Chavigni would 
 not be excused. 
 
 The wily statesman well know, that Richeliea 
 had that d'ly a point to carry w th the king of the 
 deepest importance as to the stabilitv of his power. 
 The queen, whom the cardinal had long kept in 
 complete depression, being now the mother of two 
 princes, her influence was increasing in the couii- 
 try to a degree that alarmed the minister for his 
 own sway. It was a principle with Richelieu al-.
 
 mCHELIEU. 2 1 3 
 
 ways to meet an evil in its birth; and seeing plaln- 
 Iv "tliiif, as t!ie kin<T"s health declined — and it was 
 tlien failin,' fast — the pirty of Anne of Austria 
 ^voll!d increase, if he did not take strong me inures 
 to annihilite it — lie rPSi»lved al onco iniuiii her 
 with her liii.s')and, !o deprive her of hf-r chi'dTeii, 
 an i. if r«()ssib'e even to spnd her liack to Spiin. 
 *' And then." thought he. *' after the kin.f's d ath I 
 shall he re'ient. — Heg;Mit ? King! -ay, ami one 
 iiio'C desTotic than ever sat upon th« throne of 
 France. For twenty years tliis youngdanphin must 
 be under my guidance; ami it will he strairje in- 
 deed if I cannot keep him there till my smd l)e 
 run.'' And the proud rn ui who rf^a.soncd thus, 
 knew nnt that even then lie trembled on the verge 
 •of the grave. 
 
 " Aiiisi. (Ji*=ipa(piir? pen sap-rs 
 l)«r3 rajiiiies liieiil.iiis (In leiiips, 
 Nos (lesirs eiiil»i;i3«t'iil <!<■•! ^!;<';, 
 I'.l irons ri'-iviias q'lcdts inslHiis." 
 
 However, the object of his presei»t visit to Chan- 
 liUy was to complete the ruin of the qurnn ; and 
 Chavigiii. who suffered his eyes to be blinded to 
 simple right and wrong by the maxims, of state 
 policy, lent himself eniirely to the cardinal's meas- 
 ure's, little imagining that personal hatred had any 
 share in the motives of the great minister whose 
 steps he folhnved. 
 
 A moment's reflection convinced Chavigni that 
 he mi^jht greatly promote the object in view bv ac- 
 companying tlie king in the present instance. He 
 itnew that in difficult enterprises the most trifling 
 circumstances may be turned to advantage ; and he 
 considered it a grea* thing gained at that moment, 
 to lay Louis under the neceS'ityof oflering some 
 amei'.ds. even f.*r the apparent trifle of making him 
 break his appf>intment with Richelieu. In riiling 
 with the king, he wonid have an opportunity *^ 
 jioting the monarch's stale of mind, which he per- 
 ceived was unusually irritated, and also of prepar- 
 ing the way for those impressions which Richelieu 
 intended to give : and accordingly he avoided with 
 ~| *Oflsummate art any subject which might opea tJio
 
 214 ''KICnELIEU. 
 
 way fm Lonis to withdraw his previous order to 
 accompany him. 
 
 Having alreitiy followed one rnynl hunt somewhat 
 too nii!:ulely, we will not nttemp' totrire ihe pres- 
 ertj only observing thai during the couise ot t!ie 
 d.\y. Cliavi^ni h.id many opporiuiii'ips of (conversing 
 with tlie Ui'ig, and took caie to inform liiin that the 
 campaign in i! .; i\ethe.l:ind< was shov\inj itself 
 niucn a-'ainst ihe arms of France ; that no plan uas 
 formed % the government, wi.ich did not by some 
 means reach the ears of tiie S^)ani3h gpnnrais, and 
 consequently that ail t:ie manosu vies ot' the French 
 troops were unavailing 5 and irom tiiis. hs a natnrat 
 devluction, he inferred, that some one at llie court 
 of France must convey information to tiie enemy ^ 
 miniiling these pleisant matters of liis -ourse, with 
 sundry sage observations resper-ting the inqnity 
 and baSLML'iS of thus betraying France la her ene- 
 mies. 
 
 Louis was exactly in the hum^^ur that tlie states- 
 man could have wished. Peevish ironi the absence 
 of Cinq Mars, and annoyed b) tlie nnjexpeeted coin- 
 ing ot Kicnelisu. he listened wiih indignation to alts 
 Ibat Chavi.;ni told him, of any on& in France con- 
 veying inteiligence to a country wiiich he hated 
 wita the b!iiid«st antipathy. 
 
 Thi', predominant passion in the king's mind had 
 long been his dislike to Spain, but m'>re especially 
 to Piiilip, whom he regarded as a personal enemy i 
 and Chavigni easily dis-^erned, by the way ia which 
 the news lie conveved was r'-ceived. that if tlioy 
 could rast any probable suspicion on ihe queen 
 (and ('havigni really believed her gnilcy.)^ Louis 
 would set no bounds to his anger. But just at the 
 moment he Avas conjratulating hiiJiself upon the 
 probable success of tlieir schemes, a |)art of the 
 storm he had been so busily raising fell unexpect- 
 edly upon liimsrlt". 
 
 '• Well, Monsieu- dc Chavigni," said the king, i 
 after the chase was over, and the royal party were I 
 riding slowly back towards Chantilly, " this hunting I 
 is a figiit noble sport : think you not so, sir V' I
 
 niCHELlEU. 21» 
 
 " In truth I do, sire," replied Chavigni ; " and 
 even your majesty can scurce love it better than 
 myeir." 
 
 " I am glad to hear it, sir," rejoined the kin^, 
 knitting his brows ; •' 'lis a good sign. But one 
 thing I must tell you, which is, that I do not choose 
 my royal forests to be made the haunt of worse 
 beasts than stags and boars — No wolves and tig-^rs, 
 — Do you take me, sir I" 
 
 '• INo, indeed, sire," replied Chavigni, who really 
 did not compreliend the king's meaning, and was 
 almost tempted to believe that he had suddenly 
 gone mad. '■' .Allow me to remind your majesty 
 that wolves are almost extinct in this part of 
 France, and that tigers are altogether beasls cf an- 
 other country." 
 
 " There are beasts of prey in every part of the 
 world," answered the king. '* Whatl mean, sir, is, 
 that rob!)ers and assassins are beginning to frequent 
 our woods ; especially, sir, the wood of Mantes. 
 Was It th:\t. or was it the forest of Lay e. in which 
 tlie young Count de Bleiiau was attacked the other 
 day ? ' 
 
 it wns not easy on ordinary occasions to take 
 Cliavigni by surprise, and he was always prep-red 
 to repel open attack or to parry indirect questions, 
 with that unhesitating boldness, or skilful evasion, 
 the proper npplication of which is but one of the 
 lesser aris of diplomacy 5 but on the present occa- 
 sion, the king's question was not only so unexpect- 
 ed as nearly to overcome his habitual command of 
 countenance, but was also uttered in such a tone as 
 to leave him in doubt whether Louis's suspicion's 
 were directed personally towards himself. He re- 
 plied, however, without hesitation : " I believe it 
 was the wood of Mantes, sire 3 but I am not per- 
 fectly sure." 
 
 '• Vou, of all men, nuj;ht to be v.'ell informed on 
 that point. Monsieur de Chavigni,'' rejoined the 
 king. " since you took care to send a servant to «e« 
 it rightly done."
 
 216 RICRELIEB 
 
 The matter wn? now beyond a doubt, and Cha- 
 Yigri leplieii boldly, •'•Your ninjesty is piea'-eJ lo 
 speak ill riiidles,. which I am really al a loss locom- 
 prelifiitl." 
 
 " Well. well, sir." said Louis, liaslily, '•' it shall be 
 inqu red into, and made |)laiii both to you ;i!.d nie. 
 Any lliii'jf llml is doiio le^nllv must not be ioo sirici- 
 h ni'iircd ; but I wiiinoi see the l;iws brf ken. and 
 iiiuuler aJienipted. even io serve siaie purposes,' 
 
 'J'iiiis soeukino'. the kiiig put his lifirse inio a 
 quitkfr p:icR and Ciiavitjiti loijnwed with his mind 
 5:Ot a I'.lile ri'scniiipi-srd. liitiugli I is CiU!i?en;tiire 
 ofiered iu>t the slightest trace of ( inh.iria>SH!ent. 
 llmv he was lo act. now beranie ilie quesium ; 
 and r»niiins»over iti hist-wn nrkiml all ihe circuni- 
 sUmces coiiuecied willi the attack upon the Count 
 de Bit'nnu. he cnuid see no oilier m eans by 
 wljicli Liiu-s cnuid hnve become acipiaintnl wish 
 hi!i participalion ti.e:e-n. tlnis by xhe. b-qu icity of 
 Philip, the wooilman of Mani*s : and as he cnme 
 to this conclusio:', Chavi^Ei intcrnailv cursed 
 that confident security which had made him re- 
 jf^cx the a.lvice of Lafenvis, wlien '.'^e sharp-wit- 
 led ju !ge had ciuiselled him to arrrst Philip on 
 firsi d scoveririix ihal Im h:td rein:irked the hvery 
 of Isabel and silver nra<>n;r tiie robbers. 
 
 In liie present inslaiico. tl'.e iiriiable and «aii.«u- 
 ally dec ded hnm; ur of the kmg. made him lear 
 that in(pMrips migh' be inslivuied iinnietii;iteiv, 
 whir-h would noi i.nly be dmgerous to hin)-eir per- 
 son dl>, bat miglit probably dveril row- ail tluse 
 pi ins w| icii lie had been lalmurinjr. in coi-ju iciiou 
 with the c^irdiual. t" brinjr lo perfection. Cdcolat- 
 iM'_r rapidly. thereOire, all the conscqueares which 
 mlg't OM!^ue. (■ha\iini resolved at once to have trie 
 woumin placed in such a sitnai.>n as to prevent 
 h m li< m t;ivin_' .nn\ f-rthpr evii'enre <'f what he 
 liiil seen. But fiir ;". < m s!i<)v,in.r any uaiimely 
 ha&te. though he W3s ihe-first lo dism-'sunt in the 
 courtyard to ofFt-r the kis.g his aid in alighting, 
 yet that ceremony performed, he loitered patting
 
 RICHELIEU. 217 
 
 Jiis horse's neck, and giving trifling directions to 
 his giDom. till f-ucli time as Lotiis hud entered th"; 
 paia-e. and Ids liguie ha I ent.eic'd tiie pila-e.and 
 liis ligure liavl hcen seen passini^ tLe window at 
 the i,<'p of t'ne si lircase. Tiia*. mi'inent, lu'wever, 
 Ciiavigni darted inio the chateau and seeking his 
 own a'fjarinients, lie urute an order (or ihe arrest of 
 Piiilip ti.e wncxiinan. nhich wiih ilic s.?m:i des- 
 paicli he (.hired in ihe hands <:f t* o uf his most 
 iievoud cie.i'uri.'s. addmg a Inilet t > t'lC governor 
 «>f ;he li istilie. in wlijcii he bej:>2ed him to trent 
 the |»ii*oMer wiih all kiiHlnos and allow hitu all 
 sons ot" libt^rty AViiliin the pri-on. but on no ac- 
 count to let him escape tli i:e received iio;ice 
 from liim 
 
 We have a'rendv had occasion tn see t'at Clia- 
 vigni was a rnia wht) considered state policy para- 
 nu'Unr. to every other principle 5 and natiiraly not 
 of an un^fonde disposition « r i;;nob!e spirit he l-ad 
 tinf .rtuir.itely he-^n educated in a beliel thit notii- 
 in^ wiiicii was expedient for the statesman couhl 
 he discreiiiiablo to tlr- mm. However, tiie origin 
 al bent of his mind generill fh<)we«l iistdf in some 
 degres. even in Ins mo^t unjustifi ahio actions as 
 the i:round-work of a [i-riuie will still shine 
 t^roiign. and give a cohnir to whatever is paiiit:d 
 al;ove it. In the present instince, as his only ob- 
 ject was to keep the woodman out of ihe way till 
 bu^h lime as the kinjr's nnwonied mood had |)a^sed 
 by, h<.' gave the strictest commands to these who 
 bore lie Older for Piiilips airest. t» nse him with 
 all possible gentleness, and to a^sur^ li's wife and 
 famiiy that no harm was intended 10 Idm. He al- 
 so sent him a purse, to provide for his comfort 'n 
 the [.rison. wliicli he w^-U krew could not be pro- 
 cured wiilmut the potent aid of uold. 
 
 T'e two attendants, accnsioinc^tl to execute cm- 
 mai?d« vvliicli rcqu»ted despatch, set out iii>laritly 
 on their journey, proceetling with ali speed to 
 Beaumont, and thence to Pontoise, where cross- 
 ing the river Oi»e they soon after arrived at Meu-
 
 218 RrCIIELIED. 
 
 Ian : and here a dispute arose concerning the ne- 
 cessity of railing upon two exempts of that ciiy to 
 ai<l in arresting Philip the woodman, tiie one serv- 
 ant arguing that they liad no such orders from their 
 lord, and the oiher replying that liie said Philip 
 inii;ht have twenty companions lor aught they knew, 
 who miirht resist their auliior tv. they not being le- 
 gally entitled lo arrest his mijesty's lieges. Tliis 
 argument was too conclusive lo be refuted ; and 
 they ihc -efore waited at Meulnn till the two ex- 
 empts were ready to accompany them. It being 
 night when they arrived at JMeu!an,and the two ex- 
 empts being engaged in '• potations deep and 
 strong,' drinking long life to the Cardinal de Riche- 
 lieu, and success to the royal prisons of France, 
 some time wns of course spent l)el<:re the party 
 could proceed. However, alter the lapse of a'Kmt 
 an hour, discussed no matter !io\v. they all con- 
 trive! to get into their saddles, and parsing the 
 bridge over the Seine, soon reached the first httle 
 villa-je, whose white houses, conspicuous in the 
 moonlight, seemed, on the dark back ground of the 
 forest, a.s if thev had creot lor protection into the 
 very bosom of the wood ; while it. s-'.veeping round 
 them on every side, appeired in its turn to afford 
 them the Iriendty sheiier that they s( ught. 
 
 .Ml was silence as they passed through the vil- 
 lage, announcing plainly that its sober inhabitants 
 were comfortably dozing away the darkness. Tliis 
 precluded them from asking their way to Philip's 
 dwelling; but (Thavi^ni had been so precise in his 
 dir*".ction. thnt notwithstanding the wine pots of 
 Meulan. the two servants, in a')Out half an hour af- 
 ter having entered the wood, recorrnised the a'jreu- 
 voir and coltn^e. vvitli the loi\g-f(illed oak and piece 
 of broken ground, and all the other ff cetera which 
 entpre'! into the description they had received. 
 
 Tiiere is nothing half so amusing as the bustle 
 witit which little people carry on the trifles that 
 are intrusted to them. They are so important, and 
 60 active^ one would tliiDk that the world's turning
 
 RICHELIftJ. 219 
 
 round upon its axisTJcpended upon them ; while all 
 the mighty business o|' ti.e universe slips by as qui- 
 etiy as if the wf.eels were oiled ; and the govern- 
 meiit «)f' a nnti<»ii is offen decided (A'er a cup of 
 eortec, or tlie la!e of empire;s changed by an extra 
 bottle of Johanrs!»erg. 
 
 Bui In return. Chavigni's two servants, with the 
 two exempts of Meu'.an, were as important and as 
 bu<y -IS emmets when their hill is disturbed — or a 
 sou>secretarle when he opens his tirst despilcli, 
 and receives information of a revolutiou in the isle 
 of Mm — or the fleas in an Italinn bed, when you 
 suddenly light your cmdle to see what the devil is 
 biting you so inlerniilly — or the devil himself in a 
 gale of wind — or anv other little person in a great 
 fiurry about nothing. So having discovereil the 
 cottage, they held a profounil council bef(»re the 
 door, disputing vehemenily as to the mode '>f pro- 
 ceeding. One of the e^enifits proposed to knock 
 at the door, nn I then sndilenly to seize their prison- 
 er as he c.ime to it; but C'havignis servants though 
 som^wliat dipped in the L(;the;in Hood in vvhi^^h the 
 exempts of Moulan had sednced them to bathe, re- 
 nieniberp<l the strict nrders of iheir master, to 
 treat Fhilip with all possible gentleness, and judg- 
 inz that the mole proposed might stirtle hin», and 
 a^ect his nerves, they decided ag:iinst the mo- 
 tion. 
 
 A variety of other propositions were submitted, 
 and rejected by the m ij >rit.v, eacli one lining no- 
 body's suj'ieslion but his own ; till one of the ex- 
 empts, not bearing clearly in nund the subject of 
 discn.ssion, knocked violently at t!ie door. declaring 
 it w;is tiresome l(x stand disputing on their led. and 
 that thf^y could settle how they shon'd gain admis- 
 sion aiter they had got in antl s;it down. 
 
 'J'liis seemed a verv go-td motion, and settled the 
 matter at once ; anil Piiilip, who was in that sound 
 and fearless sleiep which innocence, content, and 
 labour can alone bestow, not exactly answering at 
 first, they all repeated the noise^ not a Uttle ea-
 
 220 RICHELIEIfc 
 
 raged at his want of attention to4)ersonages of such 
 lii^h merit as tliernselves. 
 
 TIk; iiiomfni after, llie wondmnn appeared at 
 the wiiultiw, •.Trill Sfein^' s< nao travellers, as Ise 
 imairiueil, Ise bade lliein uait l;il he iiad lighted 
 a lain;), and he wf'iiid cmiu; to liicm. Aecord- 
 in;jl\ , in a nxirneni or two Philip opened t!:e doc^r, 
 purpos.n'^ e.tiier to jjive tiieui shelter, or to direct 
 them on Uifir way, as they uiiglit requiree but 
 when ihe l;.>ht gleamed upon tuc i)lack dresses 
 of the exempts, and tl.en up«>n ih.e well-known col- 
 ours otisilxl and silver tlie woodinans iieart sa k, 
 and his cheek innitd paJe. and lie Jiad scarcely 
 power to licm in»l their errand. 
 
 '•I will tell \ou all tiial prpsenlly/' replied the 
 principal .servant ollhe two. who, like many anoth- 
 er small man \i\ many another place, ihcsuglit to 
 become 'irre a by much speaking. " First let us 
 come in and rest ourselves j lor as you may judge 
 by our du.-*\v double s, we have ridden far and 
 hard: and alter that I will expoui>d to you. good 
 friend, the cause of our coming, with suiuiry oth- 
 er cur.oas parliculars, which may both entertain 
 anil ailect ym " 
 
 Piiilip sudered them to enter the house, one 
 af;er another, and selling down the lamp, he gaz- 
 ed upon them in silence, his lutm-r at gentle- 
 men in black coats and long straignt swords, as 
 well as those dressed in Isabel and silver, being 
 quite unsj)eakah!e. 
 
 '• \\'ell, Monsirur Philip le Bucheron," .<».nid 
 the Fpnkesmaan, throwing himself into the oaU»*n 
 settle with that sort of percussion of hreall) de- 
 noiing fat.gue : "yon seem friiii.tened. Monsieur 
 Philip; hut. good Monsieur Piiili[>, you hive no 
 cause for fear. We are all your friends, Mon- 
 sieur Piiilip." 
 
 ■ I nin glad to hear, sir." replied the wood- 
 cutter 5 'but may 1 know what you want with 
 me ?■-■ 
 
 " Why, this is the truth, Monsieur Philip," re-
 
 RiCHELlEO. 221 
 
 plied the servant, " it seems that his majesty the 
 king, whom we have just left at Chaiitillv, is 
 very angry abcml sometiiing,— Lord knows whatl 
 anil our noble employer, not to say master, the 
 Count de Ciiavi^^i, having once upon a tune re- 
 ceive! som:! courte>y at your hands, is concern- 
 ed lor your safety, and has therelbre deemed it 
 necessary that you should be kept out ot the 
 way lor a time." 
 
 •'Oh, if that be the case," cried Philip, rub- 
 bing his hands with glaiiness, 'Mhough 1 know not 
 wljy the kings anger should fall on me, I will 
 take myself out of t'lie way directly." 
 
 '•No, no, Monsieur Piiili;), that 'won't do ex- 
 actly," answered the servant. " You do not know 
 how fond my mister is of you ; and so concern- 
 ed is he for your safety, tliat he must be always 
 sure of it, and therefore has given us command 
 to let you stay in the Bastille for a fewda\s" 
 
 At that one word Bastille, Philip's iiiiigimtion 
 set to WArk, and instantly conjured up the image 
 of a huge tower of red copper, somewhat mouldy, 
 standing on t!ie lop of a high mountain, and 
 guarded by seven huge giants with but one eye 
 apiece, and the I'ke nuniuer of Hery dragons with 
 more teeth and claws than would have served a 
 dozen.- If it was not exactly this, it was some- 
 thing very like it 3 for Pliilip, whose travels had 
 never extended a league beyond the wood of 
 Mantes, knevv as much about the Bastille as Saint 
 Augusliu did of Heaven, — so both drew from 
 their own fancy for want of belter materials. 
 
 However, the purse which Chavigni's attendants 
 gave. him in behalf of their master, for they dared 
 not withhold his bounty, however much they 
 might be inclined, greatly allayed tiie feurs of the 
 wooflman. 
 
 There is sometliing won-derfully consolatory in 
 the chink of gold at all tin\es 5 but ni llit; present 
 instance, Philip drew fr jiu it the comf(.ri.ablc con- 
 clusion, that they could not mean him any great
 
 222 RlCHELIEtU 
 
 Jiarm when they sent him money. '' I know not 
 what to think. ' cried he. 
 
 •' Why. tliiiik it is exactly as I tell you/' replied 
 the pervant. '■ and thai t!ie count means yriu uell. 
 Butafleryoa iiave I' ought as much as you like, 
 get ready to come witli us, for we liave no time 
 to spare.'' 
 
 'J'his was the worst part of the whole business. 
 Pliilip had now to lake leave of liis good dame 
 Joan, whic!i, like a well-arranged sermon, consis- 
 ted of three distinct parts ; he had first to wake 
 lier, then to make her compehend, and then to en- 
 dure her lamentation. 
 
 The iirst two were labks of some difficulty, for 
 Joan slept tolerably well — that is to say, you might 
 have fired a cannon at her ear without making her 
 hear — and when she was awake, her understand- 
 ing did not become particularly pellucid for at least 
 an hour after. This on ordinary occasions — but on 
 the present Philip kbourcd hard to make her mind 
 take in tliat lie was arrested and going to the Bas- 
 tille. But finding that her sense were siill some- 
 what obdu-ate. and that she did nothing but rub 
 her exes, and stretch and yawn in his fice, he had 
 recourse to the s;;xiie means morally, which he 
 would have used physically to cleave an oak ; 
 namely, he kept shouting" to her, '' Bastille .' 
 Bastille I Basiiile !" reiterating the word upon her 
 ear, just in the saiue manner that he wou'd have 
 plied the timber with his axe. 
 
 At length she comprehended it all. Her eve 
 glanced from the inner room upon the unwonted 
 gucsis who occupied the other chamber, and then 
 to the dismayed countenance of her husband ; 
 and divining it suddenly, she threw lier arms 
 round ihe athletic form of tlje woodman, burst- 
 ing into a passion of tears, and declaring that he 
 should not leave her. 
 
 Of course, on all such occasions there must 
 follow a very tender scene between husband and 
 Hife, and such there was in the present instance :
 
 RICHELIEU 223 
 
 only Joan, availing herself *f one especial privi- 
 lege of the fair sex, did not fail, between iier 
 bursts of tears and sobs, to rail loudly at the car- 
 dinal, the king, and all belonging to iliem, talking 
 more high treason in fj\e minutes, than would 
 have cost any man an hour to compose ; nor did 
 she spare even the exempts, or tiie two gentlemen 
 in Isabel and silver, but poured forth her indig- 
 nation upon all alike. 
 
 However, as all things must come to an end, 
 60 did this J and Piiilip was carried away amid 
 the vain entreaties his wife at length condescend- 
 ed to use. 
 
 The only difficulty which remained was, howr 
 to mount their prisoner, having all forgot to 
 bring a horse from Meiilan for tiiat purpose ; and 
 Philip, not choosing to facilitate his own remov- 
 al by telling thorn that he had a mule in the 
 stable. 
 
 However it was at length agreed, that one of 
 the exempts should walk to the next tow^n, and 
 that Philip should mount his horse lill another 
 could be obt.utied. As the parly turned avvay 
 from the hut, tlie chief servant, somewhat moved 
 by the unceasing tears of Joan, took upon him 
 to say that he was sure that ("harles the wood- 
 man's son, wlio stood with his mother at the 
 door, would be permitted to see his father in the 
 B.istiile, if they would all agree to say. that they 
 did not know what was become^ of him, in case 
 any impertinent person inquirir.g for him during 
 his absence. 
 
 Tiiis they all consented to, their grief being 
 somewhat moderated by llie prospect of commu- 
 nicating with each other, although separated; 
 and Philip once more having bid his wife and 
 clijlJron adieu, was carried on to a little village, 
 Where a horse being procured for liim. the wlude 
 parry took the road to Marly, and thence proceed- 
 ed to Paris Vr'ith all possible diligence. 
 
 Pay had long dawned before they rsached the
 
 224 RICHELIEU. 
 
 Bastille, and Philip, who was now excessively tired, 
 never l.nving riildeu linlf the way in hi? life. w;is ac- 
 tuallv q;ln(l to arrive at the priso \. u !.i; i, he liad pre- 
 viously conteinplated with sn much horror. 
 
 Here lie was (ielivere.i, wiili x\\e'lMrc da catchH, 
 anil Cliuvigiii'sn"ie,lo t!ie [fovenior j and the serv- 
 ant airniii, ill his own henriiig, recomniPndpd t..at lie 
 should he treateil wifi all ima^Mnahle kindnesa.and 
 allowed every liberty consistent with his safe cus- 
 tody. 
 
 Ail this convrnced the woodcutter, as \ve!l as the 
 conversation he had heard on the road, that Chavig- 
 ni really meant well hy him ; and without any of those 
 more refined feelings, whirh, however they may 
 sometimes open tlie gates of the heart to the purest 
 joys, but tnofifien betray the fortress of the breast to 
 the direst pains, he now felt comparatively sccnre, 
 and gave up at the missy walls and towers of the Bas- 
 tille with awe indeed, but awe not unmingled with 
 admiration. 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 Which shows tliat 'Jiidcms are »iot wiljjoiit iheii t.Korn?. 
 
 This shall be a short chapter I am detej-mined ; 
 because ri is one of the most important in the whole 
 book. 
 
 During the absence o[' the king and Chnvigni in 
 the ciiase. two arrivals hari taken place at Chanlilly 
 very nearly at the same moment. Luckily, ho-.vever, 
 the queen haii just time toaiiaht Irotn her carriage 
 and seek her apaitments beibre tlie Cardinal do
 
 RiciiELiErn. 225 
 
 Ilichelieu entered the court-yard j thus avoiding an 
 interview with her deadly enemy on the very thres- 
 hold — an interview from which she might well have 
 dravMn an inauspicious augury, without even the 
 charge of superstition. 
 
 As soon as Chavigni had (as far as possible) pro- 
 vided for Ills own safety by despatching the order for 
 Philip's arrest, lie proceeded to the apartments of 
 R.ichclieu,and tliere he gave that minister an exact 
 account of all he had hear . observed, and done ; 
 commenting particularly upon the violent and irasci- 
 ble mood of the king, and ihe advantages which 
 miglit be tlicnce derived, i they could turn his an- 
 ger in the direction tint they wished. 
 
 In the mean while Louis proceeded to the apart- 
 ments of the queen — not indeed hurried on by any 
 great atlection for his wife, but desirous of seeing 
 his children, whom he sincerely loved, notwith- 
 standing the unaccountable manner in which he so 
 frequently absented himself from them. 
 
 JNever very attentive to dress, Louis the Thir- 
 teenth, when any thing disturbed or irritated him, 
 neglected entirely the ordinary care of his person. 
 In the present iubtance h.e made no change in his 
 apparel, although the sports in which he had been 
 engaged had not left it in a very fit state to grace a 
 drawjng-roam. Thus, in a pair of immense jack- 
 boots, lAa hat pressed dc-v/n upon his brows, and his 
 whole dress soiied, deranged, and covered with 
 dust, he presented himself in the saloon where Anne 
 of A'.^stria sat surrounded by the young princes and 
 the ladies v.ho had accimpanied her to Chantilly. 
 
 The queen immediately ro.»e to receive her hus- 
 band, and advanced towards him with an air of gen- 
 tle kindness, mixed, however, with some degree of 
 apprehension ; for to her eyes, long accustomed to 
 remark the various changes of his temper, the dis- 
 array of his apparel plainly indicated the irritation 
 ofliis mir:d. 
 
 Louis saluted her but coldly, and without taking
 
 226 nCHfe'llKti- 
 
 off his hat. '' I am glad to see yoa well, mndam/* 
 said lie, anH passed on to the nurse who held in her 
 ariiss i!ie young dauphin. 
 
 T:ie cliiiiJ Ii.kI uoi seen its father fnriome wcpks, 
 and MOW percoivin;^ a rLide-!«'oi»)iig. iil-tiresseii rnan 
 approachiOJ: lia-tily tow nis it, became friglilened, 
 hid its lace on the i:ursc*s shoulder, and burst into 
 tears. 
 
 Tile rage of the king now broke the bounds of 
 common decency. 
 
 '• H.i!"'* esclaimed he, stamping on the ground 
 •with his heavy boot, till the wiiole aparlnient rang : 
 "is it so. roadain ? Do you teach my children al- 
 so to dislike their father / ' 
 
 * No, ray lord, no, ii>.!eed I'' replied Ann-: of Aus- 
 tria. i;j a tone of deep distress, seeing liiis ui.forlu- 
 m-e contrderRs so strangely misconstrued to her 
 disadvantage. " 1 neither ieach the child to dis- 
 like you, nor (iocs he dislike you ; hut you approach- 
 ed Louis hastily, and with your hat finppcd over 
 your eyes, so that lie does not know you. Coji.e 
 hither.' Louis," she coiitinued. taking the dauphin 
 out of the nurse'a a-ms. "It is your father; do 
 not you know him 1 Have I not always told you to 
 love him V 
 
 The dauphin looked at his moih.er, and then at 
 the king j and perfectly old enough to comprehend 
 what she said, he began to recognise his father, and 
 held out his little anus towards him. But Louis 
 turned angrily av.av. 
 
 " A fine lesson of dissimulation T' he exclaimed ; 
 and advanced towards his second son, who then 
 bore the title of Duke of Anjou. "'Ah. my little 
 Piiilip,'" he continued, as the infa't received him 
 with a placid smile ; "you arc not old enough to 
 nave learned any of these arts. You can love \our 
 fatier without being told to show it, like an ape at 
 a puppet-show."' 
 
 At this new attack tiie qu«en burst into tears. 
 
 " Indeed, indeed, my lord," she said, " you wrong 
 me. oh, Louis ! how you might have made m«
 
 RICHELIEU. 22T 
 
 love you once !" and her tears redoubled at the 
 thought of the past. " But I am a wealc fool,'' she 
 contiiiiied, uiping the drops from her eyes, " to 
 feel s<» sensibly what I rio not deserve; at present 
 your majesty does me deep injustice, i liav.: al- 
 ways tauglit both my children to love and respect 
 their fith r. Tha* name is the first word that they 
 learn to pronounce ; ar.d from me they leani to 
 pr<'n< tince it with aH'cciinn. But oh, my liege ! 
 what will ihese dear children think in after years, 
 when they see their father behave to their mother 
 as ynur majesty does towards me?'' 
 
 '"• Pshaw !' exclaimed the IcinT. " let us have no 
 jnore of all this. I hate these scenes of altercation. 
 Fear not, madam ; the time will come when these 
 children will learn to appreciate us both thorough- 
 ly." 
 
 " I hope not, my lord," replied the queen, fer- 
 vently ; " I hope not. From me. at least, they shall 
 never learn all 1 have to complain of in their fath- 
 er." 
 
 Had Anne of Austria reflected, she would have 
 been silent; but it is sometimes difficult to refrain 
 when urged by taunts and unmerited reproach. 
 That excellent vial of water wiiich the lairy be- 
 
 stowed upon the unhappy wife is not always at 
 
 impede the utterance of rejoinders, whic 
 like rejoinders in the coiut of chancery, only serve 
 
 to urge on the strife a degree further, whether they 
 be right or wrong. In tiie present case the king's 
 pale countenance flushed with anger. " Beware, 
 madam, beware I' exclaimed he. "You have al- 
 ready been treated with too much lenity : remem- 
 ber the aflair of Chnlais !" 
 
 " Well, sir 1" replied t!iie queen, raising her head 
 with an air of dignity, ♦• your majesty knows, and 
 feels, and has snid that I am perfectly guiltless of 
 that miserable plot. My lord, my lord ! if you can 
 lay your head upon your pillow conscious of inno- 
 cence like mine, you will sleep well ; my bosom at 
 least is clear."
 
 228 RICHELIE17. 
 
 " See tfiot it be, madam," replied Louis, dartiag^ 
 upon her one of ilioso fiery and terrible glnnccs in 
 which the whole vindictive soul of his Italian moth- 
 fir blazeii forth in his eyes \vith the ^iare of a l.asil- 
 li-k. '• See iliat it be. madam ; for there li.ay come 
 worse cliarj s thauthat a^'ai-ist you. ! ha\e learn- 
 ed from a sure soun-.e that a Spaniard is seeking my 
 overthrow, and a wom.n is plotting my ruin," he 
 continued, repealing the words of tlie astrologer ; 
 " tiiat a prince is scheniing my destruction, and a 
 queen is betraying my trust : so, see that your bos- 
 om be clear, madam." Arid passmg quickly by her, 
 he Lft the apartment exclaimiiig ioua enoiuh for 
 a'l within it to hear, " Where is his eminence of 
 Richelieu ? Some one give him notice that the 
 king desires his presence when he Las leisure."' 
 
 A(ine of Austria clasped her hands in silence and 
 looked up to heaven seemed tor a moment to peti- 
 tion for support under the new afEictions she saw 
 ready to fall upon her, and then v.ichou'. a comment 
 on t:ie painful scene tunl had just passed, returned 
 to her ordinary employments. 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 Co:»t.^iiiii)5 a great m.^f>y {hin55 not more cinious and intrre»l 
 ' iiig liu'.n IriK. 
 
 I.v the old Chfiteau of Chanlilly was a long gal- 
 lery, u l.ich went hy the name of the Covrs mix ccrfs, 
 from the liumber of stags' heads which appeared 
 curiously sculptured upon tl.e frieze. wiM their 
 long Iranchnig horns projecting from the wab. and 
 so Jar exteiided on L- )ih sides as to cross eatli other 
 and form an extraoroinary sort of trellis-vi'ork archi- 
 tiave before they reached the ceinng. 
 
 The windows of this gallery were far apart and
 
 RlCHELirR 229 
 
 tiarrow, admitting but little liglit ipto the interior, 
 which, being (if a dingy stone colour, could hardlj 
 have been rendered cl:rerrtil, -even by Uie brightest 
 sunshine} butv\liich, both frcm the smailness of 
 the windows and the projection of a hifih tower on 
 the otiicr side (if tlie court, was kept in coniinual 
 shadow, except when in llie lr»nges^t days of sum- 
 mer the sun just passed the angle of the opposite 
 building and ilirew a parting gleam through il,e last 
 window, witht'rawn cs quickly as bestow«.L 
 
 But at tl.e ti^r.e I ppe:-'k f. namely, two days after 
 the queen's arrival at Chontilly, no such cheering 
 ray f< und entrance. It seemed, indeed, (j tit place 
 for melancholy imaginings 5 and to sucl: sad purpose 
 had Anno -ol Austria appiied it. For some t;me she 
 had leen standing at one of the windows, leaning 
 on the arm of Madame do Beaumont, and silently 
 gazing with abstracted tlioug'/its upon the open case- 
 «ients of the corridor on the oilier side, when the 
 figures of Richelieu and Chavigni, passing by one of 
 them, in their full robes, caught iiereye; and with- 
 drawing from the conspicuous situation rn which 
 she was |)laced, she remarked to the marchioness 
 «hat s.'ie had seen, and observed that th^y irust be 
 going to the council-chamber. 
 
 Thus began a conversation which soon turned to 
 the k-ing and to his strange conduct, which ever 
 since their arrival had continued in an increasing 
 drain t>f petulance and ill-temper. 
 
 ' Indeed, madam," said the AJarchionessde Beau- 
 mont, ''your majesty's gentleness is misapplied. 
 Far be it from me to urge aught against my King j 
 but there be srnie dispositions which require 10 
 have iheir vehemence olipcked and repelled ; and 
 it is well also for themselves when they meet with 
 one who will oppose them fiimly and l^oldly."' 
 
 " Perha[!s, De Bcr.um<mt/' replied the queen, " if 
 I hoU taken (hat rcsuise many \ears ago. ii might 
 have produced a happy ePect ; but now, alas! it 
 would be in vain ; and God knows whether it would 
 have succeeded even then J"
 
 8^0 RrCHLLlEU: 
 
 As she spoke, the door of the gallery opened, and 
 an officer of the council appeared, notilying the 
 queen that his innjesly the Uirg demanded her pres- 
 ence ill the councd-chaniber. 
 
 Aone of Austria turned to iMadnms de Beaumont 
 with a look of melancholy I'orebodiug. ** More, 
 more, more still to enduse. ' she said : and then 
 added, addressing the officer, '• His majesty's com- 
 mmils shiU bei!st:intly obeyed ; so inform iiini,sir- 
 De Beau no:u, tell M idesnoiselle de Hiuteford that 
 I shall he ghd of her assistance too. You will go 
 wilh tne. of course." 
 
 Mademoiselle de Haut^ford instantly came at the 
 qunen's comni.md, and af proaching her with a sweet 
 aiiJ placid smile, siid a few words of comfort to her 
 royal mistress, in so kind and gentle a manner that 
 the tears rose m the eyes of Anne of Austria. 
 
 " De Hiuteford I" said she, '• 1 f«el a presenti- 
 ment that we shall soon part, and therefore 1 sprak 
 to you now of what I never spoke before. 1 know 
 how much I have to thank you for — I know how 
 much you have rejected for my sake — the love of a 
 king would have fnund few to refuse it. You have 
 done so for my sake, and you will have your re- 
 ward." 
 
 The eloquent blood spread suddenly over -the 
 beautiful countenance of the lady of honour. 
 "Spare me. spare me, your majesty,'' cried she, 
 kissing the hand the queen held out to her. " I 
 thought that secret had been hidden in n^y bosom 
 alone. But oh. let me hope that, even had it not 
 been for my love for your majesty, I could siili 
 have resisted. Yes! yes!" continued she. clasp- 
 ing her hands, and murmuring to herself the name 
 of a higher and holier king, "yes! yes! I could 
 have resisted !' 
 
 The unusual energy with which the beaatiful 
 girl sp >i.e. on all ordinary occasions so colm and 
 imperturbable, showed tne queen hov/ deeply her 
 heart had taken part in that to which she alluded ; 
 and perhaps female curiosity might have led her to
 
 HfLll-LlEU. 2S1 
 
 prolong the theme, though a painful one to both 
 p.irties, liad nt t tlia summons of the king leqaired 
 her immediate altr;!iti-)n. 
 
 As ti'.ey api-.roaclicd ihe council chamber, Mad- 
 ame (!e Beaumont observed llial Ike queen's steps 
 wavf.-ed. 
 
 •' Take courage, madam," said she. " For H<^rtv- 
 en's sike, c;til up spirit to cany you through, what- 
 ever mty occur." 
 
 " Fear not, De Beaumo);t," replied the queen, 
 th')uj!i her ibiie beiraycil ihe apprehension she (elt. 
 
 •' 'I'iiey s!ia!i ste that they caimot friahten me." 
 
 At liiat momeul trie huiisier threw open the door 
 of the councilciiamuer, and the queen with her la- 
 die-! eni^fed, and fojnd them>elvfjs in ihe presence 
 of he kin? and ail his principal ministers. In the 
 centre of liie room, strewed v/it'i various papers and 
 materials lor wriliaj. stood a long table, at the top 
 of which, in a seat slightly raised above rl'.e rest, 
 sit Louis himself (iressed as was usual with him, 
 in a suit of black silk, without any ornament what- 
 ever, except three rows of sugar-loaf buttons of 
 polished jet, — if these could he considered as orna- 
 mental. His hat, indeed, which he -lontinued to 
 xveir, was looped up with a small string of jewels ; 
 and the feather, which fell much on one side, was 
 buttoned wiih a diamond of some value ; but these 
 were the only indicatituis by which his apparel could 
 have been distinguished from that ol some poor 
 avoMe, or grcffier da la coiir. 
 
 Oil the ri'.'ht-hand of the k'ng was placed the Car- 
 dinal de llichelieu, in liis robe ; and on Ihe left, 
 was tiie Chancellor Seguier. Bouthilliers, Chavig- 
 ni, Miz-uin. and other members of the council, fill- 
 ed the rest of the seats around the table ; but at 
 the farther end was a vacant space, in fiont of 
 which thr« queen now presented herself, facing the 
 chair of the king. 
 
 There was an angry spot on Louis's brow, and as 
 Anne of Austria entered, he continued playing with 
 the hilt of his sword, without once raising his eyes
 
 23a KKiiKLlKV. 
 
 towards her. The queen's heart sank, but still she 
 bore an undismayed countenance, while the cardi- 
 nal fixed upon her the full glance of his daik com- 
 manding eyes, and rising from his seat, slightly in- 
 clined his head at her approach. 
 
 The rest of the council rose, and Chavigni turned 
 away his eyes, with an ill-defined sensation of pain 
 and regret; but the mure subtle Mazarin, ever 
 watchful to court good opinion, whether for present 
 or for future purposes, glided quietly round, and 
 placed a chair for her at the table. It was an ac- 
 tion not forgotten in after days. 
 
 A moment's pause ensued. .-\s soon as the queen 
 was seated, Richelieu glanced his eye towards the 
 countenance of the king, as if to inMSa|te him to 
 open the business of the day : but LoCui^ attention 
 was deeply engaged in his sword-not, or at least 
 Beemed to be so, and the cardinal was at length 
 forced to proceed himself. 
 
 " Your majesty's presence has been desired by 
 the king, who is like a God injustice and in equity," 
 said Richelieu, proceeding in that bold and tiguara- 
 tive style, in which all his public addresses were 
 conceived, " in order to enable you to cast off, like 
 a raiment that has been soiled by a fuul touch, the 
 accusations which have been secreily made against 
 you, and to explain some part of your conduct, 
 which, as clouds between the earth, and the sun, 
 have come between yourself and your royal hus- 
 band, iotercepiing the beams of his princely appro, 
 bation. All this your majesty can doubtless do, and 
 the king has permitted the council to hear your 
 exculpation from your own lips, that we may tram- 
 ple under our feet the foul suspicions that appear 
 against you." 
 
 '• Lord Cardinal/' replied the queen, calmly but 
 firmly, '• I wonder at the boldness of your language. 
 Remember, sir, whom it is that you thus presume 
 to address — the wife of your sovereign, sir. who sits 
 there, bound to protect her from insult and from in> 
 jury."
 
 UICHELIEC. 233 
 
 '■ Cease, cease, madam '." cried Louis, breaking 
 silence. " First prove yoiirseil' innocent, and tlien 
 Uee the high lone of innocence, if you will.''" 
 
 "To you, my lord," repi ed tlie queen, "lam 
 ready to answer every thintf, truly and faitlifully as 
 a good wife, a!:d a good subject'5 but not to that 
 audacious vassal, wlio, in rpjiressinii and insulting 
 me, bill d'.fgrades your authority and weakens your 
 power." 
 
 '' Spare your invectives, madam," said the cardi- 
 nal, calmly. " for, if I be not much mistaken, before 
 you leave this chamber, you will be obliged 10 ack- 
 nowledge all^that is coniaiaed in the pnper before 
 you 5 in which case, the bad opinion of your majes- 
 ty would h^as the roar of idle wind, that hurleth 
 not them"neT on shore." 
 
 '• My lord and sovereign," said the queen, ad- 
 dressing Louis, without deigning to notice the car- 
 dinal, '-it seems that some evil is laid to my charge; 
 will you condescend to info.'-m nie of what crime I 
 am accused that now calls your majesty's angf r up- 
 on me ? If loving you too well. — if liMuenting your 
 frequent absence from me. — if gi\ing my whole 
 time and care to your children, be no crimes, tell 
 me mv lord, tell me what I have done." 
 
 " What you have done, madam, is easily told," 
 exclaimed Louis, his eyes flashing hre. " Cive me 
 that p.tper, Lord Cardinal 3 ami passing hastily from 
 article to article of its contents, he continued : 
 "Have you not, contrary to my express command, 
 and the command of the council, corresponded with 
 Philip of Spain ? Have you not played the spy up- 
 on the plans of my government, and caused the 
 defeat of my armies' in Flanders, the losses of the 
 Proieslanls in German,y. the failure of all our 
 schemes in Italy, by the information you have con- 
 veyed ? Have you not written to Don Francisco de 
 Mello, and your cousin the archduke ? Have you 
 not — '' 
 
 " Never, never !" exclaimed the queen, claspkij 
 ber hands, " never, so help me Heaven !*'
 
 234 RICHELIEU. 
 
 " What!'' cried Louis, dashing tlie paper angrily 
 upon llie tab!e. '• Direst thou deny what is ns evi- 
 dent as the sun in ll:e noonday skv ? Beniemher, 
 ni:\dain. tiiul your luiuion, De Blenau, is iii the Bas- 
 tiile.and will sc.on forfeit iiis life upon ihe s- u'ibid, 
 if I. is obstinacy docs not maUe hi-.a die under the 
 question.'- 
 
 'For poor De Blenau's sr;ke, niv lord," replitil 
 the queen. — ' fi)r the sake of as no' lo, and as iiino- 
 cent a man as ever was the victim of tyranny, I will 
 tell you at once, that I have written to Philip of 
 Spaiti — my own dear brother. And who cnn hlaukc 
 inc. my lord, for loving one who has always loved 
 me ? But I knew my duty betier than ever f>nce 
 to mention even the little that 1 kncwg^he |)ublic 
 affairs of tiiis kingdom : and fir ie^s, '^mr majesty, 
 did I pry into secret plans of state policy for the 
 purpose of divulging them. My letters, my lord, 
 were V, holly domestic. I spoke of myself, of my 
 husband, of my children) I spoke as a worn m, a 
 wife, and a m-ithef ; but never, my lord, as a queen 3 
 and never, never as a spy. 
 
 '• As to De Blenau, my lord, let me assure you, 
 that before he undertook to tcrward those letters, 
 he exncled from me a promise, that tliey should 
 never contain any thing which could impeach his 
 honour or his 1' ynlty. This. " y lord, is all my 
 crime, and this is the extent of his." 
 
 There was a de'^ree ofs-impliciiy and truih in the 
 manner of the queen which operated strongly on 
 the mind of Louis. •' But who." said he, ' will 
 vouch that those letters contained nothing treason- 
 able ? We have but your word, madam ; and you 
 well know that we are at war wiUi Spain, and can- 
 not procure a si^ht of tlie originaU." 
 
 '" Lucki'y." replied Anne of Austria, her counte- 
 nancH briy::tening with a ray of hope, '• they have all 
 been ri-ad by one whrm vour majesty yourself re- 
 commended to my friendship. Clara de Hauteford, 
 you have seen them all. Speak ! Tell the king
 
 RICHKLIEU. 235 
 
 the nature of their contents without fear and with- 
 out favour.'' 
 
 iMadernoiselle de Hnut ford advanced fro-n be- 
 hind tlie qufen's rliair ; and tlie king, who, it was 
 genernlly believed, hid once passionately loved her, 
 but had met wiih no return, n<iw tixed h s eyes in- 
 tend upon the ])Tie, be lutil'ul crentiire that, scarce- 
 ly like a being of the earth, glided silently forward 
 and placed herself directly oppo.^ite to him. Clara 
 de Haiiielbrd was d^^volediy attached In the queen. 
 Whether it sprang from t> at sense of duty which in 
 general governed all her actions, or whether it was 
 personal attachment, matters little, as the effect 
 was the same, and she would at no time iiave con- 
 Bidered her life too great a sacrifice to the interest 
 of her mistress. 
 
 She advanced then uefore the council, knowing 
 that the happiness, if not the life of Anne of Aus- 
 tria, might depend upon her answer 5 and clasping 
 her snowy hands together, she raised her eyes to- 
 wards heaven, " So Jielp me God at my utmost 
 need '' she said, with a clear, slow, energetic utter- 
 ance, *• no tine that I have ever seen of her majes- 
 ty's writing — and I believe I have seen almost all 
 •he has written within the last five years — no line 
 that I have seen, ever spoke any thing but the 
 warmest attachment to mv lord the king; nor did 
 any ever contain the slightest allusion to the poli- 
 tics of this kingdom, but were confined entirely to 
 the subject of her domestic life; — nor even then," 
 she continued, dropping her full blue eyes to the 
 countenance of the king, and fixing them there, 
 with a calm, serious, dftermined gaze, which over- 
 powered the glance of the monarch, and made his 
 eyelid fall — •' nor even then did they ever touch 
 upon her domestic sorrows." 
 
 Richelieu saw that the king was moved : he knew 
 also the influence of Ma 'emoiselle de Hau'eford, 
 and he instantly resolved upon crushing her by one 
 of those bold acts of power which he had so often 
 attempted with impunity. Nor had he much hesi-
 
 2S6 BICIILLILIL 
 
 tation in the present instance, knowins: that Louis's 
 superstitious belief in the piec'iv^tions of the astrolo- 
 ger ])f\d pliu;ed the moi.nrch's mind comnletelv tin- 
 der his dominion. " MademoiseKe de Hnulet\>rd," 
 said he, in a stern voire, *• answer nie. Have you 
 seen all the letters that tiie q!:cen has written to 
 her brother Piiilip King of Spain, positively know- 
 ing tiieni to be such ? '" 
 
 •' So please your eminence, I have," replied 
 Mademoiselle de Hauteford. 
 
 " Well tlien," said Richelieu, rising haughtily 
 from his cliair while he spoke, " in so doing you 
 have committed misprision of treason, and are 
 therefore banished from this court a d kin-jdoni for 
 ever; and if within sixteen davs from lliis present 
 you have not removed yourself from the precincts 
 of the realm, you shail be c"onsidered guilty olhigli 
 treason, and arrni:rned as such, inasmuch as, accord- 
 ing to your own confession, you have knowingly 
 and wilfully, after a decree in council against it, 
 concealed and abetteti a correspondence belwren 
 persons within the kingdom of France, and a power 
 declaredly its enemy." 
 
 As the cardinal uttered his sentence in a firm, 
 deep, commanding voice, the king, w ho had at first 
 listened to ;.im with a look of surprise, and perhaps 
 of anger, soon began to feel the habitual supericTi— ' 
 ty of Kichelieu, and shrunk back into himself, de- 
 pressed and overawed : the qneen pressed her 
 hand before her eves ; and Chavigni hnll'-raised him- 
 self, as if to speak, but instantly resumed his seat 
 as his eye met that of tbe cardinal. 
 
 It waa Mademoiselle de Hiuteford alone that 
 heard her cf)ndemnition wit.hont apparent emotion. 
 She merely bowed her head wifi a look cf the most 
 perfect resicnaliop. '• Vour eminence's will shall 
 be ol)«vcd.'' s!.e replied, "and niav a gracious God 
 protect my innocent mistress I" Thus sa^in£, she 
 again took her place behind the queen's chair, with 
 hardly a change of countenance — always pale, per-
 
 KlCHKLlEn. 8S7 
 
 haps her faee was a little paler, but it was scarcely 
 perceptible. 
 
 'And now/' contliiued Richelieu, in the same 
 proud manner, ass-uining at once that power which 
 he in reality possessed, — "and now let us proceed 
 to the origiiii;d matter, from which we have been 
 di>=^r'ed to sweep away a butleiHy. Your mnjesry 
 co!Uei?es yourself guilty of treason, in correspond- 
 ing with the enemies of the kingdom. 1 hold in 
 my hand a paper to tliat effecl, or something very 
 similar, all drawn Worn irrefragable evidence upon 
 the subject. This you may as well sign, and on 
 that condition no further notice fchall be taken of 
 the alfair: but the matter shall be forgotten as an 
 error in judgment.*' 
 
 " 1 have 7iot cf nfessed myself guilty of treason, 
 arrogant prelate," leplied the cpieen, " and 1 have 
 not corresponded with Philip of Spain as an enemy 
 of France, but as my own brotiier. Nor vvil! 1, 
 while 1 have life, sign a paper so filled with false- 
 hoods as any one must be that comes from )our 
 hand." 
 
 " Your majesty sees;' said Richelieu, turni g to 
 the king, from whom ihe faint sparks of ene-'^y he 
 had l:;tely shown were n(tw entirely gone. " Is 
 there any medium to be kept with a pcrfion so con- 
 victed of error, and so obstinate in the wrong ? 
 And is such a person fit to educate the children of 
 France 1 Ycnr mnjesty has promised that the dau- 
 phin and the Duke of Anjou shall be given into my 
 charge." 
 
 " I have," said the weak monarch, "and I will 
 keep my promise." 
 
 " JNever ! never ! ' cried the queen, vehemently ; 
 '•■ never, while Anne of Austria lives ! Oh, my U rcll' 
 she exclaimed, advancing, and casting; herself at the 
 feet of the king with all the overpowering energy 
 of maternal love; " co.sjder tiiat I am their moth- 
 er ! Rob me not of my only hope. — rob me not of 
 those dear children who have smiled and cheered 
 me through nil my eorrows. Oh, Louis I if you
 
 38 ftt;J!r':i,lL-G. 
 
 have the feelings of a father, if you have the feel- 
 ings of a man, spare me tiiis I"' 
 
 The kituj turned away his head, and Richelieu, 
 f 1 <ling behind tlie llirone, placed liiinself at the 
 queen's side. " Sign the paper." said he, in a low 
 deep tone ; " sign the paper, and they shall not be 
 tiken from you.'' 
 
 "Anything! any tiling! tut leave me my chil- 
 dren !'■ exclaimed the queen, taking the pen he of- 
 fered her. " Have I your promise V 
 
 " You have,"' replied he, decidedly. " They shall 
 not be taken from you." 
 
 •' Well, then !' said Ann of Austria, receiving the 
 paper, " I will sign it; but I call Heaven to wit 
 ness that I am innocent ; and you, gentlemen of the 
 council, to see that I sign a })aper, the contents of 
 which 1 know not, and p:irt ot which is certainly 
 false." Thus saying, with a rapid hand she wrota 
 her name at the boilt^m of the page, threw down 
 tl;e pen, -.nd quilled tl.e .Tparunt.nt. 
 
 The queen walked blowly, ar.d in silence, to the 
 apartments allotled to her use, without giving way 
 to the various pniniul feci.ngs tiiat struggled in her 
 bosom ; but once arrived witliin the shelter of her 
 own saloon, she sank into a chair, and burst into a 
 flood of tears. Madem< i^elle de Hauteford, who 
 stood beside her enueav! uretl in vain for some time 
 to calm her agitation, but at length succeeded in a 
 degree. 
 
 '^ Oh, Clara !" said the queen, " you have ruined 
 your.self for my sake." 
 
 " I hope, madam," replied the young lady, " that 
 1 have done my duty, whicii were enough in itself 
 to reconcile me to my fate ; but if 1 could suppose 
 that I have served your mnjesty, I should be more 
 than rewarded for any tiling i may undergo." 
 
 " You h.'ive served mc most deeply on tliis and 
 every occasion," answered the queen; '* and the 
 time may come, when the affection of Anne of 
 Austria will not be what it is now, — the destruciioa 
 of all that po66e«8 iu But why comes Mademoiselle
 
 RICiiELIKU 239 
 
 de Beaumont in such haste ?"' she continueil, as 
 Pauline, vvl;o hat! bpen abser;t in tl^e garJens cf the 
 palnro, and unconscious of ail tiial liad lately jiass- 
 td, entered t' e saloua w ilh hurry and an^iely in 
 her cnuntcuance. 
 
 *•■ Ple:;se your majesty/' said Pauline, and then 
 suddenly slopi.ed, seeing that the queen had been 
 weeping. ''Pioceed, proceed ! wild r<;se." t^aid 
 Anne tf Austria! •• ihey are but tears — drops that 
 signiiy nuthii g " 
 
 *• As I was vv-alk-nsr in the gardens but now," con- 
 tinued Pauline, " a li'ule peasant boy came up to 
 me, and asked if I could brng him to speech of 
 your majesty. I was surprised at his request, and 
 auked Ir.ni what was his business ; \% hen he told n^e 
 that he brought you a letter ironi the Bastille. 
 This seemed .so imporlnnt that I made hold to take 
 him into the palace by the private gate, and con- 
 cealed him in my apartments, till 1 iiad informed 
 you ofit all.'' 
 
 "You did riaht, Pauline, you did r'ght," replied 
 the queen. " it must surely be news from De Ble- 
 nau. Brinir the boy liitlier directly — not by the 
 anteroom, but by the inner apartments. You, 
 Clara, station Laporls at the top of the staircase, to 
 see that no one approaches." 
 
 Pauline flew to execute the qu^^en's commands, 
 and in a fjw minutes a clatter was heard in the in- 
 ner chamDer, not at all unlike the Jioise produced 
 by that most unfoitunale animal a cat, when some 
 mischievous boys adorn her feet with walnut-shells. 
 
 The moment after, the door opened, and Paulino 
 appeared leading in a hne curly-headed boy of about 
 ten years old. He was dressed in hodden gray, 
 with a bro:;d leathern belt round his waist, in which 
 appeared a small axe and a kiiife, while his feet dis- 
 playing no stockings, but with the skin ianned to 
 the colour of Pvu^sia leather, were thrust itito a 
 pair of unwieldy sabots, or wooden shoes, which had 
 caused the clatter aforesaid. 
 
 " Tike off his aabots, take off his sabots," cried
 
 240 RlCriHLItU. 
 
 the queen, putting her hands to her care. *• Thev 
 will a!nnn the whole house." 
 
 " Dar,i.c Old !'' cried the boy, slipping his feet out 
 of their incumbrances. •' J'ai voiis oiiblie, ct vcus 
 aitssi, r.iadcmoiuUc,' t'.:rning to Pauline, who. anx- 
 ious lo liearof De Bleniu. wi.uid have let him come 
 in if he had been shod like a liorse. 
 
 The little messenger now paused for a moment, 
 tlieii having cianced liis eye over the ladies at the 
 otiier end of the r<-fui, rs if to ascertain to which 
 he was to deliver his credentials, advajiced straight 
 to the queen, nnd tailing down upon both his knees, 
 tendered her a sealed packet. 
 
 *• Well, my boy," said Anne of Austria, taking the 
 letter, " whom does this come from 1 ' 
 
 '• iMy father, the v.oodman of Mantes/' replied 
 the boy, " told me to give it into the queen's own 
 hand ; and when I had done so. to return straight to 
 him and not to wait, tor fear of being discovereii." 
 
 " .\nd how do ycu know that 1 atn the queen ?' 
 Rslcd Anne of Austrii, who too often suffcjred her 
 mind to* be distracted from matters of grave import- 
 ance by trifling objects of amusement. '• That lady 
 is the queen,-' she continued, pointing to Madame 
 de Beaumont, and plaviag upon the boy's simplici- 
 ty. 
 
 '■ Xo, r.o,*' said Charles, the woodman's son, 
 "she stand.s and you sit 5 and besides, you told them 
 to take olf my sabots, as if you were used to order 
 all about you. ' 
 
 " Well," rejoined t!ic queen, "you are right, nny 
 boy; go back to your father, and as a token that 
 you have given the letter to the queen, carry him 
 bick that ring;'' and she took a jewel from her fin- 
 ger, and put It into t!ie boy's hand. '•'Mademois- 
 elle de Beamont," she continue:, '• will you give 
 this hoy into the charge of Laporte, bidding him 
 take him from the palace by the most private way, 
 and not to leave him till he is safe out of Chantil- 
 ly." 
 
 Accoiriing to Anne of Austria's command, Pau-
 
 RICHELTEU 241 
 
 line conducted Charles to the head of the staircase, 
 at which had l)ren stationed Lnporte, the confilen- 
 tial sfrvarit of t!:e queen, keeping watch to give no- 
 tice of ,iny one's anproach. To Jiim she delivered 
 her ch.iree with the proper directums, and then re- 
 Uiriie'i to the salonn. not a little anxious to learn 
 t1»e cntents of De Blennu's letter. I will not try 
 to explain he^ Fensntions. Let those who have been 
 pirted from some oi.e that »hev love, vvlio have been 
 an\i<us for his safely and terrilird f"r his danper, 
 who have v\aifpd in foar and ajoiiy for tidin<»s long 
 delaved — let them call up all that they felt, and 
 tinL'ing it wiih that shade of ronnnce. which m-ght 
 be expected in the mind ofayonnsr. feeling imag- 
 inative Lan'jueiiocian uirl of 1643, they will l-.ave 
 some'hing like a picture of Pauline's sensations, 
 without my helpini^ them a bit. 
 
 ''Come hither, my wild rose," snid the queen, aa 
 she saw her en'er. •' Here is a letter from Be B!e- 
 nau. full of sad news indeed. His situation is peril- 
 ous in the extrem » ; and though I am the cause of 
 all, I do not know how to aid him." 
 
 Pauline turned pale, but cast down her eyes, and 
 remained without ypeakin?. 
 
 " Surely, Pauline.'' sai • the queen, misinterpret- 
 ing her silence, *' after the explanaiinns I gave you 
 poine days ago you can have no farther doubt of 
 De Bienau's copdurt ?"' 
 
 '• Oh, no. indeed ! madam," replied Pauline, vc'^'e- 
 mently, " and now tiiat I feel and know- how very 
 wrong those suspicions were, I vould fnin do some- 
 thing to atone for having formed them.-' 
 
 " Thou canst do noth'ng, my poor flower,'' said 
 the queen, with a melancholy smile " However, 
 read that letter, and thou wilt see tliat something 
 must soon be done to save liim, or his fite is seal- 
 ed. De B'.enau must be in^'ormed that I have ack- 
 nowledged writing to my brother, and all tlie par- 
 ticulirs connected therewith j for well I know that 
 Richelieu will not be contented with my confess- 
 
 vot.i. 16
 
 VIS RXCHEIICIL 
 
 ion, bat will attempt lo wring something glore frem 
 him, even by the pdne forte tt dure.'' 
 
 Pauline read, and re-read the letter, and each 
 tirae she did so the colour came and went in her 
 cheek, and at every sentence she raised l>er large 
 dnrk eyes to the queen, as it" inquiring wliat r ouid 
 be done for him. Each of the queen's ladies waa 
 silent for a tinie. and then each proposed some plan, 
 which was quickly discussed and rejected, as cith- 
 er too dangerons, or totally impracticable. One 
 proposed to bribe the governor of tlie Bastille to con- 
 vey a letter to De Blenau, but that was soon reject- 
 ed : another proposed to send Laporte, the queen'* 
 valet-de-chambre, to try and gaiji admittance ; but 
 Laporte had once been confined there himself, and 
 was well known to all the officers of the prison ; 
 and another mentioned Seguin Anne of Austria's 
 surgeon J but he also was not only too well known, 
 but it appeared, from what De Blenau had inftrmed 
 the queen of his conference with Richelieu, that 
 the very words of the message, which hnd been 
 seat by'himon tlie night of the young count's en- 
 counter with the robbers, had been communicated 
 lo the cardinal ; and the whole party forgot that 
 Louise, the sonbrette, had been present when it was 
 delivered. 
 
 In the meanwhile, Pauline remained profoundly 
 silent, occupied by many a bitter reflection, vvlijlea 
 thousand confused sciiemes flitted across her mind, 
 like bubbles floating on a stream, and breaking as 
 soon as they were looked upon. At lengiii, how- 
 ever, she started, as if some more feasible plan pre- 
 sented itself to her thoughts — " I will go '.'exclaim- 
 ed she, — ' Please your nir.jesty, 1 will go.'' 
 
 •' You, Pauline !" said the queen, '• you, ray poor 
 girl ! You know not the difficulties of such an un- 
 dertaking. What say you, iNladame de Beaumont ?" 
 
 " That I am pleased, madam, to see my child 
 show forth the spirit of her race," replied the mar- 
 chioaesuB. '• Nor do I doubt of ber success i far
 
 RICHELIEU. 24J. 
 
 Burc I <im Pauline would not propose a project 
 
 which had no good foundation." 
 
 '• Then say how you intend to mnnage it," said 
 the qucfu, witli iittje fai:h in the prac?ical>ility of 
 P.miinc's proposal. " 1 d^ubt nie miich, my sweet 
 girl, iliey will never let y« u into the Bastille. 
 Ti.eir lieaits are as hard as the stones of the prison 
 tliat tfiey keep, and they will give you no ingress 
 fur love i/fjour bripht e^es." 
 
 '• 1 do not intend to make that a plea," replied 
 Pauline, suiijnig in youthful confidence; "but I 
 will borrow one of my maid's dresses, and doubt- 
 Ipos shall look as like a soubrcUe as any one. Claude 
 direct^^^ us, here, to ask at the gate for Philip the 
 woodman of Mantes. Now he will most likely be 
 able to procure me admission ; and if n' t, I can but 
 give the messa;ie to him and be sent away again." 
 
 " Oh, no, no !'' cried the queen, " give no mes- 
 sages but in the last extremity. How do we know 
 that ihis woodman might not betray us, and raise 
 j Richelieu's suspicions still nu^re ? If you can see 
 De B!cnau, well — i will give you a letter for him ; 
 but if not, only tell the wondman to inform nim, 
 that 1 1: ave confessed all. tf that reach the tyrant's 
 
 !; ears, it can do no harm. Your undertaking is bold, 
 Pauline : think you your courageWill hold out V 
 Tiie boundar-es between emuhuion and jealousy 
 i' are very frail, and AJadame fin Beauni' at, who re- 
 >,i! garded the services which Mademoiselle de Haule- 
 
 II ford had rendered the queen with some degree of 
 j envy, now answered for herdaughter's courage with 
 I more coniidence than perhaps she felt But Pau- 
 i line's plan yet required great arrangement, even to 
 jgive it the probability of success. With a thou- 
 .)' sand- eves ci ntinually upon iheir actions, it was no 
 i^iVery easy matter even to quitChantilly without call- 
 ' ing down that observation and inquiry which would 
 have been fatal to their project. 
 
 To obviate this difficulty, however, it was agreed 
 that Pauline should accompany Mademoiselle d^ 
 ttautefbrd, whose s«D.tancfi of tianiabmant r«quirW
 
 |44 ItlCHELIEt^. 
 
 iier ;nimediare presence in Paris, for the arrange^ 
 menl of her affairp. On their arrival in ibat city, 
 the two- ladies were to take up their al.'ode with the 
 old Marchioness Ue Serecy,- one of the queen-'s- 
 m:>£t devoted adherents, and to determine their fu- 
 ture proceedings by the inforntatiun they received 
 upon the sp 't; 
 
 The grenlftst rapidity, however, was necessary ta 
 any hope of success, and neither Paaiine n«.r Made- 
 moiselle de-Hauteford lost any time in tiieir prepar- 
 ations. The queen's letterto De Bienau was soon- 
 viritten. Pauline borrowed from lier maid Louise, 
 the full dress of a Languedoc peasant, provided her- 
 self wi h a c»nsiderable sum of money, that no- 
 mean* mi;.ht l.e left untried, and having taken leave 
 of her n.o'.her, whi se bold counsels tended to raise 
 her sidfits ai'd uphold her repolutinn. slie placed 
 herself in tie c/ua'dc roitZflTiie beside Madeinoiselle 
 de Hantefofd. bwvyed up with youthful conhdenco- 
 and enthusiasm. 
 
 It wag rather an anxious- moment, however, as^ 
 they passed the gates of the p»lace, which by some 
 accident were shut. Tiiis caused a momentary de- 
 lay, and several of the card+nal's guard (for Hiche- 
 lieu assumed that of a body-guard among other- 
 marks of royalty) gathered'around the vehicle with 
 the idle curi»>s'ty of an unemployed soldiery. Pau- 
 line's heart beat .fast, but the moment after she waa 
 relieved by the appearance of the old concierge, or: 
 porter, who threw open t -e gates, and the caniage 
 rolled out witlioot any question being asked. H^r- 
 mind, however, w^s not wholly relieved till ihey 
 were completely free of the town of Chantilly, and' 
 till the carriage slowly mounting the first little hill/ 
 took a slight turn to avoid a steeper ascent, show-- 
 ing them the towers of the chateau and the course ■ 
 of the road they had already passed, without any 
 human form that could afford'subject for alarm. 
 
 Pauline, Beeing that they were not followed, gave 
 herself up to meditations of the future, firnaly be- 
 li«ving^ that Ui«ir departure had entirely eic^ed tbo::
 
 ^ICHELIET^ t45 
 
 -bbflervations of the cardinal. This, "hcrtvever, wat 
 .not the case. He had been eark informed tliat one 
 of the queen's carriages was in preparation to carry 
 some of the. ladies oriionnr to Paris ; Irut conclud- 
 ing that it was nothing more than the ^fTcct of that 
 sentence of banishment vhtch he lad himself pro- 
 nounced against Madem<'isL'lle de Hauiefurd, he 
 •«nfl'ered Pauline and her companion to depart with- 
 out in-quiry or obstruction : although s«>rne of the 
 •many lo<ilsnf Ids power had shut the pa!ti'"e gates, 
 as if L'v accident, till his decision was known. 
 
 As the carriage rolled on. and Pauline reflected 
 in silence upon tlie task she had imderiaken. the 
 bright colouring of tite moment's entiiUS'asm faded 
 away ; the mists in which hope had conceuled the 
 rrotks and precipices around iier path no lon;.er in- 
 tercepted her view, and the whole difhctillies and 
 dangers to which she exposed herself, presented 
 themselves one afer another to her sight. But the 
 <orjgina: motives still remained in full force. Her 
 ^e*"]) romantic attachment to De Blenati. her sense 
 'of duty to the q;ip<3n, and that gene osity «if | urpose 
 ■iivhich would have led her at any time to ris-k her 
 life to ^ave the innocent — much n»ore the innocent 
 and loved — of tlfese nothing c<tuld deorive her; and 
 these kept up her resolution, although the very in- 
 terest which her heart took in tlie success of her 
 •endeavour, madehermaszrdfy the dangers, and trem- 
 ble at the thought of failure.
 
 140 RICHELIEU. 
 
 CHAPTER XrX. 
 
 Which short'3 whil (hey did wuh De BItn.iu in the BaslilTe, 
 and wlui he hiinseir did lo 'el out o( h. 
 
 As n young meujhrr of what is technically cnlled 
 the lower /<Oi»--e, or otherwise the House of Com- 
 mons, when lirst he uoes down after his elecljon lo 
 take the oaths and liis seat, his heart Ruiterjn^ both 
 v.-t I pride and limidiiy. most conscienUously re- 
 solves to be independent in all his opinions, and de- 
 termines heroiciiliy t^* have no party : so had I, 
 whc:; ■ t.'iitered upon tiie arduous duties of <riving 
 this wurk to th' pii!)lic in its present foiui, deter- 
 mined lier.'i<:a!ly to have no hero; but to do equal 
 justice to all the several characters, and let each 
 readr-r find a hero for himself. 
 
 However, pursuing the course of the above-men- 
 tioned young n;ember (.f the Commoiis House of 
 Parliament, who soon begii»s to perceive, that it i* 
 as Pi-y to eat ovsters and brown sUi^ar, as to vote 
 witli a parly to v\hom he h:>s a n:»tural antipathy; 
 or for the needle to fly from the magnet as for 
 him to keep aloof from that fiction to wiiich indi- 
 vidual iiiteresls. long-indulged habits, and early 
 prejudices atta'^h hiin; so, 1 soon began to find 
 that mv own feel n-jji? more panicularly inclining 
 me to the Count de Blenau. I unconscion>l>. made 
 Iiim the hero of my tale, dilated on his history, 
 enlarged upon his chamcer. quitted him witii re- 
 gret, and returned to /dm ^^ith pleasure. 
 
 At presciit, however, the course ol my tale natu- 
 rally conducts me once more to the gloomy wnllg 
 of the Bistille, to give some account of the cir- 
 curnstnnces whic'i led to the latter events < f the 
 last cliapter; an I consequently 1 feel no hesitation 
 in once more !a';i!ig up the history of my hero. 
 
 The sleep of the Count de Blenau was fully aa 
 Bound within the Bastiile as it ever had been in hi»
 
 RICHELIEU 247 
 
 own hotel at St. Germain : nor was it till th^ day 
 was risen high that he awoke, on the first morn- 
 ing after his imprisonment. 
 
 It was some moments before he could remember 
 his precise situation, so profound had been his sleep. 
 But the unpleasant parts of our fate soon recall 
 themselves to our senses, though we may forget 
 them for a lime ; and the narrow windows, the 
 iron door, and the untapestried walls, speedily 
 brought back to De Blenau's recollection many a 
 painful particular, to which sleep had given a tem- 
 porary oblivion. 
 
 On rising, he missed in some degree the attend- 
 ance to which he was accustomed; but neverthe- 
 less he contrived to get through the business of the 
 toilet without much difficulty ; although no page 
 was ready at his call, no groom prepared to adjust 
 every part of his apparel. He then proceeded into 
 the outer chamber, which he mentally termed his 
 Saloon, and would willingly have ordered his break- 
 fast, but his apartments afforded no means of com- 
 niunicntint: with those below, except by the iron 
 door already mentioned ; the secret of which was 
 nf too great importance to be lost upon so trifling 
 an occasion. 
 
 j\n remedy presented itself but patience, and 
 pr-iceeding to the window, which opened at will to 
 admit the air, but which was strongly secured on 
 the outside with massy iron bars, he endeavoured 
 to amuse the time by looking into the court below, 
 in which he muld occasionally catch a glimpse of 
 some of his fellow-prisoners, appearins? and disap- 
 pearin^T. ns they sometimes emerged into the open 
 space within his sight, and sometimes retired into 
 the part which the ihickne^'s of the walls in which 
 the window was placed, liid from bis view. 
 
 TI.ey were now apparently tatting their morn- 
 ing's walk, and enjoying the privilege of c-nvcrsing 
 with each other— a privilege which De Blenau be- 
 gan to value more nighly than ever he had done. 
 Among those that ht~b«hcld were many whoi^ ba
 
 248 RICHEIlEtf. 
 
 recognised, as having either known them personal- 
 ly, or hav ng seen ihein at the court, or with the 
 army J ami ilie suanje assemblage of all (Mfferent 
 parties whicli met his eye in the court yard of the 
 Ba^tUle, fully cor.vinced him. thnt umier tlie ad- 
 ministration of a man who lived in constiint fear 
 tlint liis ill-gotten power would be snatched from 
 him, safety was to be found in no tenets and in no 
 stTtion. 
 
 Here he beheld some that had been of the party 
 ^lary de Mecicis, and some who had been the 
 avowed Ib'.lowers of Richelieu himself; s<Mne tiiat 
 i' e minister su-pected of being too much favoured 
 by the king, and some, as in his own case, v. ho Ijad 
 been attached to the queen. One he saw who was 
 supposed !o hnve favored the Huguenots in France, 
 and one that had assisted the Catholic -arty in Ger- 
 many. 
 
 ♦* Well," thought De Blmau, " I nm hut one out 
 of the many, and whatever plan 1 i»ad pursued, 
 most probably 1 should have f"und my way here 
 somehow. VVealth muJ infiuence, in despotic gOY- 
 ernments, aie generally like ihc plumes of tie os- 
 trich, which often cause her to be bunted down, 
 bu' will not help her to fly." 
 
 \Vhi!e pn-Ta/'i'd in such reflectiors. De Blenau 
 heard the b'. Its of the door undrawn, and the pov- 
 ernor of the prison entered, followed by his servant 
 loaded will) ti e various requisites for so suhstin- 
 tial a meal as a breakfast of that period. De Ble- 
 nau and the governor saluted each other with every 
 outward form of civility ; and the c('Unf, perceiv- 
 ing that his ciistodifr still linirered afier the ser- 
 vant had di-^posed the various articles upcn the ta- 
 ble and h.id taken his departure, lucl^ily remember- 
 ed that this wa^one ofiiie Jcvrs rr.aip-es i-C which 
 he had henfv!, and invited his companion to partake 
 of his m<^rning meal. The L'overnor agreed '<-. the 
 proposal saixs ^eremonie , and having done ample 
 wsdce to the jdish of stewed partridges, which 
 Conned th« principal ornament «f the table he
 
 KICHELIETJ. 2^ 
 
 himself finished a bottle of the celebrated wine of 
 Suresnes, wliich is one of the things now lost to 
 the bo7is vivanls of Pat is. 
 
 De Bleiiim was not so much importuned by hun- 
 ger as U) envy the j^ovcrnor llie very large share he 
 appropriated <f the viands before him 5 and lie had 
 pleutv of It^isnre to reniarii, that his companion 
 perforined his feats of mastication uilli a wonder- 
 ful dcgiee of velocity. But the governor hnd a 
 reason for thus wisiiin'g to hurry, what was to him 
 a very agreeable occupation, to its conclusion ; for 
 lie had scarcely poured out tlie last goblet of his 
 wine,. and was slill wiping and folding up his case- 
 knife (whif^h. by the wnVj was the constant com- 
 panion of high and low in those days, and the 
 only implement they had for cutting their food), 
 when the door opened, and a servant anpr:ired, 
 giving the govrrnor a significant nod, which was 
 ansv^ered I'V a sign of the snme kind. 
 
 Upon ihis Ihe man retired, and the door Ijeing 
 clo.-^ed, the well-tilled official turned to De Ble- 
 naii, — " I did not tell you before. Monsieur le 
 Compte." snid he. ''for fear of taking aw,ay your 
 appeii'e ; but we have had a mcssajie this morning 
 from Monsieur Lafemas. — you have heard of Mon- 
 sieur Lafenia?, doubtless ?— importing that he would 
 Boon be here tfi put some questions to you. JNow, 
 Moi'sieur De Klenau, you are a trentleman for 
 whom I have a great regard, and I \vill give you a 
 hint which may be of service to you. If in the 
 examination which you are about to undergo, tliere 
 be any questi(ins to which you do not find it con- 
 venient to rci.lv, do not refuse tn ajiswerthem. but 
 speak always in such a n)anner as to bear t\%o in- 
 terpretations, bv which n-.eans I have known n>any 
 a prisotter avoid tiie torture, and sometimes go on 
 from cxamiiiaricn to examination, till tiiey gave 
 him his lih-ertv iVom pure weariness." 
 
 De Blena;i b:wed, already de:.ermined as to the 
 course he should pursue. "When do you e;cpect 
 this worthy judge ?" he demanded. "1 am per.
 
 250 BICHElIETi 
 
 fectly unconcerned as to his comin?. let mp assure 
 you, thoush I feel obliged by your consideration 
 for m\* appetite.' 
 
 "He is here now. sir," replied the governor ; 
 '•'we had better, if you please, join him in thn audi- 
 enre-f all. That servant came to announce his 
 afrivni.'' 
 
 " I wi!! follow yon instantly," replied the count; 
 upon which the governor rose and opened the 
 door. 
 
 The moment De Blenau had passed out. the 
 guard, who had been stitioned at the hend of the 
 stairs, followed at the distance of a couple of 
 pa^es, while the <ioverp.or led the wa}'. In this 
 order ihev proceeded to the inner court, which 
 they hnd to pass before they could reach the audi- 
 ence-chaniher. This open space was still filled 
 by the prisoners. whr>, glad of the little liberty al- 
 lowed thf-tn, seldom retired to their cells, except 
 wheii ohlieed hv the regulations of the prison. 
 The moment De Blenau appeared in the court, 
 there was a slight stir among its tenants, and the 
 questir>n of. •' Who is he 1 who is he ?" circulated 
 rapidlv amon^ them. 
 
 " It is ll.e Cnunt de Bl^nnu. by St. Louis !"' ex- 
 clairasd a deep voice, which De Blennu remem- 
 bercil to have henrd somewhere before ; but, 
 though on looking round he siw several persons 
 that he knew, he could not fi.K upon any one in par- 
 ticular ns the one who ha'l spoken. 
 
 He had not time, however, for more than a mo- 
 mentarv glance, and wns obliged to pass on to the 
 door of the audieicvhal!, which opened into a lit- 
 tle oT-row pas a^e leading from the court. Here 
 Da BInnau paused for an instant to collect his 
 t''oui't>, and then followed the governor, who 
 bad alreidv entered. 
 
 The audlence-hill of the Bastille was a large 
 oblong chamber, dimly lighted by two high Goth- 
 ic windows, which looked into the outer court. 
 
 The scanty gleam of daylight which would have
 
 RlCnELIEU. 251 
 
 thus entered, had the space been open, was imped- 
 ed by llic dust and dirt of many a century, and by 
 thelliick crost-ing of tlie Icicien fMiueucrk, while 
 its progress into the ha:l itself was al^'o firlhcF 
 obstructed by several Iicavy coruinns vvhicli sup- 
 ported llie high p<>inte<l asches of tlic roof 
 
 Tins roof, the ai)ar!inciit having l<een ftriginally 
 intended for tlie clianel. wouUl iiave aiiordod a re- 
 lief to the dulhipss of the rest by i'.s beauliiul pro- 
 porlions. aiid the hiijhly hnisiied trarery witii wl.ich 
 it was adorned, liadtlie eye been able to reach it j 
 but the rays, vv..ieh from ihe causes above men- 
 tioned were barely enough to illuminate tlie lower 
 part of the hall, were lost before they could attain 
 Its height, leaving it in that profound obscurity, 
 which cist a double gloon> upon the space below. 
 
 The pavement of this melancholy hall was damp 
 and decayed, mmy of the stones having strayed 
 from tl»eir I'.id of mortar aiid become vngrant about 
 the apartment; and ihe fumifure, if it might be so 
 called, far from liiling it. served only to show its 
 size and emptiness. At the fartl^erextr^iity was a 
 Jong t ible, at the end uf which, in a chair somewlial 
 elevated, sat the Judge Lafemas, wiih a clerk ;•.! a 
 desk below him, and two or three exempts staad- 
 ing round about. 
 
 JNear fee end next De Blenau was another chair, 
 xwhich he concoiv: d to be placed for his uro ; wiii'c 
 between two of l!ie pill.)r>\ sifting on a curious ma- 
 chine, the use of which De Blenau at once suspec- 
 ted, appeared an ill-favoured muscular old min, 
 whose lowering brow and donrgednes;s of aspect 
 seemed to speak of many a rufhles.'i deed. 
 
 As tlie count entered, the door closed after him 
 with a loud clang 5 and advancing to the tabic, he 
 took liis seat in the vacnnt clinir, wliile the gover- 
 nor i'lneed himself at a little disiancG bv.-Uvec^n him 
 and the judge, 
 
 "Well, MonsietJr de Blenau," said Lafemas, in 
 that sweet mild tone which he always assumed 
 when not irritated by the taunts of Chavigui, " This
 
 252 RICHilLIElJ, 
 
 is the last place where I could have wished to meCi 
 a nobleman whose aenernl character has alwavs 
 engaged ray most afTectionate esteem." 
 
 De Bieniu knew Lafemas to be one of the mean- 
 est and most vi;>ero!4s of llie cardinal's touls. and 
 not feeling mtiCh moved to exchnn-re ccurtesies 
 with him, he merely acknowledged the judge's salu-' 
 talion by asjlent hc^\■, while ihe oihrr [rtceeded : 
 '• I have requested the pleasure ff 'sonr sncielv for 
 a space in order to nsk yi u a few questions ; >our 
 reply to v%hich will, doubtless, soon procure your 
 liberation Irom this unpleasant place." 
 
 '■• 1 trust i^o. Fir," replif-ii the count, "as the de- 
 tention of an innocent pe.-s -u must occasion fully 
 as mucli discredit to his majesty's tjovernm-ent, as it 
 does inconvenience to the person himself.'* 
 
 '• You are quite riiiht. you are qui e right," re- 
 joineu the sweet-tongued judce. •* Indeed, uiv very 
 object in coming is to obtain such answers from you 
 as will convii.ce the Cardin:il de Richelieu, uho, 
 though aj3r«!fo::nd m-nistcr, is somewhat auspicious 
 •withal. — to convince him. T say. that you are inno- 
 cent 5 of which, on m\ conscience, and as I be- 
 lieve in the Saviour. I have no doubt myself. — In 
 the first place, then,'' he continued. ''• tell me as a 
 friend have you any acquaints nee in Brussels 1" 
 
 " I have !" re;. lied De Blenau, decidedly. 
 
 "That is hnrourab'e, — that is candid." said the 
 judge. " I told y^ou. Monsieur le Gouvernour. that 
 we shouldbave no diffirnity, and tijat Monsieur de 
 ■Bleneau would enable me easily to establish his 
 "innocence. — Pray do you corresjiond with these 
 friends, he contiriued, •' aid by what means ?' 
 
 " I do correspond -with them; but seldom : and 
 then by any menrs that occur.'' 
 
 " MoisE eur de Blenau.'' exclaimed Lafemas, "I 
 am 01 cliTn'rd with this frankness; but be a little 
 jrn re sr^eific about the means If yon have no 
 parlicular objection to contide in me mention ajiy 
 channel that you call to mind, by which you hafe 
 •ent ietters to theHLow Countries."
 
 RICHKtIKn. 253. 
 
 Be Blenau felt someuhat disgusted with the 
 arweet and friendly manner of a man whose deeds 
 spoke him as cruel and as bloody-minded as a fam- 
 islied iiprr>r ; nnd nnwilling to be lonuer mocked 
 with sift word?', lie roolied, •• Soinetiuies l;y the 
 kflngs couriL-r, sir j sometimes ijy tlie cardinal's : 
 and on"e ! remember having sent one by your cous- 
 in- Do MercK'au, but 1 believe tiiat letter never 
 reached its tlcstinalion 5 for you must recollect that 
 Dc IMorceau was ban-ged by D.'U Francisco de 
 iVIello, lor ripping open the bag, and purloining the 
 despatches." 
 
 " We have nothing to do with that my dear 
 count.'" saiii Lafemas, stru-.^eling to maintain his 
 placidity ot' demeanour. — "The next thing I have 
 to inquire is." — :ind he looked at a paper be held in 
 his hand : " Have you ever cotiveved any letters to 
 the Low CoiMilries by any one else ?' 
 
 De Blennu answered in the affirmative; and the 
 jadge proceeded with a series of questions, very 
 similar to those which had been sBked by Richelieu 
 himself. ar'fuMy striviiiir to entangle the prisoner 
 bv means of his own adtnissions, so as to force t.im 
 into farther confessions by the impossibility of re- 
 ceding. But beyotKl a certain point De Blenau- 
 would not proceed. 
 
 '•Monsieur Lafemas/' said he, in a. calm firm 
 tone, " 1 perceive ihat you are going into quesiioiis 
 which have already b^^en asked me by his eminence 
 the cardinal prime n^inister The object in doing-, 
 so is evidently to ex(t!rt from me seme contradic- 
 tion which may criminate myself 5 and therefore 
 henceforward 1 will reply to no. such questions- 
 whatsoever. The c.nrdmal is in pcssession of my 
 answers; and if you want them, you must apply 
 to him." 
 
 *' You mistake entirety, my dear count," said. 
 Lafemas ; ''on my salvation; my only object is to 
 serve you. You have already acknowledged that 
 you have forwa ded letters from the queen, — why 
 not now inform me to whoat those le^rs warft.
 
 254 RIWreLJEO 
 
 addressed ? If tTiose letters were not of a trea- 
 sonable nature, why did slie not send them by 
 one f'f her own servnnts ?'' 
 
 •' When a q'lcen of France is not allowed the 
 coiniiion atter.ilants wliich a Eiin[ile geu'iewoman 
 cnn command, s'-.e may often hp. glad to use the 
 servants and services of her friends. My own 
 retinue, sir, trebles that wliich the queen has 
 efer possessed at St. Germain's. But, without 
 going into these particulars, your question is at 
 onre replieil to by rem ncling you, that i am her 
 majesty's chamberlain and therefore her servant." 
 
 ' Without th.cro were something wrong, Mon- 
 sieur de Blenau,' said Lrifomas, •' you could have 
 no objecli.)a to state whether you' have (.r have 
 not conveyed some letters from l:er mrijesty to 
 Don John of Aus'rin. Don Francisco de Mello, 
 or IIin;T Philip of Spain. It is very naturaKlor a 
 queen to write to her near re'atious, surely 1" 
 
 •' I have already said/' replied De Blenau, *' that 
 I sliail replv to no sucii questions, the object of 
 which is alone to entangle me."' 
 
 •' Y<-.u knfiw not what you are exposing yourself 
 to,'' rejoined t!:e juJge ;'• there are means \\ithin 
 this prison which wanld easily compel an answer '' 
 
 *• .\on?," replied De Blenau, firmly. " My reso- 
 luiion is taken, and no power on car*h can shake 
 it." 
 
 •• Reallv, Mf-nsieur de Blenau. it would hurt me 
 tn the heart to leave you to the dreadful f;ite 
 \\liicli your mistaken detensination is likely to 
 call unon you. I could ween, truly I could weep, 
 to tl.i'ik of what you are calling upon your own 
 head ;■' and the judge glnnced his eye towards 
 the midline, "bich we have already noticed, 
 and from which the old mun rose up/ as if pre- 
 pirin:^ tor his task. 
 
 •• Vou mean the torlure ?'' said De Blenau, 
 lod'ang at it without a change of countenance- 
 '• But let rue tell you, Monsieur Lafemas, that 
 you dare net order it to a man oX" my x^ak.
 
 RICHELIEU. 255 
 
 without an express warrant for the purpo»e 5 nnd, 
 even if you Jiad sucli authority, not all the tor- 
 ture in the woi'ld would wring one word from 
 me. Ask that instument of tyranny, sir," and 
 be pointed to t''e executioner, — '• ask him how 
 the noble Caply died ; and so would De Blenau 
 also." 
 
 Lafemas looked at the governor, and the gov- 
 ernor at llie executioner, and so round. One «)f 
 the dreadful secrets of the Bastille had evidently 
 escaped beyond those precincts to which they 
 were fearfuily confined ; no one could divine 
 how this had occurred, and each susj^ected the 
 other. A temporary silence ensued, and then 
 Lafemas proceeded : 
 
 '* The torture I no, Monsieur de Blenau : God 
 forbid that [ ehould think of ordering suoh a 
 thing 1 But let me advise you to answer ; for 
 I must, of course, report your refusal to the car- 
 dinal p;i!ne minister, and you know that he is 
 not l.kely to rorsider either your rank or your 
 fortune, but w'll, in all probability, order you" the 
 question ordinary and extraordinary instantly.'' 
 
 '• The ^uilt be his, then !' said De Bienau. 
 "1 have already told* you my resolution, sir 5 act 
 ■upc»n it as you t!iink fit." 
 
 Lafemas seemed at a loss, and a whispering 
 consultation took place between him and the 
 secretary, wlio seemed to urge more vigorous 
 measures than the ju.^ge himself thought proper 
 lo ptKsue; for their conference was ternnnated 
 by Lalomas excliimiiig in a tone not sufliri-ntly 
 low to escape De Blenaus ear, '• I dare not. ! tell 
 vou — I dare not — I have no orders. — Monsieur de 
 Blenau." he continued aloud, "you may now re- 
 tire, and 1 must report your answers to the cardi- 
 nal. But let me advise you, as a sincere friend, 
 to be prepared with a reply to the questions \ou 
 have now refused to answer, before we next meet j 
 for by that tim« I shall have reeeived his cmi-
 
 256 RlCHEU*:tj. 
 
 nence's commands, which, I fear_. v.ill be more Be- 
 vero ihnn my herirt could vvis!i '" 
 
 Be Btpiiau made no ri'ply. bsit witl.drew, escort- 
 ed MS l)flo.e . and it were nerdipss to dcnv. tHat, 
 PO'.*'ith5ta!idiii|T tlie cooli-css Nviih nldrh ho. had 
 borne his esandnation, and il:c for inide^vitli which 
 he was prepared to repel ti;e worst that could be 
 inflicted, his lieart heal hijli as tlif» door of t!ie au- 
 dif nce-hall closed behind him, and he looked for- 
 ward to returning to Ids apartments with more 
 pleasure than a captive usually regards the place of 
 his conlinement. 
 
 'J'he many ajitating circumstances widch had 
 passed since, had completely brinished fri-m his 
 thoughts tlie voice whic!) lie had h.eard [ronoiince 
 his nume, on the first time ofl is crossinjr tie court j 
 but as he returned, Ids eye fell upon the f<Mm of a 
 tali, s rong man, stnnding under the archway j 
 and he instantly recognised the woodman <<f the 
 forest of Mantes. 
 
 De Blenau. had spoken to him a thousand times- 
 in iiis various huntinj-e.xci:rsions. and he could not 
 help being astonisiied to meet himin such a place, 
 little dreaming that he himself was the . cause. 
 " V/iiat. in tl c j-.nme of Heaven I' tlu-uaht le. " can 
 that man have done to n-erit coiifi'K ment here 1 
 Surely, I'iclielieu, who affects to be an eagle of 
 the highest flight, might stoop on nobler prey than 
 that.' 
 
 As these thou':1;ts crossed h;s m'nd. he passed 
 by the foot if ilie Mule low<r, coninining the 
 staircase which communicated with In-? apnrlmenta 
 by ih" iron d(,or in the inner chamber. This had- 
 evidentlv been lonf^ disused , and on rememl>er- 
 ing the position of tlie two chnmbers which he 
 occupied, l;e conceived that they must have beeff 
 at one time quite distinct, with a separate entrance- 
 to each, the one hrin«g arrived nt by the turret, 
 and the other bv the chief staircase. He had, 
 however, only time to take a casual glance, and 
 wisely refrainid from maliius tbat very apparent >
 
 mctiELlsu 257 
 
 for the governor, who walked beside him, kept 
 his eyes always constantly fixed upon him, as if 
 to prevent any communic-tion even by a sign 
 with the other prisoners. 
 
 On arriving at his chamber, the governor allowed 
 him to pass in alone, and having fastened the door, 
 returned to Lafemas, leaving De Blenau to medi- 
 tate over his situation in solitude. The first pleas- 
 ure of having escaped from immediate danger having 
 aubsided, there was nothing very cheering to con- 
 template in his position. His fate, though postpon- 
 ed, seemed inevitable. Richelieu, he knew, was 
 no way scrupulous ; and the only thing which hon- 
 our could permit him to do, was to defend the 
 queen's secret with his life. 
 
 The queen herself indeed might relieve him from 
 this difficulty, if he could find any way of communi- 
 cating with her. But in looking round for the 
 means, absolute impossibility seemed to present it- 
 self on all sides. In vain he sought for expedients j 
 his mind suggested none that a second thought con- 
 firmed. He once contemplated inducing the gov- 
 ernor to forward a letter by the temptation of a 
 large bribe : but a moment's reflection showed him 
 thotit was a thousand to one that the smooth-spok- 
 en officer both accepted his bribe and betrayed hia 
 trust. 
 
 Many other plans were rejected in a like manner, 
 from a conviciion of their impracticability, till at 
 length a vague thought of gaining an interview with 
 the v/oodman of Mantes, and, if possible, engaging 
 him to bribe some of the inferior officers of the 
 prison, crossed De Blenau's mind ; and he was still 
 endeavouring to regulate his ideas on the subject, 
 when the bolts were once more withdrawn, and the 
 governor again entered the apartment. 
 
 " Let me congratulate you, Monsieur De Ble- 
 nau," said he, with a look of sincere pleasure, 
 which probably sprang more from the prospect of 
 continued ga^in to himself than any abstract gratifi- 
 
 fot.i, 17
 
 258 RlCHELlfiC 
 
 cation in De Blenau's safety. " Monsieur Lafemas 
 is gone, and as the cardinal is at Chantilly, jou will 
 be safe for three or four davs at least, as nothing 
 can be decided till his eminence returns." 
 
 De Blenau well knew how to estimate the kind- 
 ness of his friend the governor > but truiugh he put 
 its proper value upon it, and i;o more, he felt the 
 necessity of striving to make his interested mean- 
 ness .xi'the part of real friendship. 
 
 "Well, Monsieur je Gouverneur,"' said he, as- 
 suming a cheerful air, " I suppose, then, that 1 shall 
 re : ain with you a day or two longer 3 nor should i. 
 indeed, care so much for thee,(^|inement, where 1 
 am so well treated, if I had-sonie^Vjie to wait upon 
 me whom I have been acc.ustonied to."' 
 
 " I do not know howthnt c^uld be arranged," re- 
 plied the governor, thougatfully ; "I would do any 
 thing JLo ser\e y&u, Monsieur de Blenau, consistent 
 with my duty, but this is quite contrary to mv or- 
 ders 5 and if I were to allow you one of my own 
 servants, it would put me completely in his pow- 
 er," 
 
 " Oh, that would not do at all," said De Blenau ; 
 " but are there not some of the inferior prison- 
 ers" — The governor'e brow darkened. — "Ot course,' 
 continued the count, "you would have to pay them 
 ioT their trouble— and l', of course, would reimburse 
 you. If you t'link that three hundred crowns wou!d 
 induce one of them to wait on me for the time I am 
 here, I would willingly pay the money into youc 
 hands, and you could mike ajl the necessary ar- 
 rangements for the purpose." 
 
 The countenance of the governor gradually clear- 
 ed up as De Blenau spoke, like a sheltered lake 
 that, after having been agitated for a moment by 
 some unwonted breeze, soon relapses into its calm, 
 tranquility, when that which disturbed it has passed 
 away. The idea of appropriating, with such un- 
 oueMioned facility, the greater part of three hun- 
 ared crowns,, was the sun which tUus speedily dis- 
 perse she clouds upon his brow : and ho mused
 
 RICHELIEU. 269 
 
 Tor a moment, calculating shrewdly the means of 
 
 attaining his object. 
 
 '^The worst of it is." said he at length, "that we 
 have MO inferior prisoners. Tliey are all prisoners 
 of state in the Bistille — But stay," he added, a fe-' 
 licilous idea crossing his mind, " 1 remember there 
 was a man brought here this morning by Chavigni's 
 people, and they told me to give him all possible 
 liberty, and employ him in the prison if 1 could." 
 
 "That will just do tl. en," said De Blenau, in- 
 wardly praying that it might be the honest wood- 
 man of Mantes. '• He can visit me here occasional- 
 ly during the day, to see if I have need of him, and 
 the guard at the door can take good care that I do 
 not follow him out, which is all that your duty de- 
 mands." 
 
 '•Of course, xif course," replied the governor; 
 ** it is your safe custody alone which I have to look 
 to : and fariher, I am ordered to give you every 
 convenience and attention, which warrnnts me in 
 allowing you an attendant at least. But here comes 
 youf dinner, sir." 
 
 "Dinner!" exclaimed De Blen:;^U;"il surely is 
 not yet noon." But so it p'-'ived : the time had 
 passed more quickly than he tl-ou^ht : nor indeed 
 had he any reason to regret the appenrnnce of din- 
 ner, for the substantial and luxurious meal which 
 was served up at his expense on that jour maigrt 
 did not proTe any bad aiixiiinry in overcoming what- 
 ever scruple yet lingered ab'iut the mind of Mon- 
 sieur le Gnuvernenr. At every monthiul . f becasse 
 his countenance became more placable and com- 
 placent, and while he was busily occupied in sop- 
 pinir tiiC last morsels of his dorade. m the sauce cm 
 cornichons. and c.'iiveying them to the capacious 
 aperture whic'.i stood open to receive theni, our 
 prri-oner obt.Tined his f^W consent that, t' i person 
 he had mentioned should i ave egre-s nm! rc^res^ cf 
 the apartment 5 for which liberty hov ever. De Ble- 
 nau was obliged to pay down the sum of three hun-
 
 260 RiCHELifiU 
 
 dred crowns under the specious name of wages to 
 the attendant. 
 
 This Rirangement, and the dinner, came to a con- 
 clusion much about the same time; and the gover- 
 nor, %vho had probably been engaged with De Ble- 
 nau's good cheer much longer than was quite con- 
 sistent with his other duties, rose and retired, to 
 seek the inferior prisoner whose name he could not 
 remember, but whom he piously resolved to reward 
 with a crov.n per diem, thinking that such unparal- 
 leled liberality ought to be recorded in letters of 
 gold. . 
 
 In regard to De Blenau, the governor looked up- 
 on him as the goose with the golden eggs ; but 
 more prudent than the boy in the fable, he resolved 
 to prolong his life to tlie utmost of his power, so 
 long, at least, as he continued to produce that glit- 
 tering ore which possessed such wcnderlul attrac- 
 tion mhis eyes. De Blenau, however, was not the 
 goose he thought him ; and though he waited with 
 some impatience to see if the person on whom so 
 much might depend, were or were not his honest 
 friend the woodman, yet his thoughts were deeply 
 engaged in revolving every means by which the cu- 
 pidity of the governor might be turned to his own 
 advantage. 
 
 At length the bolts were undrawn, and the prison- 
 er, fixing his eyes upon the door, behold a little old 
 man enter, with withered cheeks and sunken eyes ; 
 a greasy nightcap on his hea , and a large knife 
 suspended by the side of a long thin sword, which 
 sometimes trailed upon the ground, and somelimes 
 with reiterated blows upon the tendons of his mea- 
 ger shanks, seemed to reproach them for the bent 
 and cringing posture in which they carried the 
 woodcock-hke body that surmounted them. 
 
 '• Well, sir!" said De Blenau, not a little disap- 
 pointed with this apparition 5 " are you the per- 
 son whom the governor has appointed to wait 
 upon me V . ■' 
 
 • Qui, monsieur,'' said the Httje man, laying hia
 
 RICHELIEU. ^ 561 
 
 hand upon his heart, with a profound inclination 
 of his head, in which he contrived to get that 
 organ completely out of sight, and, like a tor- 
 toise, to have nothing but his back visible. 
 • Old, monsieur ; 1 am cuumier vivandier that is 
 to say, formerly vivandier; at present, cuisinier 
 aubergistie id a la parte de la Bastille tcut pres. I 
 have the honour to furnish the dinner for mon- 
 £eigneur, and I have come for the plates •' 
 
 " Oh, is that all !"' cried De Blenau 5 '* take 
 tliem, take them, my good friend, and begone.'' 
 
 The little man vowed that monseigneur did 
 him too much honour, and gathering up his dishes 
 \vith admirable dexterity, he held the heap with 
 his left arm, reserving his right to lay upon his 
 heart, in which position he addressed another 
 profound bow to De Blenau, and left the apart- 
 ment. The prisoner now waited some time, get- 
 ting more and more impatient as the day wore 
 on. At length, however, the door once more 
 opened, and Philip the woodman himself appear- 
 ed. 
 
 Between Philip and the young count there was 
 of course much to-be explained, ^vhich, requir- 
 ing no explanation to the reader, shall not be here 
 recapitulated. Every circumstance, however, that 
 Philip told, whether of his writing the letter to 
 inform him of the plots of Chavigni and Lafemas, 
 or of the manner and apparent reason of his be- 
 ing dragged from his cottage to the Bastille, con- 
 curred to give De Blenau greater confidence in 
 his new ally : and perhaps Philip himself, from 
 having suffered a good deal on De Blenau's ac- 
 count, felt^but the greater inclination to hazard 
 still more. Between two persons so inclined, 
 preliminaries are soon adjusted : nor had De Ble- 
 nau lime to proceed with diplomatic caution, 
 even had he had reason to suspect the sincerity 
 of the woodman. The dangers of his situation ad- 
 muted no fin«6se ; and, overleaping . all ceremo
 
 2$2 RICHELIEU. 
 
 r.ies. he at once demanded if Philip would and 
 could convey a letter from him to the queen. 
 
 or his willingness, the woodman said, there was 
 no doubt; and after a moment's ihooght he adiied, 
 that he had reason to hope tha«: oppo tunity also 
 would be afforded him. '• It will be dangerous," 
 said he. " but I think I can do it.'" 
 
 " Tell me how. good friend,'' demanded de Ble- 
 nau, '' and depend upon it, whatever risks you 
 run on my account, whether I live or die, you will 
 be r-ewarded." 
 
 •• 1 want no reward, sir," answered Philip, " but 
 a good cause and a good conscience ; and I am 
 sure, if I serve you, i am as well engaged as if I 
 were cutting all the fagots in Mantes. But my plan 
 is this ; they tell me, that my children shall always 
 be allowed to see me. jSlow I know my boy 
 Charles, who is as active as a picvert, will not be 
 long before he follows me. He vvjH be here be- 
 fore nightfall, I am sure, and he shall lake your let- 
 ter to the queen." 
 
 De Blenau remained silent for o moment. '-Was 
 it your son who brousrht your letter to me ?' de- 
 manded he. The woodman assented ; and tlie 
 count continued : " he was a shrewd boy, then. 
 At all events, it must be risked. Wait, I will 
 write, and depend upon you." 
 
 The woodman, however, urged that if he staid 
 so lone, suspicion mi^ht he exf^ited , and Be Ble- 
 nau suffered him to depart d'^siri;>g him to return 
 in an hour, when the letter would be ready. Dur- 
 ing his absence, the prisoner wrote tliat epistle 
 wiiich we have already seen delivered. In it he 
 told his situ-ition. and the nature of the questions 
 which h^d been asked him by l.afemas. He hint- 
 ed also that his fate was soon likely to be decided ; 
 and desired, thatany communication which it might 
 be necessary to make him. might be conveyed 
 through the woodman of Mantes. 
 
 More than one hour elapsed after this letter 
 was written before Philip again appeared. When
 
 RICHELIEU. 263 
 
 he did eo, however, he seemed in eome haste, 
 " Monsieur le Counte,"' said he, " my son is here. 
 Tl)ey have let me take him into my cell to rest, 
 but I dare not be absent more than a moment, for 
 fear they suspect something. Is the letter ready V' 
 
 De Blenau placed it in his hand, and would fiiin 
 have added some gold. '• The queen is at Chantil- 
 ly," SJiid he, "and your son will want money for 
 his journey." 
 
 "i\o, no, sir,"' replied Philip,^' that is no stuff for 
 a child. Let liim have a broad-piece, if you like, 
 to help him on. but no more." 
 
 " Well then," said the count, " accept the rest 
 for your services. 1 have n^ore in that valise." 
 
 " Not so either, monseigneur, answered the ^'ood- 
 man. " Pay for what is done, when it is done ;" 
 and taking the letter and one gold piece, he left the 
 apartment. 
 
 F.Xl> OF VOLUME I,
 
 Lane' 8 Uniform Edition. 
 
 RICHELIEU 
 
 A TALE OF FRANCE 
 
 BY 
 
 G. P. R, JAMES, ESQ. 
 
 IN TWO VOLUMES. 
 VOL. II. 
 
 SANDBORNTON, N. H. 
 
 PUBLISHED BY CHARLES LANE 
 
 1$41.
 
 RICHELIEU. 
 
 CHAPTER I- 
 
 Which shoivs (hat Arcident holds Wisdom by the leg, and 
 like a pi? driver vvilh a pig, oflen makes Ucr go forward by 
 pulling her hack. 
 
 The heavy cirriajje which conveyed Pauline de 
 Beaumont towards Paris rolled on with no great ra- 
 
 {)idity, and the t'-Tie, to her anxious mind, seemed 
 engthen«d t an inconceivable degree. Towards 
 night, every little town they entered she conceived 
 to be *he capital, and was not undeceived till Made- 
 moiselle de Hauteford observed, thai they had set 
 out so late she was afraid they would be obliged to 
 ■pass the night at Ecouen. 
 
 - In her companion Pauline found but little to 
 console or sooth her under the anxiety and fear 
 which the dangerous enterprise she had undertaken 
 naturally produced. Mademoiselle de Hauteford 
 had little either of warmth of heart or gentleness of 
 diisposition ; and such were the only qualities which 
 could have assimilated with Pauline's feelings at 
 that time. 
 
 In combating the passionate love with which the 
 king had regarded her,. Mademoiselle de Hauteford 
 had entirely triumphed over her own heart, and 
 having crushed every human sensation that it con- 
 tained; she eubstituted a rigid prtnciple of duty,
 
 4 ftlCHELIlse. 
 
 which, like the mainspring of a piece of clockwork, 
 originated all her actions, making them regular 
 •without energy and correct them -without feeling. 
 
 In the present instance, slie seemed to look upon 
 the tack which Pauline had undertaken as a thing 
 which ought to be done, and therefore that no doubt 
 or hesitation of any kit d couid remain upon her 
 mind. She talked calmly of all the difficulties and 
 dangers which presented themselves, and of the 
 best means of obviating ihem ; but did not offer 
 the least consolntion to the fears of a young and in- 
 experienced girl, who had taken upon "herself a bold 
 and perilous enterprise, in which her own happiness 
 was at stake as well as the lives nnd fortunes of 
 ■others. The indifferent coolness with which she 
 spoke of risks and obstacles, was far from reassur- 
 ing Pauline, who soon dropped the conversation, 
 and sinking into herself, resolved all the circum- 
 stances in her mind ; her heart sometimes beating 
 high with hope, sometimes sickening at the thought 
 of failure. 
 
 Thus in silence the travellers proceeded to Ecnu- 
 en, where, from the lateness of the hour, they were 
 obliged to pass the nicht : but leaving it early the 
 next morning, they reached Paris in a short time, 
 and alighted at the hotel of the Marchioness de 
 Senecy- That lady, it appeared, was absent, hav- 
 ing le(t Paris some lime before for a distant part of 
 the country : but this was no disadvantage, as 
 Mademoiselle de Hauteford was well knoTi-n to the 
 servants that remained in the house, and she did 
 not in the least hesitate to t-ike up her abode there 
 on the service of the queen, though the mistress of 
 the mansion herself was absent. 
 
 At Ecouen. Pauline had dressed herself in the 
 clothes of her maid Louise, and on alighting at the 
 ho'el de Sen'^cy, was taken by the servants lor the 
 smtbreiie of M"aden^o;selle de Hauteford. All this 
 was to her wish ; and not a little delighted with the 
 first success of her disguise, she affected th« ten
 
 RICHEIIEO 6 
 
 pays(cn, and treated the dcmestica with the same 
 familiarity which they showed towards her. 
 
 An oldand confidential servant of tiie queen was 
 tl:e only male attendant who accompanied them to 
 Paris, and he took especial care not to undeceive 
 the others in regard to Mademoiselle de Beau- 
 mont's rank, though he had more than once nearly 
 betrayed the secret by smiling at the lafiys maid 
 airs which Pauline contrived to assume. This task, 
 however, A\ns not of long duration ; fcr Pauline's 
 anxiety would not suffer her to remain inactive, and 
 she accordingly pressed her companion to S4?t out 
 speedily for the Bastille, atraid that under any long 
 d«Iay her courage, v\hich sh-e felt to be failing eve- 
 ry moment, might give way entirely, and that she 
 might at length prove unequal to accomplish her 
 undertaking." 
 
 iNIademoiselle de Hauteford, whose acquaintance 
 with the city qualified her to act as guide, readily 
 agreed to proceed immediately on their e.'cpedi lion j 
 and Pauli^ne's disguise as soiibrette, not permitting 
 lier to make use of a mask like her companion, she 
 covered her head as far as she could with a large 
 capuchin of brown tafetas, which, however, was all- 
 insufficient (o conceal her face. This being done, 
 she followed the lady of honour into the street, and 
 in a moment froind herself immersed in all the bus- 
 tle and confusion of the capital. 
 
 Poor Pauline's senses were almost bewildered by 
 the crnwd ; but Mademoiselle de Hauteford lean- 
 ing on her arm. hurried her on as far as the Rue St. 
 Antoine. where she stopped opposite the Church 
 of St. <3revais,or rather the narrow dirty street 
 which leads towards it. 
 
 Here she directed Pauline straight on to the Bas- 
 tille, and pointing c^ut the church, told her that she 
 woukl wait ihere for her return, offering up prayers 
 for the success of her enterprise. 
 
 The magnificent peristyle of the Church of St. 
 Gervaise, which the celebrated De Brosse is said 
 to have pronounced the most perfect of bis works,—
 
 e BICHiillKU 
 
 observing, like Solon on the Athenian Lawg, that it 
 was not, indeed, the best that could be formed, but 
 the best tliat could be adopted to the old gothic 
 building which he was directed to improve, — was 
 then in the first gloss of its novelty, and among the 
 many sombre smoky buildings that she had passed, 
 offered to Pauline's eye a bright and coaspif uous 
 landciark, which she felt sure she could not mistake. 
 She took, however, another glance, and then hurried 
 on towards the Bastille. 
 
 Totally ignorant of Paris, and all that it contain- 
 ed ; young, beaulir^ul, and timid; engaged in an 
 undertaking full of danger and difficulty, and dress- 
 ed iu a manner to which she was unaccustomed 3 
 Paulino de Beaumont shrank from the glance ofihe 
 numerous passengers that thronged the Rue St. 
 Antoine 3 and every eye v.jiich, attracted by her 
 loveliness, or by the frightened haste with which 
 she proceeded, gazed on her with more than coni- 
 mon attention, she fancied could see into her bos- 
 om, and read the secret she was so anxious to con- 
 ceal. 
 
 At length, however, her eye rested on a group 
 of heavy towers, presenting nothing but massy 
 stone walls, pierced with loop-holes, and surmoun- 
 ted at various distances with embrasures, through 
 the aperture of which the threatening mouths of 
 some large cannon were occasionally visible. 
 Sweeping round this gloomy building was a broad 
 fosse filled with water, which prevented all ap- 
 proach but a* one particular point, where a draw- 
 bridge, suspended by two immense chains, gave 
 access to the outer court. But even here no small 
 precaution was taken to guard ngainst any wlio 
 came in other than friendly guise 3 for the gate 
 which terminated the bridge on the inner si''e, be- 
 sides the security afforded by its ponderous doors 
 and barricadoes, possessed two flankin2;-tovvers, the 
 artillery of which commanded the whole course 
 of the approach. 
 
 Pauline had often heard the Bastille described,
 
 RICHELIEU. 7 
 
 and its horrors detailed by the guests who occa- 
 eionally visited her mother's chateau in Languedocj 
 but whatever idea she had formed of it, the frown- 
 ing strength and gloomy horrors which the origin- 
 al presented, far outdid the picture her imagina- 
 tion had drawn ; and so strong was the sensation 
 of fear which it produced upon her mind, that she 
 had nearly turned back and run away the moment 
 she beheld it. An mstant's reflection, however, 
 reawakened her courage. 
 
 "Claude de Blenau/' she thought, "immured 
 within those walls ! and do I hesitate when his life, 
 perhaps, depends upon my exertion ?" That thought 
 was enough to recall all her resolution 5 and rap- 
 idly crossing the drawbridge, she passed what is 
 called the grille. But here her farther progress was 
 stayed by a massy door covered with plates and 
 studs of iron, which offered none of those happy 
 contrivances either of modern or ancient days, by 
 which people within are called upon to communi- 
 cate with people without. There was no horn, as 
 in the days of chivalry, and if there had been, Pau- 
 line could not have blown it ; but still worse, there 
 was neither bell nor knocker ; and the door, far 
 from imitating the gates of Dis, in standing open 
 night and day, seemed most determinately shut, al- 
 though the comparison might have held in many 
 other respects. With shaking knees and trembling 
 hands Pauline tried for some moments to gain ad- 
 mission, but in vain. The gate resisted all her 
 weak efforts, her voice was scarcely audible, and 
 vexed, wearied, and terrified, and not knowing what 
 to do, she burst into a flood of tears. 
 
 At about a hundred yards on the other side of 
 the fosse, forming one corner of the Rue St. Antoine, 
 on the face of which it seemed a wart, or imposth- 
 ume, stood a little narrow house of two stories 
 high, the front of which displayed an immense 
 board covered with a curious and remarkable de- 
 vise. This represented no other than the form^'of 
 aw cnormou* wild boar, with a knapkin tucked
 
 8 RICUEUET. 
 
 under his chin, seated at a table, on which smok- 
 ed various savoury dishes, of which the above fero- 
 cious gentleman appeared to be partaking with a 
 very wiid-boarish appetite. Underneath all v^as 
 written, in characters of such a size that those 
 who run might read, Au sanglier gourmand, and 
 then followed a farther inscription, which went to 
 state that Jacques Chatpilleur, autrefois vivandier 
 de VAi^mee de Perpignan, a present aubergiste trai- 
 iietir, fed the hungry and gave drink to those that 
 thirsted, at all hours of the day and night. 
 
 Every one will allow that this man must have 
 been blessed with a charitable disposition j and it 
 so happened that, standing at his owu door, with? 
 his heart opened by the benign influence of having 
 cooked a dinner for the Count de Blenau, he be* 
 held the ineffectual efforts of Pauline ds Beaumont 
 to gain admission into the Bastiile. 
 
 The DOor little man's heart was really moved j 
 and skipping across the drawbridge, he was at her 
 side in a moment. " What seek you, charmante 
 demoiselle?" demanded the aubergiste, making her 
 a low bow ; and then observing her tears, he added, 
 " Ma pauvre fiUe, do not weep. Do you wish ta 
 get in here V' 
 
 "Yes, indeed," replied Pauline j "but I cannc t 
 make them hear." 
 
 "There are many who want to get out, who 
 cannot make them hear either," said the aubergis- 
 te : '-butthev shall hear me, at all events." So^ 
 sayinii. he drew forth his knife, with a flourish 
 which made Pauline start back, and applied the 
 handle with such force to the gate of the prison,, 
 that t.'^e whole place echoed with the blows. Jm- 
 mediatei"y, a little wicket was opened, and \ se head 
 of a surly-looking porter presented itself to the 
 apperture. 
 
 '• Philip the woodman ! Philip the woodman.!"" 
 said he. as soon as he heard Pauline's inquiries. 
 " Who is he, I wonder ? We have nothing to do 
 ■with] woodmen here. Oh, i remember th« maa-
 
 And we are Inbreak through all rules and regula- 
 tions (or him, I suppose ? But I can tell Monsieur 
 Chavigni, or v/hoever g;ive the order, that 1 shall 
 ni)t turn the key for any one except at properliours : 
 so you cannot see liira now, young woman — you 
 cannot see him now.'' 
 
 " And is not this a proper hour V asked Pa<jline. 
 " I thought midday was the best time 1 could 
 come." 
 
 " i><o I" answered th" porter, " I tell you no, my 
 pretty demoiselie ; this is the dinner-hour, so you 
 mustcome again." 
 
 '• When can I come then, sir V demanded Pau- 
 line, " for I have journeyed a long way to see 
 him." 
 
 •' "Why, then you are in need of rest/' replied the 
 other, '-so you will he all the belter for waiting till 
 evening. Come about seven o'clock, and you shall 
 see him." 
 
 " Cannot I see him before that ?" asked the 
 youn;r lady, terrified at the delay. 
 
 '•?^-^ ! no V lio !" rolled the porter, and turned 
 .to siiUt the tvi-'-ketj but bethinking him for a mo- 
 ment, he called alter Mademoiselle de Beaumont 
 — > • Wlio shall I tell him -.vanls him, when ] see 
 him ?"' 
 
 i^ inline was unprepared with an answer, but the 
 iioce>.:ity of the moment m ide her reply, '•' His 
 •lauihtfir j" trustin* that, as there must be some 
 uadsrslanding between him and De Blenau. the 
 woodman would conceive her errand and not be- 
 tray any surprise, whether he had a daughter or 
 not. 
 
 During this conversation, the diibergiste h-xd re* 
 mained hard by, really compassionating Pauline's 
 dis.ippointme'^t. 
 
 '■ Mapauvrefille'' ?aid he, as the wio.ket closed. 
 '•• am very toir- that they treat you .■?«>; but they are 
 gre^t brutes in these prisons. Bo7t Dieti ! you lo< k 
 very pale. Come in with me here to my liitjg 
 
 VOL Ji. 2
 
 10 mCHELlEIL 
 
 place, and take some soup, and rest yourself till 
 the time comes round." 
 
 Pauline thanked him for his offer, but declined it, 
 of course 5 telling him, that si, e was going to the 
 house (if a friend who waited lor her 5 and then 
 taking leave of the good aiibergiste, ahe left him in- 
 teresied in her sorrow, and enchanted by her own 
 sweet manner. 
 
 '• La pauvreite !'' said he, as he turned him home, 
 " Elle a bein lair, dime femme de qxialili ^a. 11 y 
 a (juelque chose la dessous. cuje me trompeJ' 
 
 In the mean while, Pauline returned to. the 
 church of St. Gervais, where she found Mademois- 
 elle de Hauteford still on her kr.ces in the Chapel 
 cf St. Denis. 
 
 Paulines recital of what liad happened, called 
 forth but few remarks Irom her companion, who 
 only observed, that seven would be nn unpleasant 
 hour, for that by that lime night began to fuj. To 
 ^lademoiselle de Beaumont, tiowever, i:ight seem- 
 ed more favourable to her enterprise than day, when 
 the trepidation which she felt was visible to every 
 passing eye 3 and sl;e congratulated herself on the 
 prospect ol the darkness covering the agitation 
 which might lead to suspicion if observed. 
 
 1 sliall not follow th.c two ladies through the re- 
 maining part of t!ie da_v. Suffice !i, that Mademoi- 
 selle de Hauteford employed herself in preparations 
 for the long journey which the cardinal s sentence 
 of banishment, required be- to take, nnd that Pau- 
 line's time pass d in anxiety and apprehension, till 
 the hour came for her once more to visit the Bis- 
 tilie. 
 
 As soon as the long l.r.nJ uprm the dial pcin'cd 
 towards the Roman capi^ais iX. and the thorter 
 one to VII. the two iad.os set cut in the jjiuue 
 cuise, and on the same rcute. as in iho niornin^', 
 with only this dillerence in their proceedings, that 
 the old domestic of llie queen, wt^o lijul accompa- 
 nied ilirm lo Faria, received orders it» fcilow at 1
 
 mcHELIEtJ. 11 
 
 few paces distance, well armed with sword and 
 pistol. 
 
 It was now quite dark, and the streets not being 
 60 crowded as when she before passed llirough 
 them, Pauline proceeded more calmly, except vvjien 
 the torch-bearers of some of the gay world of Paris 
 flashed their flambeaux in her e^es as they lighted 
 their lords .long to party or spectacle. At the 
 Cliurch of St. Gervais siie again left Mademoiselle 
 de Hauteiord with the servant; and now. well ac- 
 quainted ■ with the way, ran lightly along till she 
 arrived at the Bastille, where, not giving her resolu- 
 tion time to fiiil, she passed the drawbridge, and 
 entered the (i'.iter gate, which was at that moment 
 open. Before her stood the figure of the porter, 
 enjoying the cool evening air that blew tiiiough 
 the open gate into the court. His hand rested up- 
 on the edge of the door, and the moment Pauline 
 entered, he pushed it to with a clang that made her 
 heart sink. 
 
 *■ Whom have we here," said he, " that comes in 
 so boldly ? Oh, so I is it you, mar belle demoiselle i" 
 U^ continued, as the light of the lanterns which 
 hung under the arch fell upf)n her countenance : — 
 *' well, you shall s e your lather now. But first, I 
 think you had better go and speak to the governor; 
 he is a m.in of tas'e, and would like such a pretty 
 prisoner, no doubt; perhaps he miglit hnd a war- 
 raiit for your detention " 
 
 Pauline's heart sank at the idea of being carried 
 before the governor, well knowing how little com- 
 petent she was to answer any inquiries concerning 
 her errand , but the excess of lear will often give 
 courage, and the most timid ai.imals turn and resist 
 when pressed to extremity. Thus Pauline sum- 
 moned up all her resolution, and remembering the 
 allusion whicn the porter had made to Chavigni's 
 orders in favour of the woodman, slie replied bold- 
 ly : '• This is no time for jesting, sir ! and as to de- 
 taining me, it v.'ould bo as much as the governor's
 
 12 RICUEULD 
 
 post is worth, if it came to Monsieur de Chavigni'a 
 ears, that he ever thought of such a thing." 
 
 " So, eo !" cried tlie porter with a grin, *•' you are 
 a friend of Monsieu; de Chavigni's. So — i thought 
 there was something made him so careful of yon 
 sour old woodman. These great statesmen must 
 have their little relaxations. So that is it, mademo- 
 iselie ? He takes -special care of the father for 
 the daughter's sake," 
 
 There was a drop or two of the warm blood of 
 Lan;^uedoc flowing in Pauline's vein's wiih all her 
 gentleness, and her patienre now became complete- 
 ly exhausted. " Well, sir ! ' she answered, *• ail I 
 have to say to you is. (hat if 1 meet with any inso- 
 lence; it may cost you dear. So bring me to see 
 my father, or refuse me at o!»ce." 
 
 '■ 1 cm not g;>ing to refuse you, nrv pretty dem- 
 oiselle," replied the porter j " li^oiigh, truly, you 
 speak more like a lady «;f quality than a \\ooduinn's 
 daughter. Inow Til swear you are Madame la Com- 
 te-se's stdrvante. INay, do not toss your heaJ so 
 impatieiitly ; your father will be here in a minute 
 he knows of your having called at the wirkei this 
 morning, and is to come .here fo see vou at seven — 
 But here is ihe governor, as I live — going to take a \ 
 twilight walk, I suppose." 
 
 As he spoke, the governor approached : '•' Whom 
 have yf II .,'ot here, porter ?" he asked, while ha ey- 
 ed Pauline with a cool luxurious glance that made 
 her shrink. 
 
 " This is the woodman's daughter, sir," replied 
 the man, " who wishes to speak with her fither." 
 
 *• By the keys of St. Peter 3 which are something 
 in my own way,'' exclaimed the governor,'* thou a-l 
 a beautiful diughter for a woodman. Art thou sure 
 thy moiher did not help thee to a better parentage ? 
 What is ihy father's name ?" 
 
 Territied, co:itii^ed, and ignorant of the wood- 
 man's name, Pauiine faltered forth unconscious of 
 what she said, "I do not know." 
 
 '• Ha ! ha ! ha ! thou sayest well, my pretty dwn-
 
 RICftELIEU. IS 
 
 sel," cried the governor, laughing, and thinking 
 that she answered his jest in kind. " It is a wise 
 father that knows his own child-, and why not a 
 wise child that knows his own father ? But with- 
 out a joke, what is your supposed filher's name ?" 
 
 " My supposed father !" repeated Pauline, in the 
 same state of perturbation 5 " Oh, Philip, the.wood- 
 man." 
 
 '' Nay, nay,*' replied the governor, " that does 
 not answer my meaniiig cither. What is the sur- 
 name of this Pliilip the woodman 1" 
 
 The impossibility of answering overpowered her, 
 Pauline had not the most remote idea of Philip's 
 name, and another instant would indubitably have 
 betrayed all ; but at the moment the governor ask- 
 ed his question, Philip had entered the court. He 
 had heard the last sentence, saw Pauline's embar- 
 rassment, and divining its cause, with quick pres- 
 ence of mind caught her in his arms, and kissed her 
 on bolh cheeks, with that sort of fatherly affection 
 which would have deceived the governor's eyes by 
 day, much less by the fainter light of the lanterns 
 in the archway. 
 
 " My dear child," cried lie, ''how art thou ? and 
 how is" thy mother ?" And then turning to the 
 governor, without giving her time to reply, he went 
 on, " My name, sir, which you were asking but 
 now, is Philip Griesolles ; but I am better known 
 by the name of Philip the woodman, and some 
 folks add the name of the wood, and call me Phil- 
 ip the woodman of Mantes." 
 
 "Philip Grissoles !" said the governor) "very 
 well, that will do. It was your surname that I 
 wished to know, for it is not put down in tiie order 
 for your detention, and it must be inserted in the 
 books. And now. Monsieur Philip Grissoles, you 
 may take your daughter to y<>ur cell ; but remem- 
 ber that you have to wait upon the Count de Ble- 
 nau in half an hour, by which lime I shall have re- 
 turned. You can leave your daughter in your cell 
 .till you have done attending the count, if you like,"
 
 14 RICHELIEtL 
 
 He then proceeded to tlie gate, and beckoning- 
 to the porter, he wiiispered to him. " Do not let 
 her go out till 1 come back. It is seldom that we 
 have any thing like that in the Bastille 1 Doubt- 
 less, that woodman would be glad to have her with 
 him ; if so, we will find her a cell."' 
 
 Philip turned his eir to catch what the governor 
 was sayings but not l)eing able to hear it distinctly, 
 he addressed himself to Pauline loud enough to 
 reach every one round. ••Come," said he.^'jna 
 Jille. you a.'e frightened at all tliese towers and walls 
 and ;)laces ; but it is not so u'ipleasant after one is 
 in it either. Take my arm, and I'll show you the 
 wav.'' 
 
 Pauline was glad to accept of his offer, for her 
 steps faltered so much that she could hardly have 
 proceeded without assistance : and thus, lean.n<r on 
 the woodman, she was slowly conducted throuirh a 
 great many narrow passages, to the small vaulted 
 chamber in which ne was lodged. 
 
 As soon as they had entered, the woodman shut 
 the door, and placing for Pauline's us- the only 
 chair that the room contained, he began to pour 
 forth a thousand excuses for tiie liberty he had tak- 
 en with her cheek. '• 1 hope you will consider, 
 mademoiselle, that there was no other way for me 
 to act, in order to bring us out of the bad y^b we 
 had fallen into. 'The porter of the prison tojd me 
 this morning that my daughte- was cpming to see 
 me. and knowing very well I had no daughter. I 
 guessed that it was some one on the Count de Ble-» 
 nau's account; but little did I think it was you, 
 mademoiselle — you that 1 saw in the wood of 
 Mantes on the day he was wounded." 
 
 Pauline was still too much agitated with all that 
 had passed to make any reply, and sitting with her 
 hands pressed over her eyes, her thoughts were all 
 confusion, though one terrible remembrance still 
 predominated, that she was there — in the very heart 
 of the Bastille — far from all those on whom she was 
 accustomed to rely— habited ia a disguise foreign
 
 IllCHMXTEll. 15 
 
 tQ her rank — acting an assumed character, and en- 
 gasred in an enterprise of life and death. 
 
 Ail this was present to her, not so much as 
 a thought, but as a feeling; and for a moment or 
 two it deprived her not only of utterance, hut of re- 
 flectioa. As her mind grew more calm, ho'Vever, 
 the g'-eat object for which she came began again to 
 recover the asoendfincy : and slie gradually regaia- 
 ed sufficient commiad over her ideas to compre- 
 hend the nature of the excuses which Philin was 
 still offering for his presump'ion. as he termed it. 
 
 " You did perfectly right," replied Pauline ; " and, 
 having extricated us from admg-erous predicament, 
 merit my sincere thanks. But now," she continued, 
 "without loss of time I must see the Count de 
 Blenau." 
 
 " See the Count de Blenau !" exclaimed Philip, 
 in astonishment. " Impossible, mademoiselle 1 
 Utterly impossible ! 1 can deliver a letter or a 
 message ; but tint is all I can do." 
 
 '• VVljy not ?" demanded Pauline. " For pity's 
 sake, do not trifle with me. If you have free ad- 
 mission to his prison, why cannot you open the 
 way to me ?" 
 
 " Because, mademoiselle, there is a sentinel at 
 his door who would nnt allow vnu to pass," replied 
 Philip. " I have no wisli to trifle with you, indeed j 
 but what you ask is merely impossible." 
 
 Pauline thought for a moment. " Cannot we 
 bribe the sentinel !" she demanded. " Here is 
 gold." 
 
 " That is not to be done either, answered Phil- 
 ip. '• He is not allowed to speak to any one, or any 
 one to speak to him. The first word, his fusil 
 would be at my breast ; and the second, he would 
 fire : such are his orders, mademoiselle, and be 
 sure he would obey them;" 
 
 " Well then," cried Pauline, " fly to the Count 
 de Blenau, tell him that there is a lady here from 
 the queen, with a letter which she must not trust to 
 any one elie, and ask him what is to be don«— but
 
 1§ RICJIEMEU. 
 
 do not stay long, for I am afraid of remaining here 
 by myself." 
 
 The woodman promised not in be a moment, and 
 hastened to the Count de Bienau's apartment, 
 where tlie wary sentinel, as usunl. exnmincd him 
 well to aacertiiin his identity hefore lie gave him 
 admission. He then entered ami communicated aa 
 rapidly as possible to De Blenau the message he 
 had received. 
 
 " It is Mademoiselle de Hauteford, with(»ut 
 doubt," said de Blenau, thoughtfully ; " 1 must see 
 her by all means." 
 
 " See her, sir I" exclaimed Philip. '• The guard 
 will never let her pas-s. It is quite impossible.' 
 
 " ]S^ot so impossible as you think. The gates of 
 the inner court do nut sliut, 1 think, till nearly nine 
 —Is there any one m the court V 
 
 " ]Vo one, sir," answered the wondajan ; " all the 
 state prisoners were locked up at six." 
 
 '•' Well then, Philip," proceeded De Blenau, '• do 
 you know a small tower in the court, where you 
 just see through the archway part of an old flight of 
 steps ?■' 
 
 " Oh yes. I know it well," replied Philip. " The 
 tower is never used now, they tell me. There is a 
 heap of "ubbiih in the doorway." 
 
 " K.Kictly," said the rount. "Now, my good 
 Philip, bring the lady with all speed to that tower, 
 and up the oh flight of steps till you co ne to a 
 small iron door : push that with your hand, and you 
 will find that it brings you into the inner room 
 where I will wait for \ou." 
 
 Philip's joy and astonishment found vent in three 
 Bon dieii's ! and three Est- il possible's, and rnsliing 
 away without more li>ss of lime, he flew to Pauline, 
 whose stay in his cell had bpen undisturbeil by any 
 thing but h'^r own an\ious fears. These, however, 
 magnified every sound in!o the approach of some 
 one t» be dreaded. Even the footstep of th.e wood- 
 man made her heart beat with alarm j but the news 
 he brought far more than compensated f©r it, and.
 
 niCHELIEtJ. 17 
 
 inspired with new hope, she followed him gladly 
 through the gloomy passages which led to the inner 
 court. 
 
 'J'he darkness which pervaded the unlighfed 
 avenues of the Bastille was so great, that Pauline 
 was obliged to follow close upon Pliilip's footsieps 
 for fear of losing her way. The woodinan. howov- 
 ever, was a little in advance, when a faint liglit 
 showed that tliey were approaching the open air, 
 and Pauline began to catch an indistisict glimpse of 
 the dark towers that surrounded the inner court. 
 But at tliat moment Philip drew back : " There is 
 some one in the cou't,' he whispered : — " Hark !" 
 and listening, she clearly heard the sound of meas- 
 ured steps crossing the open space before her. 
 
 '' Jt is the guard." said the woodman, in th.e same 
 low voice; '' they aie going to relieve the s^entinel 
 at the count's door." He now waited till they 
 were heard ascending the stairs, and then, " Quick, 
 follow me across the court, mademoiselle, he said ; 
 "for they go through this passage on their return." 
 
 Pauline was about to follow him as he desired, 
 but her dress caught, upon one of the staples of the 
 doorway. Philip attempted to disentangle it for 
 her. but in vain, his efforts only fi.ved it the more. 
 Pauline herself tried to tear it away, but the sou- 
 brette's stout serge dress would not tear. In the 
 mean lime they l.eard the '• Qui vive?'' of tbe sen- 
 tinel, the countersign returned, the re'ief of the 
 guard ; and by the lime that Philip had by main 
 strength torn away the dress from the staple that 
 had caught it. the steps of the soldiers were again 
 henrd descending the staircase from the prison of 
 Do Blenau. 
 
 " For God's snUe, mademoiselle/" whispered the 
 woodman, *' run back as qnuVly as you can to my 
 cell; for we canm.t pass now without their seeing 
 us. I will wait here, for thev would hear my heavy 
 feet in the passape, and follow us bo;h ; but if I 
 can stop them a while I will, to give you time." 
 
 Pauline doubted not that she could remember the
 
 18 RICHELIEO, 
 
 turnings, and, gliding along as fast as possible, she 
 endeavoured to find her way back. As she went, 
 she heard some words p^s3 between Philip and the 
 .Tuard ; and immediately after she distinguished that 
 they had entered the passage, for the echoingtramp 
 of thf^ir feet, reverbarated b- the low arches, seem- 
 ed following close upon her. Terrified and agitat- 
 ed, she flew on with the speed of lightning. But 
 we all know how difficult it is to retrace any course 
 we have pursued in the dark 5 and in her haste and 
 confusion Pauline lost the turning she oujht to 
 have taken, and, afraid of going back, even after 
 she discovered her loistake, she paused for a mo- 
 ment in a state ot alarm and suspense, little short 
 of agony. 
 
 She could nowd'stinctly hear the guard approach- 
 ing, aui not kcjowing where t lO passage mi^hl ter- 
 minate, or what mizht obsirLi;t the path, she felt 
 her way with her hind along .iie wall, till at length 
 she discovered a small recess, apparently one of 
 those archways which gave entrance to the various 
 cells, for beneath her fingers she felt the massy 
 uolts and fasLeaings which secured it from without. 
 She had scirce a moment to tliink, but, placing 
 herself under the arch, she drew back as far as 
 possible, in the hope that sheltered by the recess, 
 and Cijncealed by tha darkness, the guard would 
 pass her by unnoticed. 
 
 It was a dreadful raomant for poor Pauline. The 
 soldiers were not so near as t!ie echoes of the place 
 had le 1 her to imagine ; and she had several min- 
 utes to wait. hullinT her breath, and ilrawing her- 
 self in, as if to nothing, while the tramp of the arm- 
 ed feet came nearer and nearer, till at length she 
 felt, or fancie 1 that slie felt, their clothes brush 
 against her as they passed ; and then heard their 
 steps becommg fiinter and more faint as they pro- 
 ceeded to some other part of the building. 
 
 It was not till all was again silent, that Pauline 
 ventured, still trembling with the danger she had 
 ju3t escaped, to seek once more the path she had
 
 RICHELIEU, 19 
 
 lost in lier terror. But her search was now in vain; 
 she had entirely forgot the turnings that she had 
 taken in Iter flight, and in the darkness only went 
 wandering on from one passage to another, starting 
 at every sound, and always convinced that she was 
 mistaken, but not knowing in what direction to 
 seek the right. 
 
 At lengtn, however, she found herself at a gate- 
 way which led into what seemed an open court, 
 and imagining from the towers she saw round about, 
 that she had arrived once more at the spot from 
 which she had been frightened by the approach of 
 the guards, she resolved again to seek more cau- 
 tiously tlie cell of the woodman, to which, of course, 
 he would return in search of her. But as she turn- 
 ed to put this resolve in execution, she perceived a 
 light coming down the passage towards her ; and 
 without giving herself a moment to reflect that it 
 might possibly be the wtiodman himself, fear seiz- 
 ed her again, and darting across the court, she look- 
 ed round for some pi ice of concealment. 
 
 Exactly opposite she perceived another archway 
 similar to the one she had left, and concealing lier- 
 self within it, she paused to see who it was that 
 followed, it just occurring to her mind at that in- 
 stant, that periiaps she was in full career away from 
 the very person she wishrd to find. But, the mo- 
 ment after, tiie light appeared in the archway, and 
 glancing on the fico of the man who carried it, dis- 
 covered to her the features of the governor. 
 
 This sight was not calculated to allay her fears ; 
 but her alarm was infinitely increased when she 
 perceived ihit he began crossing the court towards 
 the spot where she stood. Flight again became 
 her resource, and. turning to escape through the 
 passages to which she supposed that archway led, 
 as well as the others, she struck her foot against 
 some steps and had nearly fallen. Recovering 
 herself, however, without loss of time she began 
 ascending the steps that lay before her, nor stop- 
 pad, till reach ipg a small landing-place, she look-
 
 20 ftlCHELIEU, 
 
 ed through one of the loopholes in the wall, and 
 beheld the governor directing his course to anoth- 
 er part of the buiidinsT. 
 
 Satisfied that he did not follow her, but fiint and 
 out of breath with the speed she had employed in 
 her flight, Pauline paused for a moment's repose; 
 and stretching out her hand, she leaned against a 
 door which stood at tiie top of the staircase : — 
 liowever, it aff*. riled her no support, for the mo- 
 ment she touched it, it gave way under her hand, 
 and flyin:^ open, discovered to her a well-lighted 
 apartment. jNew (error seized upon Pauline ; her 
 eyes were dazzled by the sudden glare, and draw- 
 in ^ bacli she would have fallen headlonz down 
 tlie stairs, but at that instant she was caught in the 
 arms ofDe Blenau. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 Whici* S«t» Pauline out aod Philip in, and leaves De Blenau 
 in (lie middle. 
 
 The tumult of joy and surprise — the mutual ex- 
 planations — the delight of De Blenau — the relief 
 of Pauline— with the thousand little et cetera of 
 such a meeting, I must leave to the reader's ira- 
 aginntion, which will doubtless do much more jus- 
 tice to every circumstance than could the quill of a 
 foolish bird such as 1 hold in rav hand. Neither 
 shall I dilate upon the surprise of Philip iho wood- 
 man, when, on coming to inform De Blennu that 
 he had lost the lady in the windings of ilie Bastille, 
 he discovered that she had found her way to the 
 object 6f her search without bis sa^e ^guidance,
 
 RlCHELlKa 2l 
 
 One piece of infcrmation, however, he conveyed, 
 whiclv hurried their conference towards a conclu* 
 sion. The governor, he siiid; wlio had heen absent^ 
 had returned, and was then engaged in visiting the 
 western wards ; and therefore he might be shortly 
 expected in that part of the prison. 
 
 This unpalateable news reminiled Pauline to de» 
 liver the letter from the queen, which in the joy 
 tlnJ agitation of their first meeting she had neglect- 
 ed to do. De Blenau looked it over with a horrid 
 glance. " She commands me, said he, '' to con* 
 fess all exactly as it occurred ; but on one or two 
 points I have already refused to answer, and if I 
 do so now without producing the queen's warrant 
 for uiy conduct, J shall be held a base cowafd, who 
 betrays his trust for fear of the torture.'" 
 
 '• And do you hesitate, Claude V demanded Pau- 
 line, rather reproachfully — •'• do you hesilate to tnke 
 the only means which can save you ? Do you think 
 nothing of what 1 feel ? You, Claude, may be 
 proof against corporeal torture ; but I cannot en- 
 dure much longer the mental agony 1 have suffered 
 since you have been confined here, especially 
 when I reflected that even while you were acimg 
 m.'St nobly, I was suspecting you ungenerously. If 
 you love me as you profess, dear Claude, you vv^ill 
 take the means that tlie queen directs to ensure 
 your safety." 
 
 " Well,' dearest Paulihe," replied De Blenau, 
 yielding to the all-persuasive eloquence of woman's 
 lips, '• I will do as you wish, and endeavour to pur- 
 sue such measures as will be both safe and honora- 
 ble. But now conclude what you were telling me, 
 of having lost yourself in the prison, and how you 
 found your way hither." 
 
 It may be necessary to explain, that while tliis 
 conversation had taken place between De Blenau 
 and Pauline in the inner ap irtment, Philip the 
 woodman had remained in the outer cham!»er, 
 keeping watch with his ear to the door wiiich 
 communicated with Ihe staircase, in order to ap
 
 52 tllOflfiLIED. 
 
 prize them in time of the governor's approach, Paii- 
 line now had not time to conclude her little histo - 
 ry of perilous escapes and dangers ere Philip, en- 
 tering from the outer chamber interrupted her : 
 "Fly down the stairs, mademoiselle," critd he, 
 '•■ and wait at the bottom till I join you. The gov- 
 ernor is coming, for I hear other steps on the stairs 
 as well as those of the sentinel at the top." 
 
 Prisons are not places lor great ceremonies, nor 
 for all the mighty delicacies of general society ; so 
 Pauline suffered Dc Blenau to press his lips upon 
 hers unreproved. and then tied down the back stair- 
 case witii the speed of light; after which the count 
 shut and bolted the iron door, and passed into (he 
 outer chamber, while the woodman bustled about 
 in the inner one, arranging the count's apparel lor 
 the night, and appearing much more busy than he 
 really was. 
 
 Tims every thing was as it should be when the 
 governor eiUered ; but still there was an angry spot 
 upon his brow, and with but a slight inc)ination to 
 De Blenau, he looked through the door between 
 the two chambers, saying. " Well, Mr. Woodman 
 of Mantes, where is your daughter ? She is not in 
 your cell." 
 
 " You have made sure of that in person, I suppose, 
 replied Philip, in his usual surly manner. 
 
 " Whether I have or not." answered the gover- 
 nor, "does but little signify. I ask where is your 
 daughter ? We must have no strangers wandering 
 about the Bast lie." 
 
 "1 know my child's beauty as well as you do, 
 monsieur," replied Philip, '• and was too wise to 
 leave her in my ceil, where every one that chose 
 would have liberty and time to alfront her, while 1 
 was attending upon Monsieur le Ccmpte here : so 
 1 made her come with me, and set her under the 
 archway of the old tower to wait till 1 v. as done. 
 Now, it monsieur has done with me, I will go and 
 conduct her to the outer gate, and never with nay
 
 racniaiEC. - 23 
 
 will shall she set her foot within these walla 
 again." 
 
 •' I have no further need of you to-night, Philip," 
 s.iid De Blenau, as the Woodman stood at the door 
 ready to 'depart 5 -and then seeing that the governor 
 turned to follow him cut, he added, " Monsieur le 
 Gouverneur, will you sup with me this evening V 
 
 Philip quitted the room^ hut the governor vvas 
 obliged 10 stay to reply. " With pleasure, sir, with 
 pleasure said he. " 1 will be back with you imme- 
 diately, before my servant brings the plates ; but 
 I must first take the liberty of seeing this demois- 
 elle out of the prison gates " He then left De Ble- 
 nau, and having bolted the door, followed the wood- 
 man quickly down the steps. Philip, however, had 
 gained so much upon him, that he had time to whi^- 
 p' r to Pauline, whom he iound waiting in the arch- 
 way : " The governor is coming, but do not be alarm- 
 ed. Let him think that 1 bade you wait for me 
 here till I had attended the count."' 
 
 Pauline, however, could not help being alarmed. 
 While the excitement of her enterprise had con- 
 tinued, it afforded a false sort of courage, which 
 carried her through ; but now that her object was 
 gained, all her native timidity returned, and she 
 thought of encountcrir.g the governor again with 
 fear and trembling. i\^)r !^ud she much tune to re- 
 call her spirits before he himself joined them. 
 
 " Well, my fiir demoiselle/' he cried, '• I think 
 if I had known tii;it you were waiting here all flono 
 in t!ie dark. I shouhl hr.vc paid you a visit j'' and 
 he raised the lamp close to Pauline's face, whicfj 
 WK3 as pale as death. '• Why, you look as terrifi- 
 ed," proceeded tiie governor, •• as iryf'U had been 
 committing murder. Well I will light you out, 
 and when y« u come to-morrow, you will nd be so 
 frightened. At what hour do v«iu come, c'l V 
 
 •• I desire that you would not come at all," said 
 Pi;ilip, aloud, as lie followed the governor, wh') was 
 escorting Pauline aloiig with an air of gallantry art! 
 bndina5(j which did not at .ill set off bis thin de-
 
 24 «.!oi-:2:Ll£l'. 
 
 rnure features to advantage, especially in the unbe- 
 ccniinj H^'it of the lamp that Hickcred upon theirt 
 but at intervals, tippinif all the acjte r.n^les of his 
 couiuenance with not the most agreeable hue. '• I 
 desire that you would not come at all ; vou have 
 been here once too often already. Let your bfuth- 
 er Cliarles eome the next time." 
 
 The governor darted a glance at Philip, v.hich cer- 
 tainly evinced that his face (iould take on. when it 
 likcvi, an expression of hatred, malice, and all uncha- 
 ritableness ; and in a minute or two after, by soine 
 means, the lamp went out in his hands. " Here, 
 Pliilio. '• cried he, ' tike the lamp, and get a lii^iit. •' 
 
 ''Your pardon sir. '■ answered the sturdy Wood- 
 n^an ; " not till I have seen my daughter beyo:iJ 
 the srates. "' 
 
 "Philip Grissolles.' or Philip the Woodman, or 
 whatever you call yourself, " cried the governor, 
 '•are you mad 1 Do you know what you are abnut 1 
 Go and fetch me alight instantly or refuse me at 
 your peril. "' 
 
 •• 1 do refuse then." replied the Woodman wlio 
 had learned by conversation wilii the porter and turn- 
 keys, how mucli power the eoyernor had pi iced in 
 his han.ls by pc-rmilting him to sttcj^d upon the 
 Court dft Clcnau ; "1 am your prisoner, sir," he 
 co;it nufid, •• hut not your servant. '' 
 
 •' 1 hiVG allowed you to act as-such in llie prison, "' 
 said the governor, " and there are no servants here 
 but mine. "' 
 
 " In Eufferini me to attend upon the Count d^ Ble- 
 nau, ■' rpjoined Philip, holdy, " you have out sttj-ped 
 your dutv. anti brok'^n the e.xpress order of Use car- 
 dinal. So mu»;h have I learnedirir.ee I came here*— 
 therefore allow my daughter to depart q-Jietly, sir. 
 We shall lind a li/ht in the porter s room. " 
 
 '• By heavens ! Ihavamind to detain the girl all 
 night, for your insolence,'" cried the governor, 
 stamping wiih rage, 
 
 •' Oil, for God's sakefdo not i " exclaimed Pauline, 
 clasping berh.mdsj butPbilip came close u;Uo him,
 
 RICHKLIEC. 2S 
 
 — •• You dare not, " said he, in a low voice ; "for 
 your head, you dare not. " And then added aloud 
 to Pauline. " Come along, my child; Monsieur le 
 Gouverneur will let you out." 
 
 During (liiis aitercalion they had continued to pro- 
 ceed ; and the governor, knowing that his violation 
 of the cardinafs commands with regard to the strict 
 confinement of De Blenau, might bring his head to 
 the block, ifsifted thoroughly, thought it best to ab- 
 stain from irritating a person who not only possess- 
 ed, but knew that he possessed, so much power. Not 
 that iic would not willingly have silenced the Wood- 
 man by some of those infallible means which were 
 snuch resorted to in that day; but that he knew Cha- 
 vigni was not easily satisfied on such points ; and 
 thus being in a situation which is popularly e.'spres- 
 sed by "the horns of a dilemma," like a good 
 Christian as he was, he chose rather to risk dis- 
 covery than commit murder which would undoubt- 
 edly be found out. Under these circumstances, he 
 permitted Philip and Pauline to proceed to the 
 gates, and ordered the porter to give the young lady 
 egress, taking care, however, to follow them all the 
 way till they arrived at the last gate opening upon 
 ihs drawbridge, v.'hich, at the time they arrived, had 
 no" been yet raised for the evening. 
 
 Pauline's heart beat with glad impatience as the 
 jailor put his key into the lock, whose bolt grating 
 harshly, as it was withdrawn, produced to her ears 
 most excellent music. 
 
 it so imfortunately happened, however, that at the 
 momG.r. tiie gate swung heavily back upon its hing- 
 es, Charles, the Woodinan's son, presented himself 
 for 3dmission;and having before had free access to his 
 f;ither.v,n3 proceeding calmly through ihe open door, 
 without any notice of iMademoii?ei!e de Beaumont, 
 wlioni he did not recognise in her disguise. 
 
 '• What !" exclaimed the governor, whose Bastille 
 habits rendered him quick to the slightest suspicion; 
 "do you not speak to your sister ?" 
 
 ¥oc. n. 3
 
 .^ MCIiELIEU. 
 
 " Sister !'' said the boy, confornded ; " 1 have ho 
 sister ' 
 
 Pauline saw t!iat in another moment all would be 
 lost 5 and carting past the govcmor. she was 
 through llie ga'e, and ever llie drawbridge in a 
 moment. 
 
 •• Ncm de Pitii .'"' cried the governor ; '' Follow 
 her. Lei.r;tii.es 1 — quick, quick !'" 
 
 Ttie turnkey was on P;iuiine's footstep's in a 
 minute 5 but she h;u gained so mucli in tiie first in- 
 stance, that she would ctriainlv have escaped with 
 ease, it an envious siorc iind not obstructed her 
 path at the buiutm ot" tiie glans, and striking iier 
 loot, occasioned tier to iaij. Pauline uttered a 
 scream ot btith j.'aiu and lear j and two steps would 
 have bruugiii liie turnkey t<> the spot where she 
 lay, when suddenly a buiall, str.inge-shaped figure 
 in while, skipped nver her pri)Slrnie torni, and in- 
 terposed between her as.d i.er pursuer. 
 
 " Ventre. Saint Gris .' ' cried the redt ubtable 
 Jacq'jt s Chatpilleur, cuisinier aubcrgislie, who thus 
 came to lier assistance — " Vou shall not touch her! ' 
 and drawing the iong rapier that hung beside his 
 carving-kiiit'e. he made a pass so near the breast 
 of the turnkey, that llie official Marled back lull 
 ten paces, not knouin-, in the dim light ol the 
 hour, what hoi^gobfin shajetuus crossed lii= pur- 
 pose. " iT/ammi.'" continued t' e aOergiste,'\Y ho 
 sre )ou that dare to injure tins deiiK.ist'Je 1 un- 
 der the very vvnilsof liie Basiilie. too, contrary to 
 the peace and quiet of his ujnjesiy's true subjects ! 
 Get thee '^one ! or I wiil sjiit thee like a chapon 
 de ir.aiiie. or raiher skewer thee like an orlolaa 
 under t!ie uiiigs.' 
 
 This pr.!i"s-:tiiial allusion, together with a mo- 
 menls reflect. on. enabicd Lelranies, the turnkey, 
 to call to mind the ancien vivandier ; and shower- 
 ing upon him a thousand harsh epithets for his 
 inter; ere fit;.' he called upon him to stand aside, 
 and let him secure his prisoner; still, however, 
 etanding aloof from the point of the weapon, — for
 
 mCHELlEU. 27 
 
 -Jacques Chatpillieur, while vivandier to the army, 
 • had t hown f'at he could gather laurels with his 
 sword, as well as with liis knife ; and had as often, 
 to use Saficho's expression, siven his enemies a 
 belly full of dry blows, as Irs had ttlled his friends 
 with more dainty fare : with this difference, how- 
 ever, that the drubbings he bestowed gratis. 
 
 In the present instance, he either <!id not or 
 would not, know the turnkey ; and contiRued vo- 
 ciferating to hin) to hold off, and tell who he wag, 
 with such reit ration, that for some time the oth- 
 er had no opportumty of replying. At length, 
 however, he roared, rather than said, "Jacques 
 diable ! yon know me well enough j 1 am Lc- 
 trames, Geolier au chateau.' 
 
 The aubergiste looked over his shoulder, and 
 seeing that Pauline was no longer visible, he very 
 q«ietly put up his rapier, saying. " 3Jak mon Dieic! 
 man ami, why did you not tell me that before .' 
 ■Je voui en demands mille pardons;^' and seizing 
 the turnkey in his arms, he embrared him. makinj 
 ^. thotfsand excuses for having mistaken him, and 
 hugging him with a sort of malicious allfjction, 
 which quite put a stop to his pursuit of Pauline. 
 
 The only benediction that the jailor thought 
 proper to hestow on the little aubergiste, was a 
 -thousand curses, struggling a!^. the time to free 
 ■hiiiHelf from the serpent iblds of Chatpilleurs 
 ■enibrare. But it was not l\\\ ihc aubergiste had 
 comnlelely satisfied himself, that he suffered Le- 
 ■trames to esc 'pe, and then very eoniposodly of- 
 fered to assist him in the pursuit, which he well 
 knew would now be ineffectual. 
 
 The darkness of the night harl prevented this 
 scene from l>eing visihie from the gates of the Bas- 
 tille, and Lelrames, on his return to the prison, 
 was too wise to complain of the conduct of our 
 iriend Chatpilleur ; a vivandier at the gates of the 
 ■Bisulle being mnch too convenient an acquaint- 
 ance to be quarrelled with upon trifles. 
 
 Duri.nif his absence, lb« wrath of the governor
 
 28 RiCHELIEe. 
 
 turned upon Philip the woodman. " What is the 
 meaning of this : Villnin !" exclaimed he, " this 
 is none of your daughter I Fourchard I Le Heu- 
 terie !" he called aluua to some of his satellites — 
 ''quick! bring me a srt of iroi;s ! we shall soon 
 hear who this is, Monsieur Philip Grissolesl" 
 
 " You will never hear any tiling IVowi me more 
 than you know already,'" replied I'hiiij) j -'so put 
 what irons on me you like. But }ou isad belter 
 beware, Sir Governor; those that meddle with 
 pitch will stick their fingers. You do not know 
 what you may bring upon your iiead/' 
 
 "Silence, fool I'' cried liie governor, in a voice 
 that made the archwa\, ring; •' you know not what 
 you have brou;;2ht upon } our own head. Fouchard ! 
 La Heuterie 1 I say, why are you so long? Oh, 
 here you come at last. iSow secure that fellow, 
 and down with him to one of the black dungeons ? 
 — Porter, turn that young viper out,"' l:e continued, 
 pointing to Charles, who stnod trembling and weep- 
 ing by his father s side ; " Turn him out, 1 say ? — 
 we will have no more of lliese trailers than we 
 have occasion for." 
 
 At the word the dark di(ngeon, Philip's courage 
 had almost failed him, and it was not without an 
 effort that he ke[)l hi;; sturdy hmhs fr» m betraying 
 his emotion, while the jiilors began to plaie the 
 irons on his wrists and ankles : but when he heard 
 the order to drive fVirth his son, he made a strong 
 cribrt and caught the boy in his arms ; God bless 
 you God bless you. Charles my bov I and fear not for 
 me,'' he exclaimed. •• while there is a Power alove.' 
 
 It v.asa momentary solace to embrace his child, 
 but the pf'rter soon tore the boy from his arms, 
 nnd pushing him ll.rough the gate, closed it alter 
 hiiii, rejoicing that he should no more have to 
 turn the kev for r.ny of the woodman's family. 
 "Pvow,' said he, " now we shall have no more 
 trouble ; 1 hate to sec all our good old rules and 
 regulations broken through. I dare say if his emi- 
 nence the cardinal — God j roteot him ! — were to
 
 RICHELIKU. 2^ 
 
 follow ihis Monsieur Chavigni's advice, we should 
 have every thing out of order ; and all the gtjod 
 store of chains and irons here in the lodge would 
 get rusty fvr want of use." 
 
 " Peace, pcr^cc :"' cried the governor : " La Heut- 
 erio, take tiiat I'eilow down, as I told you. He shall 
 have t'lie question to-morrow, and we shad see if he 
 finds that so easy to bear. Away with him quick I 
 —A fool 1 was to be deceived ! — 1 suspected some- 
 thing vvhen she st;niimered so about her father's 
 name." So saying, he turned to hear the report of 
 Lctrames, who at that moment returned from his 
 unsuccessful pursuit of Pauline. 
 
 In the meanwhile, the jailers led Philip, who 
 moved with difficulty in his heavy irons, across the 
 first and second court, and opening a low door in 
 the western tower, displayed to his sight a flight of 
 steps leading down to ihe lower dungeons. At 
 this spot La Heuterie, who seemed superior in 
 rank to his fellow-turnkey, lighted a torch that he 
 had brought with him at his companion's lantern, 
 and descending to the bottom of the steps, held it 
 up on high to let Philip see his way down. The 
 woodman shuddered as he gazed at the deep 
 gloomy chasm which presented itself but half seen 
 by tiie glare of the torch, the light of which glanc- 
 ing upon the wall in different plnces. showed its 
 green damp and ropy-slime, without offering any 
 definite limit to the dark and fearful vacuity. But 
 he had no time to make any particular remark, for 
 the second jailer, who stood at his side, rudely 
 forced him on 5 and descending the slippery stone 
 ste'^s. he found himself in a large long vault, paved 
 with round stones, and filled with heavy subterra- 
 nean air, which at first made the torch burn dim, 
 and took away the woodman's breath. As the 
 light, however, spread slowly through the thick 
 darkness, he could perceive three d(K>rs on either 
 hand which he conceived to give entrance to some 
 of those under ground dungeons, wnose intrinsic 
 horror, as well as tjie fearful uses to which they
 
 ZQ n-lCHKLIKU. 
 
 were often applied, had given a terrific fame to 
 the name of the Bistilie, and rendered it more 
 dreaded than any other prison in France. 
 
 Daring this time tiey had paused a mroment, . 
 mo\iiig the torch slonlv about, as if afraid that it 
 would be extinguishcil In the dan»p. but when tho 
 fla ;je be;ran to rise again, La Heuterie desired his 
 companion lo bring the prisoner to number six, 
 arid proceeding to the extremity of the VAult, they 
 opened the farthest door on the left, which led into 
 a low damp ceil, cold, n-irrow, and unfurnished, the 
 very abode of horror and despair. Into ihrs- they 
 pushed the unfortunate woodman, following them- 
 selves, to see, as they said, if there was any straw. 
 
 " Have you brouglii son>e oil with you ?'" deman- 
 ded La Heuterie, f^xamining a rusty iron iamp that 
 hung *»gainiL the w^all : '• Tnis is qvite out." 
 
 " ^^o, indeed, ■■ replied Fo»Jchard, *' and we can- 
 not get any to-night ; but he does not want it till 
 day. It is time for him to go to sleep." 
 
 •' No, no,-' rejoined the other, who seemed at 
 least to have some human feeling; '-do not leave 
 the poor devil without light. Give him your lan- 
 tern, man ; you can fetch it to-morrow, when you- 
 come round to trim the lamps."' 
 
 The man grumbled, but did as La Heuterie bade 
 him ; and having fastened »he lantern on the hook 
 where the lamp hung, they went away, leaving 
 Philip to meditate over his fate in solitude. 
 
 ''1 have brought it on myself at last,'' thought 
 the woodman, as looking round him he found all 
 tiie horrors he had dreamed of the Bastille more 
 than realiized ; and his spirit sank within him. Cut 
 off from all communication with any humin being, 
 he had now no means of making his situation 
 known ; and the horrible idea of the torture shook 
 all his resolution and unmanned his heart. 
 
 It would hardly be fair lo pursue the course of' 
 his reflections any further ; for if, when he re- 
 membered his happy cottage in the wood of Mantes, 
 aed his wife, and Lis little ones, a momentary.
 
 RICriKLlEO. 81 
 
 thoihgJit of disclosing all lie knew crossed the 
 wooHmin's niinrl 5 ihe next in^tnnf. t]ip rmn of 
 the queen, t^e death of the good Count de Blenau, 
 and a trnin of endl-ss ills and hturors to those 
 who (v nfided in him, Hashed across his Imngina- 
 tinn. and nerved his heart to batter thin^r . "" He 
 calird to mind every (jenerous principl-^ of hi? na- 
 ture ; and though but a humble peasant, he strug- 
 gled nobly asrainst the di-h!;)iorinT power of fear. 
 
 Sleep, however, was out of the u^iestion ; and he 
 sat mournfully on the straw that had bee.i placed 
 for his bed. watciiing the light in the lantern, as 
 inch by inch i? burned away, till at last it yleaaied 
 fora moment in the 6ocket~sank — rose agnin with 
 a bright Hash, and then became totally extinguish- 
 ed. He now remained in u!t':>r darkness, n<^>] a 
 thousand vajiue and horrible fmcies crowded upon 
 his imagination while he sat there, calcuhuinsj how 
 near it was to day. when he fancied that even the 
 momentary pre.-ence of the jailer would prr-ve some 
 relief to the blank solitude of his situation. Hour 
 after hour, however, passed away, and no glimpse 
 oflig't told him it was morning. At length the 
 door opened a"Sid the j;iiler appear-^d, bringing with 
 him a fresh li.dit'^d lamp, thus offering a frightful 
 conlirmation of Philip's fears that the beams of day 
 never penetrated , to the place of his confine- 
 ment. 
 
 The jailer took down the lantern, and having fns- 
 tened the lamp in its place, gave to the un'ortunate 
 woodmnn a loaf of bread and a pitcher of water. 
 " Come !^" exclaimed Fouchard, in a tone which 
 spoke no gre tt pleasure in the ta^k , '■ gft up ; I 
 am to take off your irons ^or vou : ai»d. truly, there 
 is no great use of Jiem, for if vou were the devil 
 himself, you cfiuld not get out here." 
 
 '' I suppose so.'"' answered Philip. " But 1 trust 
 that it will not be long before 1 am released alto- 
 gether." 
 
 " Why. I should guess that it would not," answer- 
 ed the jailer, in somewhat of a sarcastic tone, siill
 
 32 RiqilELIED. 
 
 continuing to unlock the irons 5 " people do not to 
 general stay here very long." 
 
 " How so ?" demanded Philip, anxiously, mis- 
 doubting the tone in which -he other spoke.; 
 
 '• Why," rephed he, " you must know there are 
 three ways, by one of which prisone s are generally 
 released, as you say, altogether ; and one way is as 
 common as another, so far as my experience goes. 
 Sometimes they die under the torture; at other 
 times they are turned out to have t;.eir head struck 
 offj or else they die of the damp: which last we 
 call being kamesick." And with this very consola- 
 tory speech he bun.Llled up the irons under his arm, 
 and quitted the ceil, taking cave to fasten the door 
 behind him. 
 
 CHAPTER in. 
 
 Showing what it is to be a clay after the Fair,' with sundry 
 olKei inaUeis, which the leader canuot fuliy c<^mprfhend 
 without rtadiiig Iheiii. 
 
 Having now left the woodman as unhappy as 
 we could wish, and de Blenau very little better off 
 than he was before ; we roust proceed with Pau- 
 line, and see what we can do for her in the same 
 way. 
 
 It has been already sn'ul that in the hurry of lier 
 flight she strurk her foot against a stone, and fell. 
 This is nn ui pleiistni accider.t at all times, and 
 more epp(;ciali\ when one is running : but Pauline 
 suffered it not to interrupt her flight one moment 
 longer than necessary. Finding that some unex- 
 pected obstacle had delayed her pursuer as well as 
 nerself, she was upon her feet in a moment j and
 
 RICHELIEU?. 33 
 
 leaving him to arrange liis difference willi Monsieur 
 Chatpiileu in the best way he could, she flew on 
 towards the Rue Saint Antoine, without stopping 
 to thank her tleliverer ; and, indeed, without know- 
 ing that the good aiibergiste, iakiug a sincere inter- 
 est in her fate. had. at the hour appointed waited 
 at the door of his anberge till he saw her enter the 
 Bastille, and then, from some undefined feeling that 
 all would not go right, had watched anxiously to see 
 her safe out again. 
 
 The interest not being reciprocal, Pauline had 
 forgotten all about the aiibergiste ; and onlv seeing 
 that some one obstructed her pursuer, she fled, as 1 
 have said before, to the Rue Saint Antoine. She 
 passed Jacques Chatipilleur's little auberge without 
 any exchange of sentiment even with the Sanglair 
 Gourmand, and darted by the boutique of a passem- 
 entier w'\lh the same celerity. The next shop was a 
 marchand de broderie et tie dcntelle, with a little 
 passage, or cul desac, between it and the following 
 house, which was occupied by a brocanteur, both 
 which trades requiring dayliaht in aid of their oper- 
 ations, were at that hour firmly closed with bolt ar d 
 bar, nor shed one solitary ray to light the passenger 
 along the streets. 
 
 Just as she had come opposite to the first of 
 these, Pauline found some one seize her robe be- 
 hind, and the next minute a large Spanish cloak 
 was thrown over her head, while a gigantic pair of 
 arms embracing her waist, raised her from the 
 ground, and bore her along the street. Naturally 
 conceiving that she was in the power of some of 
 her pursuers from the Basliije, Pauline did not per- 
 ceive, in the dreadful agitation ol the moment, that 
 she was carried in a ditlerent direction ; and, giv- 
 ing hersell up for lost, she yielded to her fate with- 
 out scream or cry. Whoever it was that held her, 
 carried her like a feather j but after striding along 
 through several turnings, he paused, placed her on 
 the ground, and still holding the cloak over her 
 head with one hand seemed to open a door with
 
 8^' KlCilELlEt. 
 
 the other. The next moment he raised her again, 
 though in a different position, and c irried her up 
 what was evidently a small winding staircase, at 
 the top of which he again opened a door, where, 
 even th'-ough the cloak. Pauline c iiild I'erceive 
 that they had entered some place w!uch contained 
 a powerful light. The momeiU the d<>or was onen, 
 some one exclaimed, ' It is she ! Oh Jesu 1 \es, 
 it is she!" in a voice %vhich sounded so like il^at 
 of her maid Louise that Pauline vvas more than 
 ever bewildered. The per.-on who had carried her 
 now placed her in a chair, ar.ri laking the addi- 
 tional security oftvintT the cli ak over her head, 
 comrnunicnted for a few minutes with the other 
 person in whispers; after which Pauline fancied 
 that some one quitted the room. The covering 
 was then removed from her eyes. a;id she found 
 herse+f in a small, meanly-furn.shed aoartment, 
 whose only occupant, besides herself, was a hand- 
 some man of \e,'y gigantic proporhons. and of that 
 sort of daring aspect which smacked a little of the 
 bravo. He was well dressed in a pourpoiHt of 
 green lustring, braided with gold lace, slightly tar- 
 nished ; the haut de chwisses was of the same, tied 
 down the side with red ribands ; and the cloak 
 which he removed from I^auline's head seemed to 
 form a part of the dress, though he bad deprived 
 himself of it for the moment, to answer the pur- 
 pose in which we have seen it employed. On the 
 whole, he was a good-looking cavalier, though 
 there was a certaui air of lawlessness in hiscounte- 
 nance and mien which n^ade Pauline shrink. 
 
 " Nay. do not be afraid, mademoiselle." said he, 
 with a strong Norman accent-. " Point de danger, 
 point de dan::;er ;" and he strove to reasrure her to 
 the best of his power. He possessed no great elo- 
 quence, however, at least of the kind calculated to 
 calm a lady's fears ; and. the only thing whirh 'en- 
 ded to give Pauline any relief, wa-? the manife-^t re- 
 spect with which he addressed her, standing cap ia
 
 RICHEnEl. 39 
 
 hand, rnd reiterating that no harm was intended 
 or criuld happen to her. 
 
 She lisiened wiihout attending, too much fright- 
 ened to believe his words to their full extent, and 
 striving to gain from the objects r- and about 6"=ne 
 more precise knowledge of her situation. She 
 was evidently not in the- Bastilij; for the door 
 of the ro.-in, instead of offering tn her view bolts 
 and bars of such complicated Tbrms ♦'^at, like the 
 mousetrap, they would have puzzled the man that 
 luade them, was only fastened by a single wood- 
 en lock, ir.e key of whicn. like a dog's tongue in 
 a hoi day, kept lolling out with a negligent in- 
 cliun.i')n towards the ground, very much at ease 
 in its keyhole. The more Pauline gazed around 
 her, the more she was bewildered ; and after re- 
 solving twenty times to speak to the Norman, and 
 as often failing in- courage, she at last produced an 
 articulate sound, which went to inquire where she- 
 was. The Norman, who had been walking up and 
 down the room, as if waiting the arrival of some 
 one, stopped in the midst, and making a low '"n^- 
 clination, begged to assure mademoiselle tiiat she 
 was in a place of safety. 
 
 The ice being broken, Pauline demanded, " Did 
 not I hear the voice of my maid Louise?" 
 
 "jSo; it was my wife, madfmfiiselle," replied 
 her comparion, dryly; and reco-uajrnf'iPg his per- 
 ambulations, the youns lady sank back into l-erself. 
 At length I tap was heard at the- door, and the 
 Norman -larting forward went on the outside, 
 closing it after him, though not completely ; and 
 of the conversUion which endued between him 
 and some other msn. Pauline c'»uld catcti detach- 
 ed sentences, which, though th<^y served but little 
 to eliicidate her position to herself, may be of 
 service to the reader. 
 
 At first all was conducted in a whisper, but the 
 Norman soon broke forth, •• Sactiristie ! I tell- you 
 she got in. I did not catch her till she was com- 
 ing o\xk "
 
 QQ RICHELIEU. 
 
 *■■ Monseigneur will be precious angry with ua 
 both, answered the other. "' How I missed yon, I 
 cannot imagine 5 I only went to call upon la ptiUe 
 Jeanetle. and did not slay live minutes.' 
 
 •' And I just stepped into the Sanglis)- Gour- 
 mand,'' rejoined our ?sorman, ' which is opposite 
 you know. There I thought I could see all that 
 went on. But that maraud, Jacques Chatpillieur, 
 was always at his door about something; so find- 
 ing that I could not get my second bottle of wine, 
 I went down to the cave for it myself j antl she 
 must have passed while I was below." 
 
 " How did you find out. then, that she had got 
 into the Bastille ?" demanded the other. 
 
 The iS"orman.'s reply was delivered in so low a 
 tone that Pauline could only distinguish the words 
 — " Heard a scream — saw her running past like 
 mad — threw the cloak over her, and brought her 
 here." 
 
 " Perhaps she was not in, after all," rejoined the 
 other; '• but at all events, we must tell monseign- 
 eur so. You swear you caught her just as she was 
 going in, and Til vow that 1 was there and saw 
 you." 
 
 A new consultation seemed to take place ; but 
 the speakers proceeded so rapidly, that Pauline 
 could not comprehend upon what it turned exactly, 
 although she was herself evidently the subject of 
 discussion. ''Oh, she will not tell for her own 
 sake," said one of the voices. " She would be 
 banished, to a cerlainty. if it was known tiial she 
 got in 5 and as to the .^olks at the Bastille, be sure 
 that they will hold their irn-jues." 
 
 Something was now said about a letter, and the 
 voice o' the N(>rman replied, 'Monseigneur does 
 not suppose that she had a letter Oh, no I trust 
 me, slie had none. It was v. ord of mouth work, be 
 you sure. They were too cunning to send a letter 
 which nr-ight be stopped upon her. j\o, no, they 
 know something more than that." 
 
 ' Well, then, the sooner we take her there, the
 
 nieffiair.r?. <7 
 
 better," rejoined the other ; " the carriage is be- 
 low but ^ou must blind her eyes, for she may 
 know the liveries.' 
 
 '• Ah ! your cursed livery beirayed us once be- 
 fore/' answered the Norman. ''Holla! la haul! 
 mon Ange, give me a kerchief; I wil! tie iicr eyes 
 wit'i that, for ihe cloak olmost smoth..rs her, poor 
 littie soul !" 
 
 A light step was now heard conning down stairs, 
 and a third person was added to the party witliout. 
 What they said, Pauline could not make out ; but 
 though speaking in a whisucr, she was still confi- 
 dent that she distinguished the voice of her maid 
 Louise. '• Harm 1" said the JNiorman, after a irio- 
 ment, " we are going to do her no harm, cherc aynie ! 
 She will be down there in Maine, witn the count- 
 ess, and as hap;)y as a princ ss. Give this gentle- 
 man the trunk mail, and get yourself ready against 
 1 come back ; for v/e have our journey to tike too, 
 you V.i\oyi. ma petite femme.''' 
 
 'f^he Norman tiow laid his hand upon the lock; 
 there was a uiomentary bustle as of tlie party sepa- 
 rating; and tile n entering the room, he informed 
 Pauline that she must allow him to blindfold her 
 eyes. Knowing that resistance was in vain, Pau- 
 line submitted with a good grace ; and, her fears 
 consKierably allayed by the conversation she had 
 overheard, attempted to draw from the Norman 
 some farther information. But here he was inflexi- 
 ble ; and having tied the handkerchief over her 
 eyes, so as completely to prevent her seeing, he 
 conducted her gently down the stairs, taking care 
 to keep her from falling ; and having arrived in the 
 open air, lifted her lightly into a carriage, placed 
 hi:' self by her side, and gave orders to drive on. 
 
 The vehicle had not proceeded many minutes, 
 when it again stopped ; and Pauline was lifted out, 
 conducted up a (light of stone steps, and th.en led 
 into an apartment, where she was placed in a fau- 
 leuil, the luxurious softness of which bespoke a very 
 different sort ol furniture from tUat of the chamb€r
 
 SS RICHELlEtl. 
 
 which she had just left. There wns nrw a Irttte 
 bustle, and a coixl d'.al ef whispering, and then ev- 
 ery one seen.fd to leave the r< om. Fancung he^-- 
 seif alone, -Pauline raised her hand,- in or^er to 
 remove the handkerchief from her eves, at lea.si for 
 a monientj but a loud •' Prtiiez gardeT' frcsm ihe 
 JN'orrr an, slopped her in her purpi^se, and the next 
 instant a door opened, and she heard steps approach- 
 ing. 
 
 " Shut the dt)or," said a voice she hnd never 
 heard before. •• Marleville, you have done well. 
 Are you sure that slie had no conversation with any 
 one in the pr'son ?' 
 
 •• I will swear to it !" answered the Norman, with 
 the stobt nsservation of a determined liar. " Ask 
 your man Chauvelin, monseigneur; he wns by, and 
 saw me catch hold of her before she was at the 
 gate.'' 
 
 ■■So he says," rejoined the other; "but now 
 leave the room. I must have some conversation 
 with this d«ii»oiselie myself. Wait f^r me with- 
 out." 
 
 " Paniie !'' muttered the Tsorman, as he with 
 drew ; •• lie'll tiiid it out now, and lIsBn J'm ruin- 
 ed."" 
 
 •• Mademoiselle de BcaHmonf.'' said the person 
 t^mt remained, ••\ou have been engtiged in a rash 
 and dangerous enterprise — had you succeeded in 
 it, tl'.e Bastille must have been v(.ur doom, and se- 
 vere jiidum*'nt ucciirding to the law. By 'im ly 
 itifornial.on on the subject, Ihave been enabled to 
 save y< u from s\icii a fate; bull am sorry to say 
 that, for tbf safety of all parties, you must enduce 
 an .Tbff nee from vf>or friends t'or s(Kfte time." 
 
 He piused. as if e^ipecting a reply ; and Pauline, 
 "{ifter a moment's ronsideraiion, deiermined to an- 
 swer, in or<ler to draw from him. if possible, some 
 farther information c-oivoerning the ir.srmer in-^vhich 
 he had he-come af-qn itired with her movements, 
 and also in regard to her future destination. "I 
 p6rc«ive, eir,'' taid she, '' from your conversation,
 
 that you belong to the same rank of society ae my- 
 «elt ; but I am at a loss to imngine hew any geulle- 
 man presumes to attribute dangerous enterprises. 
 and actions deserving imprisonment, to a lady, of 
 whom he neither docs, nor can l<no\v anything." 
 
 '•My dear }Oung lady," eplied her companion, 
 "you make m smile. I did noi tiiink that I should 
 have to put forth my di|i!omatic- powers against so 
 fair and ■ ontliful an opinuient. But allow me to re- 
 mind ya that, when young ladies of the highest 
 rank are found masquerading in liie street at night, 
 dresseii in their servants' garments, they subject 
 their conduct, perhaps, lo \\.)rse misc nstruftiOBS 
 than ibai which I liave put upon yours. But, Made- 
 moiselle de Beaumont, I knov/ )ou, and 1 know the 
 spirit of your family too well to suppose that any 
 tJjing but some great and powerful motive could 
 induce you to appear as you do now. Withdraw 
 that bnndage from your e\es (I have no fear of en- 
 Countering tiiem). and look if that be a dress in 
 which Madf moist He de Beaumont should be seen." 
 
 Pauline's quirk hngtrs instantlv removed the 
 haiidke; chief, and raising her eyes, she fVund that 
 sbe was placed exactly before a tall Venetian mir- 
 ror which offered her a complete portrait of her- 
 self, sitting in an immense arm-chair of green vel- 
 vet, and dissinised in the costume of a Lanquedoc 
 paycanne. The large capote, or hood, which she 
 had worn, had been thrust oack by the Korn>ap, i« 
 order to blindfold her e}es, and her dark hair, all 
 di^hevelled, was hanging about her face in gh-ssy 
 confusion. The red serge jupe of Louise h.-.d ac- 
 quired in the passages of the Bastille no inconsid- 
 erable portion of dust ; and near the knee on which 
 she had fallen at the foot of the glacis, ii was stain- 
 ed with mire, as well as slightly torn. In addition 
 to rll this, appeared a large rent at the side, occa- 
 sio' ed by the efforts of Philip the woodman to dis- 
 engage ii from the sta; le on which it had caught ; 
 and the black bodice had been broadly marked with
 
 40 R CHtLlfclU. 
 
 green mould, in pressing against the wall, while the 
 guards passed so near to her. 
 
 Her face also was deathly pale, with all the alarm, 
 agitation, and fatigue she lia^l undergone; so that 
 no person could be more different from the elegant 
 and bh)oraing Pauliae de Beaumont than the hgure 
 wh.ic'n tnat mirror reflected. Pauline almfost start- 
 ed when she beheld herself^ but quickly recover- 
 ing from her surprise, she cast her eyes around the 
 room, which was furnished in the most splendid and 
 costly manner, and filled with a thousand objects of 
 curiosity or luxury, procured from all the quarters 
 of the g'lobe. 
 
 Her attention, however, rested not upon any of 
 these. Within a few paces of the chair in which 
 she sat, stood a tall elegant man, near that period 
 of life called the middle age, but certainly rather 
 beli>w than above the point to which the term is 
 generally applied. He was splendidly dressed, ac- 
 cording to the custom of the day ; and the neat 
 trimming of his beard and mustaches, the regular 
 arrangeramt of his dirk flowing hair, and the scru- 
 pulous harmony and symmetry of every part of hia 
 apparel, contradicted tlie thoughtful, dignified ex- 
 pression of his eyes, which seemed occupied with 
 much higher thoughts. Vandyke has transmitted 
 to us many such a physiognomony, and many such 
 a dress; but few of his costumes are more splendid, 
 or his countenances mora dignified, than was that 
 of the stranger who stood beside Mademoiselle de 
 Beauniont. 
 
 He paused for a moinent, giving her time to 
 make what examination she liked of every thing in 
 the apartment ; and as her eye glanced to himself, 
 demanded with a smile. '■ Well. Mademoiselle de 
 Beaumont, do you recollect me ?"' 
 
 " Not in the least,' replied Pauline ; ** I think, 
 sir, that we can never have seen each other be- 
 fore." 
 
 " Yes, we have, answered her companion, '' but
 
 lUCfiELIEU 41 
 
 it was at a distance. However, now look in that 
 glass, and' le!l mo — Do you recollect yourself V' 
 
 '• HarHly !" replied Pauline, with a blush, 'hard- 
 ly indeed." 
 
 " " Well then, fair lady, 1 think that you will no 
 longer demand my reasons fur attributing to you 
 dangerous enterprises, and actinns, as you say, de- 
 serving imprisonment -, but to put an end to your 
 doulits at onre, look at thnt order, where, I think, 
 you will find yo-irseirf^ome-^ hat accur;itely describ- 
 ed." Anil be handed to Pauline a small piece of 
 parchment, beinnning v^iih the words ol'serious im- 
 port ' De par le roy.' and ?oing- on t j order the ar- 
 rest oi the Den)oiselle Pauline, dnu^hter of the late 
 Marquis de Beaumnnt, and of the D ui^e Anne de la 
 Hautiere ; with all those 'j-^od set t-rms and par- 
 ticulars, whi'li left no iv.;:r. jor mistake or quiblile, 
 even li it h-.d been examined by the eyes <.'f the 
 sharpest lawyer of the Coiir des Aides. 
 
 " What say you ro'.v, MaGomniselle de Beau- 
 mont ?" demanded her companion, seeing her 
 plunged in embarrassment aid surprise. 
 
 " I have nothing to say, sir." replied Pauline, 
 "but 'hat I must submit. H(jwever, I trust that, 
 in common humaniry. I shall he allowed to see my 
 motber, either when I am in prison, or before 1 am 
 conveyed thither.'" 
 
 " You mistake me," said the other ; '• you are 
 not goinu; to a pris-m I onlv intend that you should 
 take a Sittle journe^ into the country ; during the 
 course of which all attention shall be'paid to your 
 comfort and conveniei'.re. Of course, young lady, 
 when you undertook tbe difficult task of conveying 
 a tnessnge from t'le qu?'en to a prisoner in the Bas- 
 tille, you were (>repired to risk the conseqnenres. 
 As vnij liave not succreded, no areat punia!.ment 
 will fd! uoon vou; hut as it is absolutely Jiece:-snry 
 to 'he government to prevent all coninnmic^'ion 
 be'wepn su--pected parties, you must bear a tempo- 
 rary absence from the court' till such time as this
 
 4A RlCHcl.lkM, 
 
 whole business be terminated ; tor neither the 
 queen, nor any one else, must know how far you 
 have succeeded or failed."' 
 
 Pauline pleaded hard to be allowed to see her 
 mother, but in vain. The stranger v.as obdurate, 
 and would listen to neither entreaties, piomisea, 
 nor remonstrances. All she could obtain was, the 
 assurance that Madame de Beaumont should be in- 
 formed of her safety, and that, perhaps, after a time, 
 she might be permitted to write to her. " Listen 
 to me," said the stranger, cutting short the prayers 
 by which she was attempting to influence him. '• I 
 expect the king and court from Chantilly within an 
 hour; and before that time ycu must be out of Pa- 
 ris. For your convenience, a female servant shall 
 attend you, and you will meet with all the respect 
 due to your rank ; but for your own sake, ask no 
 questions, for I never permit my domestics to can- 
 vass my affairs with any or.e — nay, they are forbid- 
 den ever to mention my name, except for some 
 express and permitted purpose. I will now leave 
 you, and send Mathuriue to your assistance, who 
 will help you to change your dress from that cojfre. 
 You will then take some refreshment, and set cut 
 as speedily as possible. At the end of your jour- 
 ney, you will meet with one to whose care I iiave 
 recommended you, and ycu will then learn in 
 whose hands you are placed. At preseuL I have the 
 honor of bidding you farewell."' 
 
 The uncertainty of her fate, the separation from 
 her mother, the vague uneasv fear attendant upon 
 want of all knowledge of v. hither she was going, and 
 the impossibility of communicating with her friends 
 under any event, raised up images far more terrify- 
 ing and horrible to the nii dot Pauline, than almr-t 
 any specific danger could have doiejand. as l.er, 
 companion turned av/ny, she hid her facG iu her 
 hands and wept. 
 
 Hearing her sob, and perhaps attributing her tears 
 to other motives, he tamed for a moment, and said 
 in a low Toiee : " Do not weep my dear child ? 1
 
 RICHELIEU. 4S 
 
 give you ray honor, that you will be well and kindly 
 treated. But one thing 1 forgot to mentic.n. I 
 know that your object was to visit the Count de 
 Bienau ; and I know, also, lliat a personaf interest 
 had something to do in the matter. Now. Madem- 
 oiselle de Beaumont, 1 can feel for you ; and it may 
 be some comfort to know, that M. de Bienau has, 
 at least, one person in the council, who will strive 
 to give to the proceedings against him as much 
 leniency as circumstances will admit.'" 
 
 This said, he quitted the apartment, and in a mo- 
 ment after Pauline was joined by the female servant 
 of whom he had spoken. She was a staid, reputa- 
 ble looking women, of about fifty, with a little of 
 the primness of ancient maiiienhood, but none of its 
 acerbity. And, aware of Pauline's rank, she assist- 
 ed her to disentangle herself from her unconiforta- 
 blrt disguise with silent respect, though she could 
 not help murmuring to herself '' MonDieu! Une 
 demol-ielle mise comme ca." She then called the 
 young lady's attention to the contents of the cqffre, 
 a&king which dress she would choose to wear ; 
 when, to her surprise, Pauline found that it contain- 
 ed a considerable part of her own wardrobe, for- 
 getting the prohibition to ask questions, she could 
 not help demanding of Mathurine how her clothes 
 could come there 3 but the servant was either igno- 
 rant, or prete de 1 to be so, and Pauline could obtain 
 no infor'iiation. As soon as fhe was dressed, some 
 -refreshments were placed on the table by Mathu- 
 rine, who received them from a servaiit at one of 
 the doors, which she immediately closed again, and 
 pressed Pauline to eat. Pauline at first refused; 
 but at length, to satisfy her companion, who con- 
 tinued tn icisist upon it with a degree of qjiet, per- 
 severing civility, that would take no refusal, she 
 took some of the coffee, which was at that time 
 served up as a rarity. As soon as ever the domes- 
 tic perceived that no entreaty would induce her to 
 taste any thing else, she called in a servant to carry
 
 44 RrCHELIEL^ 
 
 the coffre to the carriag-e, and then notified to Pan- 
 line thai it v/as lirue for them to depart. 
 
 Panline felt that ail- resisiai ce or delay would be 
 vain •■ and she accordingly followed Malhurjne down 
 a magnificent siairecse into a court-^ard, where 
 stood a chaise roulanie, the door of which was held 
 open by the Norman we have already menuoned, 
 while two men-servants appeared ready mounted 
 to tojlovv the vehicle, as soon as it set out. Mathu- 
 rine placed herself by Pauline's side when she had 
 entered j and the JSorman, having closed the door, 
 opened the porterecochere of the court, and the car- 
 riage drove out into the street. 
 
 VVe will not take the trouble of following Made- 
 moiselle de Beaumont on her journey, which occu- 
 pied that night and the two following days :— suf- 
 fice it to say, that on the evening of the second day 
 they arr'ved in the beau'iful neighbour! < od of 
 Chateau du Loir. The smiUng slopes, coverei^ with 
 the first vines 5 the rich fruit trees hanging acn:,'.l- 
 ly over the road, dropping Avith the latest gifts of 
 libera! nature ; the balmy air of a warm SeptemLer 
 evening ; the rosy cheeks of the peasantry ; and the 
 clear, smooth windings of the rivrr Loir,* all an- 
 nounced that they were approaching the land or 
 happy Touraine : and after putiiaig her head more 
 than once fri>ra the window, Mathunne, with a 
 smile of pleasure, pointed forward, exclaiming, 
 " Voild U Chateau.'' 
 
 Pauline's eyes followed to the point where the 
 other's hand directed them ; and upon a liigh 
 ground, rising gently above the trees which crown- 
 ed a little projectmg turn of the river, she btrheld a 
 group of towers and pinnacles, with the conical- 
 slated roofs, I uUifarious weat!iercocks, long narrow 
 windows, one turret upon the buck of anoiher. and 
 all the other distinctive marks of an old French, 
 chateau. 
 
 * Not the Loire.
 
 RICHELlWr 45 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 In which De Blf-naii finds (hat he has got tiie rod in his own 
 hand, mid how lie UlS^^ It ; together with a curious account 
 of a ti tmendous combat and glorious victoiy. 
 
 I CAN easily imagine myself, and 1 dare say the 
 reader will not. find niucli difficulty in fancying, tliat 
 the Count de Blenau sutfered not a little inquietude 
 while he remained in uncertainty respecting Pau- 
 line's free exit from tlie Bastille. 
 
 Take and dr.iw him, as Sterne did his captive. 
 See him walking up and down the chamber with 
 the anxiety of d(;ubt upon his brow and in his heart, 
 listening for every sound in the court-yard, catching 
 the foot-step C)f the sentinol at his door, and fancy- 
 ing it the retu n of the governor, — hope sirugL'ling 
 against fear and feir remaining victor, — conjuring up 
 a thousand wild, improbable events, and missing the 
 -true one; and in short, making his bosom a Ae/Z where- 
 in to torment his own heart. 
 
 Thus d d Claude de Blenau. during that lapse of 
 -time which the govprnor might reasonably be sup- 
 posed to be occu()ied in the duties' of his office. 
 But when a longer time pa8.«ed, and still no news 
 arrived of Paubne's escape, the uncertainty becati e 
 too great for mortal end-France : and he was about 
 •to risk all by descending into the court through 
 the terret, when the rhalim eof the sentinel an- 
 noun'^ed the approach of some one, and in the next 
 moment the governor entered the ro<im his pale 
 featuies flushed with anger, and his lip quivering 
 with ill-subdued rage. 
 
 " Monsieur de Blenau t" said he, in a tone that 
 he hnd ne\er before presumed to use towards his 
 wealthy prisoner, " here is something wrong. 
 There has be n a woman in the prison to-night, 
 pasbiog for that rascal woodman's daughter : aud I
 
 40 RKJfiELrtO 
 
 am given to understand, that she has brought either 
 letter or message to you. But J will ascertain the 
 truth — By Heaven! I will ascertain the truth !" 
 
 •' Have you detained her. then ?' exclaimed De 
 Blenau. losing all cauiion in his fears for Pauline. 
 
 '•Oh,h'' Monsieur le Comte,'' said the gover- 
 nor, fixing on him his keen and angry e}e j " then 
 you do know that she has been here ? But do you 
 know, sir, that it may cost me my head V 
 
 " Very possibly, il you lell any body,'' replied De 
 Bleaau ; who by this time had recovered his svlf- 
 possession, an.d had, upon reconsideration, tirawn 
 from iho governo-'s speech a different conclusioii 
 from that which he 'ana formed at first; feeliiig 
 sure, that if Pauline had not escaped, bis !ii);f«r 
 would hive taken a calmer form. '" Listen t<. me, 
 Sir Governor," continued he, firmly, after having 
 determined in his own mind the line of conduct 
 which, he ought to pursue : '' let us deal straight- 
 forwardly towards each other, and like friends as 
 we have hitherto done. We are both in some de- 
 gree in each other's power. On your part, do not 
 attempt to entrap me into any acknowledgment, 
 and I will show you that I will not make use of any 
 advantage you may have given me — " 
 
 " I do not understand your meaning, sir/' cried 
 the governor, still angrily : '• I have given you no 
 advantage. Ba' Heaven ! I will have the apartment 
 searched — ay sir. and your person too." 
 
 "WilLyoii so?" replied de Blenau, coolly draw- 
 ing from his bosom the queen's billet, and approach- 
 ing the edge to the lamp so that it caught fire. The 
 governor started forwa--d to seize it j but the strong 
 arm of the count held him at a distance, till the 
 few lines the queen had written were irretrievably 
 destroyed ; and then freeing him from his grasp, he 
 pointed to a chair, saving. "Now, Monsieur le 
 Gouverneur, sit down ani listen to a few words of 
 common sense." The governor placed himself in 
 the chair with a look of bitter malignity 5 but thia 
 •ofletted down gradually into an expression of
 
 RICHELMfJ, 47 
 
 thoughtful cunning, as De Blenau proceeded — 
 •'Thus stands the case," said the count; " I was 
 committed to your charge, I think, with positive 
 orders not to allow me communication with any 
 person whatsoever — was it not so ? The gov'ernor 
 assented: " It so happened, however," co^itinued 
 the count, with a smile, " that at our very first in- 
 terview, you conceived a friendship for me of the 
 most Ubenil and disinterested nature" (the gover- 
 nor bit his lip), " a sort of love at first sight : and, 
 for the sake of my accommodation, you not only 
 broke through the positive commands of the cardi- 
 nal prime minister, in suffering me once to have 
 communication with another person, but allowed 
 such to take place at all times, according to my 
 pleasure ; and also took especial pains to procure 
 the attendance of the person J wished, paying him 
 with my money, for which, and other excellent pur- 
 poses, you have, within the space of six days, re- 
 ceived from me upwards of one thousand crowns." 
 
 The governor winced m>st desperately ; and ful- 
 ly convinced, that a tale so told, would readily con- 
 vey his head under the axe of the executioner, if 
 it reached the ears of Richelieu, he cursed him- 
 self for a fool, De Blenau for a knave, and Philip 
 the woodman for something between the two; 
 most devoutly wishing^ both the others at the devil, 
 so he could slip his own neck out of the halter. 
 
 De Blenau, without much skill in reading the 
 mind's construction by the face, easily divined 
 what was passing in his companion's bosom ; and 
 perceiving him to be much in the situation of a 
 lame dog, he resolved still to apply the lash a little, 
 before he helped him over the stile. '' Well, Sir 
 Governor." continued he ; now we will suppose, as 
 a mere hypothesis to reason upon, that, through 
 this very liberty which your disinterested kindness 
 has allowed me 1 have received those communi- 
 cations from without which it was the cardinal's 
 great object to prevent. How ought you to act 
 under such circumstances ? Ought you to go to
 
 48 RICHELlEt: 
 
 the stern, unrelenting Rir.helieu, and sav to him, — 
 ' M;iv it pie !SC; your eminence. I have ii.tentionally 
 and wilfully broken llironah every oriier you cave 
 me — I have taken the utmost pains that they should 
 not be observed ; and I luwe so far succeeded in 
 tinvartin;^ your designs, that Monsieur i e Blenau, 
 from u'.ora I have received one tliousand crowns, 
 and fn-m whom I expect a thousand more the mo- 
 ment he is lil.'erated — 1 say. that t.'.is good friend 
 of mine and vdur enemy, has gained all the infor- 
 m:»tioii wliich you wi>hcd to prevent. '—This would 
 be a pretty cnufessinn of faith'-" 
 
 De Blenau paused and the governor bit his lip ; 
 but after a moment, ho looked the count full in the 
 fif^e and replied, "'Perhaps it might be the best 
 way." 
 
 Ue Blenan. hovvpver was not to be deceived ; he 
 saw terror in tlie deaiily hue of the fcnveru'ir's pale 
 cheek, and the anxious flliiij of his sunken eye, 
 and he went on — • Perh:ips it m'cht he the best 
 wiv — to have vour head .«»riick off wthnut delay ; 
 for vvha' would your fonfcssi! n avail the cardinal 
 now, after the m S' hief is ilone ? — Would it not be 
 bet er to sav to vourself. — • Here is a young noble- 
 man, whom I lielipve to be imincent — ("or whom I 
 have a retjird — whoirt "I h.tve spi-ved already, and 
 who is both vvillinpr niid ahie to rtivnri! any fine who ' 
 does serve ).'::ii ; and wh^. lasfiv. wi!) icver betray 
 me, let happen what will. I'nder these cimum- 
 stancps, should I n'tbe a f' o] of thp first water, to 
 inquire into a mitter. the t^u'h ofwi.ich I am verv 
 unlikely to discover, a!>d wh c'l, if I do, it will be 
 m- du'v to disf^l )se : whrre.is ? tandin_' as the af- 
 fair does now. wjtliout mv knowlediie in the least, 
 my ignorance makes mv innocence, .nnd I betrav no 
 or.e. Even suppiising thit the whole be found out. 
 I am no vorse tl'an I vvns b*>f/re. for Ihp storv r.nn 
 but hp f'-ld at last : whih' -It! e count he liberated, 
 which m' -st likelv lie wilt, in-tp d of lo.sjjij mv of- 
 fice, or my head. 1 shall gain a tjiousind crowns to 
 indemnify me for all the trouble F have had, and
 
 RICHELIEU. 49 
 
 shall ensure his friendship for Tfe." Now, Mon- 
 sieur le Gouverrieur, this is what you ought to say 
 to yourself. In my opinion, the strenglh of?rgu- 
 ment is all on one side. Even if there were any thing 
 to know, you would he a fool to investijiate it, 
 where you must of necessity he your own accuser; 
 where all is to be lost, and nothing can be gain- 
 ed," 
 
 " You argue well. Monsieur do Blenau." answer- 
 ed the jrovernor, thou htfully ; ''and your reason- 
 ing would be conviiicinir. if it extended to all the 
 circuinstunces of the case. But you c^o not know 
 one half; — you do not know, tliat Chiivigni, from 
 whose eves nothing seems hidden knew of this 
 girl's comi g. and sent me an order to detain her, 
 which that sottish fool tjie porter never gave nic 
 till she had escaped — how am I to get over that, 
 pray ?" 
 
 '•Tnen, positively, she has escaped V demanded 
 De Blenau. 
 
 '' Yes. yes, she has escaped "' replied the gover- 
 n'^r, petti>hiy : 'you seem ti> consider nothill^ but 
 he-; bu'. let me tell you. Monsieur de Blenau. that 
 you are filly as much concerned as I am for if th^y 
 discover th it she has got in, yf>ij will have a tou-ch 
 of the peine forte et dure, to make you confers who 
 she i« and what she c ime for,'" 
 
 "Truly, I know not what can be done." answered 
 the count. "Chavigni seems to know all about 
 it." 
 
 " No. no ! he doe«! not know all. replied the gov- 
 ernor 5 '• for he ■•-av'* here, in his note, that if a 
 yoiintr ladv, dressed \n 7* jxipe of red serge, wilh a 
 black bodice, comes to the gate of the prison, ask- 
 ing anv thing com ernin<> the (^^unt de BleiiiiU.we 
 are to detain he'- : now she never pjeniioned your 
 name, and God knows, 1 heeded not what she was 
 dressed in.'' 
 
 '•Then the rnntfer is verv simple,'' replied the 
 count; " no such person as he bade you detain has 
 been here. This is no matter of honor betw een
 
 so RICHELIEU. 
 
 man and man, wljere you are bound trt speak your 
 suspicions a3 well as your knowledge. No person 
 has corre to tlie gate of the prison asking any tiling 
 concerning me ; and so answer Chavifini." 
 
 '' But tlie porter. Monsieur de Blennu." said the 
 officer, anxiously. — " he may peach. All the other 
 dependents on the prison are mv own, placed by 
 me and would turn out were I to lose my r.ffice ; 
 but this porter was named by the cardinal hiiuseir. 
 — What is to be done with hira ?" 
 
 " Oh ! fear not him,'' answered De Blennu ; 'as 
 his negligence was the cause of your not receiving 
 the order in time to render it effectual, your silence 
 will be a favor to him." 
 
 " True ! true 1" cried the governor, rubbing his 
 hands with all the rapture of a man suddenly re- 
 lieved from a mortal emharrassment " True ! tru« ! 
 I'll (jo and bully him directly — 111 threaten to in- 
 form the cardinal. Chaviapi.and the whole council-, 
 and then — wlien he heums to fancy that he feels the 
 Tery rope round his neck— I'll relent, and be charit- 
 able, and agree to conceal his mistake, and to swear 
 that the lady never came. — How will Cha* igni 
 know ? She will never confess it herself, and at 
 that hour it was too dark for any one to watch her 
 up to the gates. — Morblcau! that will do precise- 
 ly." 
 
 " I see little or no danger attending upon it," 
 said the orisoner ; '■' and. at all events, it is a great 
 deal better than conveying your neck into ihe noose, 
 which you would certainly do by confessing to 
 Richelieu the circumstances as they have occur- 
 ed." 
 
 '• Well, well, we will risk it, at all events," re- 
 plied the governor, who. though not quite free from 
 ar)preh'?n3ion respectins the result, had now refrain- 
 ed hisu-ual sweet complacency of manner. " But 
 onethini, Monsieur de Blenau, I am su-f^ you wnl 
 promise me ; namely, that this a^temot sh lil never 
 be repeated, even if occasion should occur ; andTor 
 the rest — with regard to your never betraying me,
 
 RIOHBLiBtt. 51 
 
 and other promises which your words imply, I will 
 trust to your hon'^ur." 
 
 De Bler>fm readily agreed to what the governor 
 required, and repeated I.;s promises never to dis- 
 close any thing that imd occurred, and to reward hia 
 assistance with a thousand crowns, upon being lib- 
 erated. Mindful of all wlio served him, he did not 
 forget Philip the woodman ; and deeply thankful for 
 the escape of Pauline, was the more anxious lo as- 
 certain the fate of one who had so greatly contribut- 
 ed to the success of her enterprise. 
 
 '•Speak not of him ! speak not of him !" exclaimed 
 the governor, breaking forth into passion at De Ble- 
 nau's inquiries. " This same skiifu! p!"ttcr attends 
 upon you no longer. You wi'I snifer some incon- 
 venience for your scheme 5 but i) is your fault, not 
 mine, and you must put up with it as best \ on may." 
 
 " That i care not about, " replied De Blenau. 
 " But I insist upon it that he be treated with no se- 
 verity. Mark me, Monsieur le Governeur: if I find 
 that he is ill used, Chavigni shall here of the whole 
 business. I will risk any thina; sooner than see a 
 man suffer from his kindness for me. " 
 
 " You paid him well, of course." said the gover- 
 nor. dra\\irg up his lip. "and he must take his 
 chance. However do not alarm } outself for him : 
 he shall be taken care of— only, with your good 
 leave. Seigneur Comte, you and he do not meet 
 again within the walls of the Basiille.—But in the 
 name of Heaven ! what clatter i this at the door ?" 
 lie exclaimed, starting from hi>-^ chair, at a most un- 
 usual noise which proceded from the staircase. 
 
 The governor. indeed, had good reison to be aston- 
 ished; for never was there a more stransje and incon- 
 sistent sound heard within the walls of a pri^on.than 
 that which s^aluted their ears. First came the ■Qui 
 vive ?" of the spniinel ; to which a voire roared out, 
 « Lediable!" Qidvive?' cried tbc sentinel again, 
 in a still sharper key. The answer to this was no- 
 thing but a clatter, as the governor had expressed it, 
 such at we might suppose produced by the blowing
 
 62 IIIUHELIEU. 
 
 up of a stenra-kitclien : then followed the discharge 
 of the sentii el's I'relocl; ; anfl then sundry blows 
 given an>i received upon some hard and sonorcus 
 siiastaiice. mingled with various oaths, execratioris, 
 and expletives then in use among the lower classes 
 of Ills Christian majesty's lieges making altogether 
 a most deafening din. 
 
 At this sound the governor, as little able to con- 
 ceive wben<"e it originated as De Blennu himself, 
 drew his sword, and thro ■ ingopen the door, discov- 
 e.ei the redoubtable Jacques Chatpilleur. culsinier 
 aubergiste, striding in triumph over the prostrate 
 body of the sentinel, and wavng over his head an 
 immense stew-pan. bein^ the v\p'apon with which he 
 had achieved the victory, and through wliich a,.pear- 
 ed a smi!l rf^und hole. cau.>ed by the bai! of the 
 soldier's tireloik. In the mean while wast- b> seen 
 the sentinel on the gf;>und. Iiis iron morion actually 
 dented by the blows of his adversary, and his iace 
 and garments bedabhled. not with blood, indeed, 
 but with the poulet en blanqxietU ^\\d its white sauce, 
 which had erst been tenairt of the stew p.-^n. 
 
 ' Victc^ria! victoria! victoria I"' shoted the awicr- 
 gisle, waving his stew pan ; ■' Twice have 1 conqured 
 in one night ; (-an Mielraye or Bouillon say that ? 
 V'Cfi>ria .' victoria .'"' B'lt here his triumph received 
 a check ; for lookins into the unhappy utensil he 
 eu'irionlv perceived the loss of its content*, which 
 had flown all over the place, the treacherous lid 
 having detached t.«elf durinjr his conflict with the 
 sentinel, and sought snfetv in fli':!!t down the stairs. 
 " Monpoxdet! mon potdct .' exclaimed be. in a tone 
 of bitter despair. ' le nid y est mais V oiaean est 
 parii. — the nest is there, but the bird is flown. 
 Hrlas. mon poidet ! mon paiivre povM ! '' and quit- 
 tinir the bodv of his prostrate foe. he advanced into 
 the apartment with that sort o." zigzas mf'tiou which 
 shiiwRi! that the thin sinpvvv shanks which sut'portpil 
 his woodcock shaped upt>pr irtan. were son)ewhat 
 atlectrd by a more than usual quantity <-f the gen- 
 €rou3 grape. 
 
 The whole iBcene was so inexprcssibl/ ludicxouf.
 
 •RICHELIL17. 58 
 
 that De Blenau burst into 911 immoderate fit of laugh- 
 ter, in wliich the governor couid not help joiiiing, 
 notwithstanding his indignation at the treatment the 
 sentinel had experienced. Recovering himsell" how- 
 ever, he ptiUied forth his wrath upon tlie aubergiste 
 in no measured terms, demanding how he dared to 
 conduct himself so in tlie royal chateau of the 
 Bastille, and what had become of the Count de 
 Blenau's supper, adding a few qualificatory epithets, 
 which may as well be omitted. 
 
 •' Eh bien, monsieur ! E/ibien!" cried the a«6er- 
 giste, with very i'ttle respect lor the governor^'* as 
 for the gentlemnn there, lying on Ins bcliy.he ought 
 to have let me in, and not tired his piece at me. 
 He knew lue well enough. He might have cried 
 Q,uivive? once, — tliat was well, aa it is the eti- 
 quette. " 
 
 "But why did you not answer him, cacre maraud ?" 
 cried the governor. 
 
 *' I did answer hin>, ''* replied the other, stoutly, 
 "He cried Qyiivive ? and I ans-ered Lidiable, car 
 le diable vive totcjout^. And as f.r ihe supper, I 
 have lost it ail. Je V ai perdu tulre deiix mating. 
 The first was a greedy iNonnan vagabond, who teed^ 
 at my auberge ; and while 1 was out for a minute, 
 he whips mti up my matzlot d auguille from out of 
 Ihe casserole, and my cfmde piquee from the spit, 
 and when J caine back five minutes after, tiiere was 
 nothing left but bare bones and empty bottles. Par- 
 die ! And now I have bes oweii fin the bead of that 
 varlet a poulet en blanqueUe iliat miglil have 'om- 
 forted tne stouinch of a king. Oh Dieu! Dieu! 
 mes malheurs me jiniront Jaraaio. On ! but I for- 
 got, " he continued. '• there is still a fricandtau 
 a l oseillc with a cold pale that will do for want of 
 a bet er — iMonseigJicur, voire serviteur. " and he 
 bowed five or six times to De Blenau ; •• Moiuitur 
 
 Ile Gouverneur, voire tres humble , " and bov\ing round 
 and round to every one, even to the sei.iinel, ^%lio by 
 this time was beginning to recover his feet, the tipsy 
 aubergiste stagrered off. escaping me wrath .^f Lhe-
 
 54 IllOHELlEO. 
 
 governor by the promise tf the fricandeau, but not, 
 
 however, without being threatened with punish- 
 ment CD the morrow . 
 
 CHAPTER V 
 
 The bureau of a Counsellor of Slate, or how things were] man- 
 flgeJ in 1642 
 
 "Marteviile, you have served me essentially/' said 
 the Count de Chavigni as soon as he had left Pau- 
 line in what was called the ladies' hall of the Hotel 
 de Bouthilliers, addressing the tall jSorman, whom 
 the reader has already recngnised beyond a doubt. 
 '' You know I never suffer any good service to go 
 without its reward 5 therefore I will now pay you 
 yours, more especially as 1 have fresh demands to 
 make upon your zed. Let us see how our accounts 
 stand.; '' and approaching a small table, which serv- 
 ed both for the purposes of a writing-desk and also 
 to support a strong ebony cabinet clasped with 
 silver, he drew forth a bunch of keys and opened a 
 draw plated with iron, which contained a quantity 
 of gold and silver coin. Chavigni then seated him- 
 self at the table, and the Norman standing on his 
 right-hand, they began regularly toljalonce accounts, 
 the items of tiie Norman's charge being various 
 services of rather a curious nature. 
 
 '• For stopping the archduke's courier, " said Cha- 
 Tiani " and taking from liim his despatches — fifty 
 crowns is enough for that. '' 
 
 " 1 demand no raore, " said Marlevillej " any com- 
 mon thief could have done it." 
 
 " But. by-the-way. I hope you did not hurt him, 
 for he came with a safe conduct. " 
 
 '• Hurt him ' no, " replied the Norman : " we are
 
 RICIltLIEf. 55 
 
 the best friends in the world. When 1 met him on 
 the road, I told lam civilly that 1 must have his 
 despatches ; and that I would either cut his throat 
 or drink a bottle with liim. whichever he liked ; so 
 he chose the latter, and when we parted, he promi- 
 sed to give me notice the next time he came on the 
 same errand. " 
 
 "The rascal!" said Chavigni, '' that is the way 
 we are served. But now we come to this business 
 of the Count dc Blenau — what do you expect for 
 the whole concern V 
 
 "Nay but monseigneur, you forget," exclaimed 
 the other ; '• there is one little item before that. 
 Put down, — for being an astrologer." 
 
 " Why. 1 have given you fifty crowns on that ac- 
 count already, " rejoined the statesman j " you are 
 exorbitant, Seigneur Marteville. '' 
 
 "That fifty crowns went for my expenses — all of 
 it, " replied the other. '• There was my long black 
 robe all covered with gimcracks ; there was my lea- 
 thern belt, painted with all the signs under heaven; 
 there was my white beard, and wig, which cost me 
 ten good crowns at the shop of Jansen the perquier : 
 ■esides the harness of my horse, which was made 
 to suit, and my astrologer's bonnet, which kept all 
 fast upon my head. INow, monsei2;neur.ycu cannot 
 give me less than fifty crowns, for being cut two 
 nights, and running the risk of being burnt alive. " 
 
 " I tiiink not, " said Chavigni, '• so let that pr\ss. 
 But to come to the other business. " 
 
 '•'Why first and foremost," replied the Norman, 
 marking each article as he named it, by laying the 
 index of his right hand upon one of the imnicnse 
 fingers of his left, — •• For making love to mademoi- 
 selle's niaid " 
 
 •• Nay, nay, nay!" cri<>d Chavigni, " this is too 
 much. That must be part of the dower I have prom- 
 ised with her, ofvyhich we will talk presently. But 
 have you married her V 
 
 "No," answered the Norman, "not yet. We 
 will see nbont that hereafter."
 
 M EIGHELIEU. 
 
 Chavigiii's cheek reddened, and his brow knit into 
 a hea?}- fr.nvn. " No evasions, tir. I commrmdpil 
 you. when you look her awoy last niglit '.rom Chnn- 
 tilly, 10 marry i.er directly, and you agreed to do so. 
 VVuy is it not done ? '' 
 
 " If the truth must le told, monseigneur, it is not 
 done, because it goes ngamst a NiTnian cientleman's 
 stomach to lake up with anybody's cast-offs."' 
 
 " Do not be insolent sir,' cried ll:e statesman. 
 ''Did I not give you my honour that your eu^picion 
 was false ? Know, sir, that though Chavigrni may 
 sometimes con(le>C"nd to converse wiih you, or 
 may appear to tritle for a moment with a girl like 
 ti)is Louise, it is merely to gain some greater object 
 that he does so, and that unless it be for sf me 
 state purpose, he never honours such beings w^ith 
 his Ihoiiohts." 
 
 " Weil well, monseianeur,'' replied the other, see- 
 ittg the fire that flsshed in his lord's eye, '' I will 
 marry her: Foy de Normand! Don't be angry; I 
 will mary her.'" 
 
 " Foy de Normand ! will not do," said Chavigni, 
 '• It must be this very night." ' 
 
 '•Eh bine! eh bine! soil,'' cried the Norman, 
 and then muttered to himself with a grin, " I've four 
 wives now living; a filth wont make much differ- 
 ence." 
 
 " What murmur you, sir ?" demanded the states- 
 man. '"Mark me! in one hour from hence \oa 
 will find a priest and two witnesses in the cardinal's 
 chapel ! When yni are einrricd. the priest will give 
 you a cerlifir-ate of tlie ceremor.y, carry it to my 
 intendan . ana upon the sight ol" it he tvill pay you 
 the su:n we agree upon. Jsow, proceed with your 
 demands." 
 
 *• V/ell then, monseigneur," continued Marteville, 
 '• what is the iiiformTion concerning mademoiselle's 
 corning to Pnrts worih ?"' 
 
 " his worth a goodde.il.'" rrpli'^d Chavigoi, ••'and 
 I will always pay more lor knowledge of that kind
 
 RICUKLIKU. 57 
 
 nyacisot brute force. Set that down for a 
 hundred cro\vns, and fifty more for catching the 
 young lady, r.nd bringing her here 5 making alto- 
 gether two hundred and iilly." 
 
 " Yes, sir, yes ; but the dot — the dowry you men- 
 tioned," cried the Normaii. '•' You have forgot 
 that." 
 
 " ]No, I have not,'' replied Chavigni. " In favor 
 of Louise I will make the sum up one thousand 
 crowns, which you will receive the moment you 
 have married her.' 
 
 "Oh ! ril marry lier directly, if that be the case." 
 cried the Jsorman. " Alorbleait ! that makes all the 
 difference. ■' 
 
 " But treat her kindly," said Chavigni. " With 
 the stipend of a thousand crowns, which I alluw 
 yon yearly, and what you can gnin by particular ser- 
 vices, you ninylive very well; and perhaps I may 
 add some Utile gratification, if you please me in 
 your conduct towards your wife." 
 
 " Oh ■ ill bo ihe tendorest husband living," cried 
 the j\'orrnan, si.nce my gratification depends upon 
 hers, lint i'il run and fetch her to be married, 
 directly, if you will send the priest, monseigneur." 
 
 •' jXay.stop a morrcnt,'' said the statesman. ''You 
 forgot that 1 told you I had other journeys for you 
 to take, and oilier services to perform." 
 
 '• ISo, sir," answered the Norman, " all is prepar- 
 ed to set out this very night, if you will tell my 
 errand." 
 
 Chavigni paused for a moment, and remained in 
 deep thought, gnawing his lips as if embarrassed by 
 doubts as to the best mann'i- ofproceeding. " Mark 
 me, Martevilie," said he at length : " there are two 
 or three sorts of scoundrels in the world, among 
 whom r do not lc>ok upon you as the least." The 
 Norman bowed with the utmost composure, wery 
 well aware of the place he held in Chavigni's opin- 
 ion. " There are, however, some good points about 
 you," continued the statesman ; at which Martevilie 
 
 vol.. u. 5
 
 0g RICHELIEU 
 
 bowed again "You would rob, kill nnd pftrnder. t 
 believe, without rensorse. any oix- vdu haic "•• did 
 not rare aboul,-, Ijut I do nni Unnk you would for- 
 get a kindii ss or betrav a irivst." 
 
 " Never f said the jNorrnan : '•' red hot pinchers 
 will not tear rrom me wh.it is iatrusted to my hoa- 
 our. "•* 
 
 " So be it. then, in the present instance," sa-id 
 Ch.iviizni ; •' fnr I am obliged to givs you tlie ktiowl- 
 edge of things, mid to enter into e.\plan,->tioi!S with 
 you v.hi»h I do not often do with n'-y one. You 
 must know, then. 1 have inforina'ion that on the 
 same day that Monsieur de Cinq, Mars set otrt from 
 Chantilly ^iih MonsieL-r de Tl.ou, liie Duke of Or- 
 leans, with Montressor and St. Ii)a!, tor.k tlioirde- 
 pa»-ture from Moulins, and the Count de Fontrailles 
 fr'un Paris. They nil journeyed lownrds tije same 
 point in ClKim;»ajne. I can trace x^cnirailles to 
 Troyes. tlisduke anii his comp.iiuuns to Vil!eii»'uve, 
 and CTinq Mars and De Tlniii to Xogent, but no 
 farther. All this might be accidental, but rhere are 
 crcumstances that create suspicii'-n in my mind. 
 Cinq Mars, when he set ft>rth, j?ave out that he 
 went to his estate near Troyps, in wiiirh 1 find he 
 never set Ids foot; and when he returned, his con- 
 ference \Nith l,"uis was somewhnt icnir. It niiiiht 
 have been of liawks and liounis, it is true ; but alter 
 it. l!ie kinj.''? manner biiih tu t!ie cariiinal and my- 
 self was cdd and haugltty, an! he sudilen'y t<iok 
 this resolutiDU of coming to Paris himsel to'esaut- 
 ine into tiie case of the young Count de Bienau : in 
 short, 1 suspect that snme pint is on fot. Wliat I 
 require I'f you then is. t<i hasten down to Cham- 
 pagne ; irv to trace each ofiiicse peri-ons, and dis- 
 cover d'they had a conference, a^ici where 5 find out 
 the business that hrougl.t f-acii Oi' li.em so tar, ex- 
 amine their tr.ick as you would the *lot of a deer, 
 and give me winiiever inturmaiion \ ou collect j 
 employ ever means to g:dn a ttiOrou;;h knowledjie 
 ofnli their proceedings— tVnce shou'tl it Le requir- 
 ed — but let Uiit o J the last thing used- Here ia
 
 RICHELirW. 59 
 
 this signet, upon the si;:xnet of which all the agenta 
 of government in the diHerent towns and villages 
 will romniunicate uiih ynu." And he drew from 
 his fiigera small seal ring, which the Ntirmnn con- 
 signed to his po( ket, his hands being somewliat loo 
 large to admit of his wearing it in the usual man- 
 ner. 
 
 " The Biike of Orleans and his pack T know well," 
 answered Marteville. " and also Cmq Mars oml De 
 1'hoii ; but iliis Cuunt de Fontrailles-^what like is 
 he, monseigneur ?" 
 
 " He is a Utile ugly mean looking man." replied 
 Chavigni ; "he frequently dresses himself in gray, 
 and looks like a sorcerer. Make him your lirsi ob- 
 ject ; for if ever there was a devil of cunning upon 
 earth, it is FontraiUes. and he is at the bottom of 
 the plot if there he one." 
 
 " Vou traced him to Troves, you sav, monseign- 
 eur ? Had he any pretence of business there 1" 
 
 "None." answered C-'liavigni ; " my account sayg 
 that he had no attendants with him, lodged at the 
 Axiberge da Grand Soleil and vnus poorly dressed." 
 
 " I will trace l.im if he were the devil hiiiiself," 
 said the Norman J "and befnre I see you again, 
 monseigneur. 1 shall be able to account for each of 
 these gentry " ' 
 
 *' If you do," said Chavigni, " a thousand crowns 
 is your reward; and if you discover any plot or 
 treasonable enterprise, ^o that by your means they 
 may be foiled and br<»ughl to justice, the thousand 
 shall grow into ten thousand, and you shall have a 
 place that will give you a life of luxury." 
 
 The Norman's eyes sparkled at ti.e anticipation, 
 and his imagination portrayed himself and his five 
 wives living togetlierin celestial harmony, drinking 
 the best vintages of Burgundy and Epernav, eating 
 the best vintaiies of the fat of the land, and singing 
 like mad. Thes'^ blissful ideas were first interrupt- 
 ed by the sound of the horses' feet in the court. 
 "Hark!" cried Chavigni, " they are putting the
 
 60 RICIIELIKU. 
 
 horses to the carriage ; go do-vn and see that all be 
 prepared for tlie yuuiiglady s journej." 
 
 •' Instantly, ' answered tlie iV' rman, '• and after 
 that 1 will carry Louise to the priest, linger) our 
 lordship's cish, ano we will set ort for Tro\es.'' 
 
 " Do you intend to t;ike her with you ?'" demand- 
 ed Chavigni. in some surprise. 
 
 " yvA} , my lord, you would not wish me to leave 
 my britle on our wedding niglit. surely," replied the 
 jNonilan, in a mock sentimental tone. " But the 
 truth is, I ihink siie may be uselul. Woman's '^it 
 will olten find a way where man's wir ! m looks in 
 vain; and as I have now, thanks to \f,ur bounty, 
 two good horses, 1 shall e'en set L<^.u:se upon one 
 of them, and %vith the bridle rein ove? my arm lead 
 her to Brie, whore, with your Liood leave, '■'. e will 
 sleep, and thence on upon our journey Travel- 
 ling s%il!i a woman, no one will suspect my real ob- 
 ject, and I shall come sooner at my ; urpose."' 
 
 *• ^Vell, so be it then," answered the statesman. 
 " Vou are now, as }ou wished to be, intrusted with 
 an aliair of ui.ire importance than stopping a couher,^ 
 or carrying oif a weak girl; and as th.c reward is 
 greater, so would be the punislunent in case you 
 weie to betray your trust. I rely on your honor ; 
 but let me hint at the same tim.e', that there is such 
 a iliiiig as the rack, which has more than once 
 been a()plied to persons who reve 1 state secrets. 
 Keep good account of your expenses, and such as 
 are truly incurred for the government the govern- 
 ment will pay." 
 
 Thus enticd the conference between Chavigni 
 and the iXorman, neither of whom we shall follow 
 much farther at present. Of Chavigni it is only 
 necessary to say. itiat immediately alter the depar- 
 ture of l^auline. he proceeded to the Louvre lo wait 
 the arrival of Louis the Thirteenth, who soon after 
 entered Paris, accompanied by the queen, Cinq 
 Mars, .ind all the usual attendants of the court, and 
 foUoweii ! V the cardinal and those members of the
 
 racUELlEU. 61 
 
 council wlio had not previously arrived along with 
 Cliavigni. 
 
 in re:rard to the Norman, inspired by the acrreea- 
 ble prospect of a thousand crowns, lie was not long 
 in visiting tlie chapel of tlie Filial-* Cardinal, where 
 the priest spcpdily united him to a black-eyed dam- 
 sel, that he brought in his hand. Who ihis was, 
 it does not suit me to discover to the reader. If he 
 have found it out already, ! cannot help it ; but if he 
 have not, 1 vow and protest that in the whole course 
 of this true history I will aiiord him no farther ex- 
 planation ; no, not even in the last sentence of the 
 last page of the last volume. 
 
 Immediately after their marriage the Norman p'Jt 
 his bri(ie upon hori^eback and proceeded to Brie, 
 each carrying behind them a valise, containing a 
 variety of articles which would doubtless greatly 
 edifv the reader to learn, but which unfortunately 
 cannot now be detailed at full length, the schedule 
 having been lost some ye;irs alter by one of their 
 collateral descendants in the great fire of London, 
 where it had found its way in consequence of the 
 revocation of the edict of Nantes. All that can be 
 affirmed with certainty is. I'.'at in the valise of the 
 Norman were th-ee shirts and a half with fall ng 
 collars, according to the fashion of that day ; a 
 pourpoint or doublet of blue velvet (which was his 
 best), and a cloak to match ; also (of the same stutf| 
 a hatit-dediausses. which was a machine then used 
 for the s:ime purpose as a pair of breeches now-a- 
 days ; and over and above all the rest vvas his as- 
 trologer's robe and gray beard, folded round a su- 
 pernumerary brace of pistols, and a small stiletto. 
 Into the lady's wardrobe we shall not inquire : suf- 
 fice it 1o say, that it accompanied its msKlress safe 
 from Brie to Troves, where, putting up at the 
 Grand Suliel. the Norman bc^an his perquisitions 
 concerniug Foutraiiies. " ,
 
 «s KieRELjiae. 
 
 CHAPTER VI 
 
 Showing hoi? agreat minister made a great mislake. 
 
 Strange to say, in the manuscript notes from 
 whicli this true history is derived, there occurs the 
 most extraordinnrv omissio '. that perhaps ever ap- 
 peaniii in the writings of any one pretending to ac- 
 curacy ; and, most provoking of all. I have searched 
 meiMO rs and annals, histories and letters, state pa- 
 pers and private memoranda, antl have consulted 
 all sorls of tradition, oral and written, without be- 
 ing enabled to supply from a^y other source the 
 neglect of the original historiui. Who woul<l be- 
 lieve, tliat, after having interes'pd the reader so 
 d-eplv in the character of Jiiques Chitpilleu- , Cuisi- 
 flier Auherglste. the writer of the above-mentioned 
 notes would be so inconsiderate, so stupid, so dis- 
 appointing, as not to say one word concerninsi the 
 farther pri'gress of the redoubtable vivandier on that 
 niglit, wherein he achieved the two famous victo- 
 ries recorded in a precedmir chapter. But so it is : 
 instead <>f giving us a pathetic account of the scanty 
 «upper he at length contrived to furriisli forth for 
 the nol.'le prisoner, «r of snt sfying our curiosity in 
 rcirard tn the means he employed to anpease the 
 wrath of the governor, the notes skip over the far- 
 ther proceedinns »>f that entire night, and bring us 
 aton'-e upon the Count de Blennu's levee the next 
 morniiig ; entering into very minute details concern- 
 ing the difficulties he encountered in arranging hts 
 mustaches, buttoning his ponrooint. (fcc, v\ithout 
 assistance ; a!l of which I shall pass over as con- 
 teinplihle and ir elevant, and below the dignity of 
 authentic history. 
 
 Wi'.Ji the embarrassment of the Count de Ble- 
 nau s mind we have something more to do ; and, to 
 tell the truth, the more he reflected upon his situa- 
 tion, the more he was puzzled in regard to his future
 
 RICHELIED. ^f 
 
 conduct. A fresh examination, either by Lafemas 
 or some new member of the council, was to be ex- 
 pected speedily, under which he must either stiil 
 refuse to answer, wliich would infallibly be followed 
 by the peine forte et dure: or he must acknowledge 
 that Ihn queea had privily conveyed him an orrler 
 to confess all, which wt?uhl involve his royal mis- 
 tress and nifHselt" ajid Pauline in dangers, the extent 
 of which he h^irdly knew •, or he nmst reply o the 
 questions he had bel'one refused to answer, an4 dis- 
 close what had been imrusied to his honor, without 
 ehowinix tiiat he was authorized to do so ; in whiiph 
 case the reproach of treachery and cowardice mujst 
 inevitably fill upon his name, 'I'his was a dilem- 
 laa witta three horns, and e ich very sharp ; so that 
 it was difficult to determine which to jurpp upon, 
 and seetn'ujfly inijios-ible to avoid them all De 
 Blenau was sadly chewing the :ud of the^e hitter 
 doub's. when he he ird some one en»er the ou'er 
 chamber; and the moment after, the very privitcy of 
 his bed r<iom was invaded by the poxernnr v ho en- 
 tered with a countenance paie and agitat^ ; and 
 who. like all [leople who have somethinL? horrible 
 to communicate. beiriie<l him not to n alariji**d. in 
 a tone that was enough to frighten him out of iiis 
 wits. 
 
 '• Alarmed at what ?" demanded the count, sum- 
 moninj courage to encounter the danger, whatever 
 it might be. 
 
 " Wliy. Monsieur de Blenau."' answered .the gov- 
 ernor. ' voij must prei^a'-e yourself to meet the car- 
 dinal himseli ^^ a messeniicr has ju>t rome to say 
 that he will be here in person witiiout loss of time. 
 •He arrived last \\\zV\. at the Palais Cardinal^ and 
 JUronulit the kinz to P iris with him.' 
 
 " Yo« seern to hold th.is cardinal in some ffiAr," 
 ^ai'^ D''. B'ennu. almo.-it smilinjr. amid his own em- 
 barrassment, a; the evident terror of the governor, 
 ^'1 couid have wished tliat he had given me a little 
 jfuoie time for consideration ; but I .am JVftt ^o
 
 64 
 
 uicHKLun;. 
 
 frightened at him us you seem to be, wlio iiave notl»- 
 ing to do with it." 
 
 " But pray remember, moncher coinpte," cried the 
 governor, " that you promised not to betray me to 
 the cardinal in any case." 
 
 De Blenau's lip curled with contempt. '' I think 
 you ought to know before tliis time," answered he, 
 ♦' that 1 am not likely to betray any ono. But there 
 seems a noise and bustle in the court, in all proba- 
 bility caused by the arrival of the cardinal. Go and 
 receive him, and depend upon me." Of all the 
 misfortunes on the earth, thought De Blenau, the 
 curse of cowardice is the most dreadful. 
 
 In a few minutes his supposition respecting the 
 arrival of the cardinal was confirmed by a summons 
 to appear before the council, in the hall of audi- 
 ence; and with his mind still undecided, he follow- 
 ed the officer across the court to the scene of his 
 foraier examination. A difference, however, struck 
 him in the present arrangements of the prison, from 
 those which he had before remarked. 
 
 The court, instead of being crowded by those 
 prisoners who had the liberty of walking in it, was 
 now entirely void; and, fixed like marble on each 
 side of the door opening into the audience-hall, was 
 a soldier of the cardinal's guard, between whdra 
 stood a clerk, or greffier, of the council-chamber, 
 seemingly waiting for the approach of the prisoner. 
 As soon as De Blenau was within hearing, the doors 
 were thrown open, and the clerk pronounced, 
 " Claude Count de Blenau, appear before the king 
 in council." 
 
 " The king !" thought De Blenau :" this cardi- 
 nal, not content with taking the king's guards, must 
 take his title also :" but passing on through the 
 open doors he entered the hall, where a very differ- 
 ent scene presented itself from that which had be- 
 fore met his eyes in the same place. 
 
 The whole farther part of the chamber was filled 
 with the officers and attendants ot Richelieu : each 
 side, aa well as the interstices between the massy
 
 Riori.'XiEU. 65 
 
 pillars that supported the roof, was occupied by a 
 body of the cardinal's guard: in thi chair at the 
 heau of the table sat the king himself, with the 
 prime minister on his riuht hand : Ctiavigni, Boulh- 
 ilJiers, JNlazarin, and others occupied seats on either 
 side ; and to complete the array appeared several 
 clerks, together with the officers of tiie prison, 
 leaving only the space of about tiiree feet at the 
 bottom of the table, whicii remained clear for the 
 prisoner to present himself opposite the tlirotie. 
 
 Extraordinary as it was for the king himself to sit 
 upon the exaniination of a state prisoner, the wh«ie 
 deni'^anor and conduct of the monarch had under- 
 gone a change since the return of Cinq Mars, 
 which astonish'^d those about liim more than even 
 bis resolution to be present at the council held that 
 morning in the Bastille. Even those who were 
 most accustomed to watch the changes of the king's 
 variable disposition, would hardly have recollected 
 in the sovereign, who, with the easy dignity and 
 self-possession of a clear and intelligent mind, pre- 
 sided at the head of tlie council-table, the snine 
 man who in genera! yielded his very thoughts to 
 the governnncc of Richelieu, and abandoned all his 
 kingly duties to one whom he appeared both to 
 dislike and dread. But so it was, that, slimnlaled 
 by some unseen means. Louis seemed at once to 
 have resumed the king ; and as soon as Be Blenau 
 entered the audience-hnll. he at once opened the 
 business of the day himself, wiih all those powers 
 which his mind really possesed when called into 
 activity. 
 
 " M«msieur de Blennu. sa-d the king. " we are 
 glad to see you. We have heard mu( h of you, !lnd 
 that always a gnod report from those that we love, 
 and therefore our confidence in your honourand in- 
 tegrity is grpat. There will be various questions 
 asked of you to-day, by the ntembers of the co- i;c:il 
 present, which must aflect the welfare of the king- 
 dom, and our own personal happiness ; and to these 
 questions we command you, as a good subject and
 
 (j6 RICHELIEO. 
 
 an honest min, to answer truly, and according to 
 your conscience, without any reservation whatso- 
 ever." 
 
 Before enterino the audience-hall. De Blenau, 
 well knowi'ig that every careless word inijht be 
 sul'ject to misconstruction, had determinnd to speak 
 a.-! little a^ po<si'»le : a-'d iliprfforP. mr^relv nn-^^cr- 
 jng the king's speech by a profound inclination of the 
 head, he waited in silence for the questions to 
 which he had alluded. 
 
 Richelieu, the keen searching glance of who«e 
 eves had been lixed upon him during the whole 
 tiine. paused f-r a in< ment in espectaiion of a re- 
 ply ; biU seeing that he said nothin-.', the minister 
 proceetled himself " I have heard with astonish- 
 ment. Monsieur de Blenau.'' said he, " that you have 
 lately refused to answer questions, to which v(>u 
 hn! before replied in conversation with me ; and I 
 can conceive no reas<ni. sir, why you should object 
 to give satis'action on these points one day as much 
 jis another.'' 
 
 "Nor can I conceive." replied De Blenau. '• any 
 reason whv your eminence should cause questions 
 to he put to me agam which I had before answered; 
 and that reiirration even while the replies were yet 
 new in your mind " 
 
 '• My memory might want refreslii.?." answered 
 the carilinal ; '• and son must als(» reiiieinber. that 
 the circumstances were very diiferiMit at the two 
 peri< d-; in wliicli those que-ti<>ns were addres>^e to 
 -you. In the first place, you spoke merely in con- 
 versation ; i" the second ca=e, you were a prisoner, 
 and it wa« therefore necessary that your tlei'os tion 
 should hetiken from your own mouth. B t all 
 .this is irrelevant The cnincil is not inclinet to 
 take no'ice ofyour loriner coiitumacv. provided you 
 iiow reply to wh it shall l>e .Tsked you.' 
 
 De Bifnin was again silent, mernlv bowitie to 
 aignify that he cotnprchended, without pledgiaj 
 himself either to an.sweror not ; and Richelieu pro- 
 ceeded with his questions, placiag his haud, as Jift
 
 RICHELlEff. §7 
 
 did so, upon a lar^e packet of open letters which 
 lay on the table before him, 
 
 " You have already informed me. Monsieur de 
 Blenau. if I remember rightly." said the minister, 
 " that you have, at various times, forwarded letters 
 for the queen, both by the usual public conveyances 
 and otherwise " 
 
 The king fixed his eyes intentlv upon the count, 
 while he r» plied at once. '' I have done so !"' 
 
 'Can you remember,'' continued the cardinal, 
 "durinj vvhat period you have been accustomed to 
 send these letters for the queen? I mean of what 
 date was the first ?" 
 
 " I cannot precisely at this moment call to mind," 
 answeri^d De Blenau, '• but it was shortly afier your 
 eminence appointed me.or rather recommemled me, 
 to the office of chamberlain to her majesty." 
 
 ''You see. sire. 'said Hicheiieu. turning to the kinty 
 with a meaiiinfT glance, "'just before tlie taking of 
 Arra-< bv the Imperialists — " 
 
 'Exactly so. your eminence ; I remember it by a 
 circnmsttince that occured at the time." in'erposed 
 De Blenau, misdoubting the effect of the cardinal's 
 comments. 
 
 Kiclielieu gave him a gracious smile for t^^is con- 
 firmation of his remark. " Pray, what circiim'lanre 
 was that. Monsieur de Blenau ?'' demanded he ; but 
 his'Simile was soon clouded by the counts reply. 
 
 " It was. tliat the lace lappets, in order to pro- 
 cure which her majesty wrote that letter to Brus- 
 sels, were seized at Arras, tl>at citv having fallen 
 into the enemy's hands. The queen was much 
 ^rrieved thereat". You knovv. monseigneur, ladies 
 set great store by their apoarel." 
 
 Chavigni smiled, but Richelieu's brow gathered 
 into n deivv frown, and his reply was in that deep 
 hollow tot'.e of voice, by which alone one could dis- 
 tinguish when he was affected bv any powerl'u! feel- 
 in«. His brow at all times remained calm, except 
 when he sought to awe or intimidate ; his eye, too, 
 •was under xommand, scanning the passions of oth-
 
 6S niCilKLIEC. 
 
 ers, and expressing none of his own, but those 
 which Ice himself wisjied to appear: but his voice 
 betrayed him, and when intenially agitnted.it would 
 sink to so low and cavernous a sound, that it seem- 
 ed as if the dead were speaking. It was in this 
 tone that he answered De Blenau. 
 
 " The contents of that letter, sir, are but too vvell 
 known by their effects. But I am to conclude, from 
 your observation, that you are as well aware of 
 what the queen's letters have contained, as the per- 
 sons to wnom they Avere addressed." 
 
 " TSot so. your eminence.'* replied De Blenau. 
 "The import of that letter I happened to be ac- 
 quainted with by accident, but I pretend to no far- 
 ther knowledge.'' 
 
 " Yes, yes. sir,'' said Richelieu, •' it is very evi- 
 dent that you know well to be informed or not oa 
 any subject, as it suits your purpose." 
 
 '•Niy, Monsieur le Cardinal," interposed the 
 king, '• I think the ycung gf ntleman answers with 
 all candour and disi^retion. We do not seek to 
 perplex him, but to hear the truth ; and sure 1 am 
 that he will not discredit his birth or honor by pre- 
 varication.'' 
 
 '• Your majesty's own honorable mind does jus- 
 tice to mine," replied the count ; '' I will own that 
 I am guarded in my speech ; for surrounded by those 
 who seek to draw miit'er from my mouih.on v^hich 
 to found some acquisition against mo. I were a fool 
 to speak freely. iSevertheless, 1 will answer truly 
 to whalsoevc- I do answer: and if there should 
 come a question to which 1 cannot repiv without 
 betraymg my duty, I will tell no falsehood, but, 9s 
 I have done before, refuse to answer, and the con- 
 sequences of my honesty beupo my onn head." 
 
 " Weil, sir," said ihe cardinal, *' if vou have done 
 the har.injue with wliii-I, yuu are edifving the coun- 
 cil, I uili proceed wiili ni* que.-tions ; but first let 
 me tell you. that 1 am not d sposed to be dared with 
 impunity. I think you denied to me that you had 
 ever forwarded any letters to Don Francisco de
 
 RlClliaiEB 69 
 
 Mello, Leopold Archduke of Austria, or Philip 
 King of Spain. — Beware what you say, Claude 
 Count de Blenau l" 
 
 " If I understand your eminence rightly,'"' said 
 the prisoner, •'you do not ask me whether 1 ever 
 did forward such letters, but whether 1 ever denied 
 to you tl'.at 1 did forward them : in which case, I 
 must reply that 1 did deny having expedited any 
 letter to Don Francisco de Mello, but the two oth- 
 er names 1 never touched upon." 
 
 " 'J'hen you acknowledge that you have conveyed 
 letters from the queen to the archduke and the 
 king of Spam ?■' demanded Richelieu. 
 
 "I liave made no such acknowledgment." an- 
 swered De Blenau ; ''your eminence puts a forced 
 construction on my v.ords.'* 
 
 "In vain you turn, sir, like a rebellious serpent 
 that strives in its wmdings to escape the hand tiiat 
 grasps it. At once I ask you, have you or have you 
 not, ever by any means, expedited any letter from 
 the q\ieen, or other person, to either the archJulce 
 of Austria, or the king of Spain? This, sir, is a 
 question that you cannot get over I " 
 
 Tlie eyes of the wh'de council fixed upon the 
 count as the eardinil spoke. De Blenau p.iused for 
 a momeiit to recollect himself, and then addressed 
 himself d-irectly to the king. '• As a good ar.d faith- 
 ful subject, he said, " there is a great duty which I 
 owe your majesty, and I believe I have always per- 
 formed it as I ought ; but as a servant of your royal 
 consort the qtieen, I have otlier duties, distinct, 
 though 1 hope in no degree opposed to those which 
 bmd me to my kin^-. As a man of honour also, and 
 agentleman. 1 am bound to betray no trust reposed 
 ill me, whether that trust seem to me material or 
 not; and though I feel sure that 1 might at once 
 answer the questions proposed to me by his emi- 
 nence of Richelieu without any det-riment or dis- 
 credit to her majesty, yet so sacred do I iiold the 
 contidcnce of another that I must decline to reply, 
 whatever be the consequence. However, lot me
 
 70 RICHELIEO. 
 
 assure you, sire, ihat no word or deed of her majes- 
 ty the queen, which has ever come to niy ears, has 
 been derogatnry to vfur mnjesty's dignity, or con- 
 trnry to your interest." 
 
 '•' 'J'hen I am lo conclude that you refuse to an- 
 swer ?" said Richelieu, sternly : -think. AJonsieur 
 de Blenau, before you carry your obstinacy too 
 far.'* 
 
 " My conductdoes not arise in obstinacy," repli- 
 ed De Blenau, •' but fr<im a s-ense of what is due to 
 my honour; and unless it can be shown nie that it 
 is lier niajest\'s desire I should inform your emi- 
 nence of all I knovv respecting her aftiiirs, from 
 henceforth I hold my tongue, and answer no farther 
 questions whatever," 
 
 '■ Be the consequence on your own head then, 
 youn^ man," exclaimed the cardinal. '• We will 
 now brea.< up the conncil. — Monsieur de Blenau, 
 t&ke leave of the sun. for yo* never see another 
 morrow '.'■ 
 
 De Ble..an's courage was unshaken, but vet a 
 cold chilly feeling t:alliered round his heart as Riche- 
 lieu bade him take leave of the sun. and n-se to 
 brei.k up the council. But still the king kepi hia 
 sea', and Chavigni. hastily writing a lew words on 
 a scrap of pnper, handed li to the cardinal, who, af- 
 ter reading it, appeared to li.ink for a m' ment, and 
 then again addressed De Bleimu. '-'Ihere is one 
 hope still left lor you. sir ; (iid Monsieur de Cha- 
 vijjni understar.d you rightly, that if )ou had the 
 queens command toconless what y»'U know of her 
 affairs, you would answer the questions we put to 
 you ?■■' 
 
 De Blenau breathed freely. " I'ndoubfedly,"' 
 replied he : ''my honour will then be saii»fied, 
 and there will be no subjvjct on which I shalj 
 have a reserve." 
 
 " What will you consider a ruffirient expres- 
 sion of iier m ijestvs commands to that effect ?" 
 asked Chavigni ; *' J know that his eminence wis'*es 
 to treat you with all possible lenity, although the
 
 KICllELlEU. 71 
 
 mere command of the king in council ought to be 
 sufficient warrant for \ou to yield any informa- 
 tion thai niny be required." 
 
 •' We ll'ink difierenlly on mnny points, JVlon- 
 sieur de Cliavigni.'' answered De Blenau ; '-'but 
 if you can show me lier l.aiidwriiing to any or- 
 der, or if one of ihc ( fficers of Ik r h«)usel did 
 will bear me a messnge from her mnjesty to deliv- 
 er what little I know ot her atiairs, I will do so 
 without furt' er hesitation." 
 
 There was now a momentary consultation car- 
 ried on in a low voce aniong tlie various mpm- 
 bers of the council, apparently concerning which 
 of the queen's attend mt's should he sent for ; but 
 at length Chnvi^rni whispered to tl^e cardinal, 
 "send for Ln Hivic e 5 he is a friend of Lafemas, 
 and will do any thing he is bid.' 
 
 " If iMoi'.sieur de La Ri vitro hear you the qncen'6 
 commands, will you be satisfied, Sir Count V de- 
 manded Richelieu. 
 
 " 'J"he queen's gentleman-nsher." said De Blenau j 
 " most assuredly ; that will be sufficient." 
 
 '• (io yoursf If, Ctiavigi i.'" whispered Richelieu, 
 "and as you come, tell Itim what to .^ny. — we will 
 wait his arriv.il :'' he proceeded aloud—'' but see, 
 Monsieur de Chiviutii. that he ciimmunirates with 
 the queen, and be fully informed of her wis'es." 
 
 De Blenau siiiiJGd. convinced fnun his late in- 
 formaiion through Pauline that the queen was s. ill 
 at Chantiily, and tliorefoie that though I.a Riviere 
 might be himself at Paris, and ready to swear any 
 thing that the carditial dictated, he could have no 
 communication with Aiint^ of Austria, uidrss, what 
 seemed improbal le, she had returned to the capi- 
 tal nith the l<ing. , 
 
 A:< soon as De ('havi-jrii had retired for the pur- 
 pose of seeUititi La P.iviere, Richeii' u ran his eye 
 over ?on»e inem'Tanda, as if about to ptil luither 
 quesiior.s to De Bieiuiu ; but the kin^^, not tioticing 
 these inoications of his purpose, addressed the 
 prisoner himself " Well, '.Monsieur io Compte,"
 
 72 IflCHELTEC. 
 
 said he, "while Chavigni is gone, there are two or 
 three points on which 1 shall be glad to s-peak vvi.h 
 you." 
 
 Kichelieu was surprised, and not par'iculnrly de- 
 lighted, thinking that the king was about to con- 
 tinue the examination himself, which iniglit not be 
 conducted precisely in such a mai^ner as to pro- 
 duce the ellect he wislied 5 but. in the independent 
 mood with which Louis was affected, hcdr:red not, 
 wiili all his daring, aticmpt to interrupt ihe course, 
 of his sovereign's proceedings, and therefore re- 
 main d silent, watching the opportunity of iuter- 
 posing, to give what turn he best could to tie in- 
 terrogatory th.it nppeared about to commence. In 
 the meanwhile Be Blenau bowed his head, calmly 
 prepared to be:irthe mental torture of a longcross- 
 exr.uiination. wliere every word might bo sulject to 
 dangerous misconstruction. 
 
 '• 1 understand, Monsieur De Blenau, continued 
 the king, while the whole council listened witli at- 
 tentive expectalion — " I understand that you Isave 
 the best breed of boar-dogs in France. Pray aro 
 they of the Pomeranian or the Exul race ? — and 
 how can they be procured V 
 
 Richelieu bit his lip ; but to De Blenau the 
 king's question was like the clearing away of a 
 threatened storm ; and habitually attached to the 
 chafe, as well as deeply learned in ail its mysteries, 
 he was delighted to tind that Louis turned tlie con- 
 versation to a subject equally familiar to boti. 
 
 " riJine are tlic iruo Pomeranian breed, sire," he 
 replied ;'■ flewed an inch deep, with eyes like Saa- 
 darak^ — would light your mnjesty liome at night, if 
 by chance you lost your way. In truth, tliey are 
 only fit for a mnrarch ; and Cinq Mars has now 
 four cf uple rf the best in e.iucation for your mnfes- 
 ty, which, when well trained, and recovered from 
 their wilderness, he will present to your majesty in 
 my name; and 1 humbly hope that you will accept 
 them in aid of your royal sport." 
 
 " We shall, wo shall ; and thank vou well, Sir
 
 RICHELltl!. ^3 
 
 Count," replied the king, smiling most graciously 
 at the prospect of possessing a breed vviiich he 
 had heen long seeliing lor in vain. " Monsieur le 
 Cardinal, do you hear lliat/ We will hunt with 
 them some day. You used to hunt in your day 
 too; have you quite given it over?" 
 
 " I have been too much busied, sire," answered 
 Richelieu, gravely, '• in hunting from your majes- 
 ty s dominions Huguenot wolves and Spanish foxes, 
 to pursue other game."' 
 
 Louis turned from him with an uneasy shrug, ex- 
 prorsive of fully as much distaste lor Richelieu's 
 employments as the statesman experienced for his: 
 and on<e more addressing De Bienau, he plunged 
 deep into the science of hunting hawking, and 
 fowling; giving tiie young count a thttusand re- 
 ceipts, instructions, and anecdotes, which he lis- 
 tened to with the most reverential deference, not 
 only in as much as they proceeded from his sover- 
 eign, but also as coming from tiie most experienc- 
 ed sportsman of the age. 
 
 in the menu wl:ilo, Kichelicu was fain to employ 
 hiniself in writing notes and memoranda, to allay 
 the spleen and irritation that he felt at what he in- 
 ternally termed the king's weak trifling; till at 
 lenifth he was relieved by the return *S Chavigni, 
 briiiginij with him the queen's usher. La Riviere. 
 
 De Bicnau well knew tliat this person, who was 
 by birth unjust within the rank of a gentleman 
 (which v.nrd was then in France one of great sig- 
 nificance), had been placed in the service of Ann 
 of Austria for the purpose of actinj as a spy upon 
 her. from Richelieu's fear of her correspondence 
 with Sj'ain; but informed, as the count now was, 
 of the queen's wishes, it was perfectly indifferent 
 to him who appeared on her behalf ; his only ob- 
 ject beinir. that his mistress's commands, puliiicly 
 expressed, should, in the minds of all, free him 
 from the imputation of having betrayed her. 
 
 La Riviere looked rouad hina, as he entered,
 
 74 RICHELIEU. 
 
 with a glance not altogether free from apprehen- 
 sion j tor though Chavigni had given him full In- 
 structions and information concerning the services 
 he was sent for to perform, yet there was some- 
 thing so terrible in the idea of the Bastille, that he 
 could hardly keep his limbs from trembling as he 
 passed the gates of the prison. 
 
 " Come hither, Monsieur de La Riviere/' ex- 
 claimed the cardinal, as soon as he appeared ; "we 
 are wasting too much time here."' La Riviere ap- 
 proached and placed himself in the spot to which 
 Richelieu pointed, almost exactly opposite to De 
 Blenau. 
 
 The cardmal then proceeded. " Have you seen 
 her majesty the queen since Monsieur de Chavigni 
 informed you of the wishes of the council ?" 
 
 "I have, may it please your eminence/' replied 
 La Riviere, in a tremulous voice. 
 
 " And what was her majesty's reply to our re- 
 quest?" asked Richelieu. " Speak boldly !" he 
 added, in a tone only calculated to reach the ear of 
 the usher, who stood close beside him, and showed 
 plainly, by his hesitating manner, that he was un- 
 der the influence of alarm. The cardinal, however, 
 attributed this to a wrong cause, thinking that La 
 Riviere had not really seen the queen, and was 
 about to play his part, as prompted by Chavigni, 
 but that in all probability he would spoil it by his 
 hesitation. 
 
 Just as La Riviere was proceeding to answer, 
 however, Chavigni. who had taken his place at 
 the council-table the moment he entered, and had 
 been writing rapidly since, conveyed a slip of pa- 
 per across to the cardinal, who raieed his hand for 
 the usher to be silent while he read. The words 
 which his friend had written greatly discomposed 
 the minister's plans. They were, "'l am afraid it 
 will not succeed : 1 have seen the queen ; when 
 she not only told La Riviere, at once, to command 
 the count, in her name, to answer every question 
 that related to her. but has given him a letter under
 
 MGHELIEtr 75 
 
 her own hand to that effect. She is either innocent, 
 or relies devotedly on De Blenau : whichever is 
 the case, her open conduct will clear her in the 
 mind of the king. Act as you like.'" 
 
 " What is the matter, Monsieur le Car«iinal 1" 
 demanded Louis, somewhat impatiently, " Why 
 do we not proceed ? ' 
 
 " Because," answered Richelieu, '"'what Mon- 
 sieur de Chavigni says is right, sire, though, 1 con- 
 fess, it did not strike me before. Shall we not be- 
 come contemptible in the eyes of the world, by 
 submitting to be dictated to by Monsieur de Ble- 
 nau ? And is it not a gross insult to your majesty's 
 Eower, to obey the commands of the queen, when 
 e has refused to obey your own ? J am sorry that 
 this did not appear to me earlier; but the objection 
 now seems to me so forcible, that I can proceed 
 no farther in this course." 
 
 Louis paused. He was as jealous of the queen 
 possessing any authority as Richelieu could wish j 
 but in the present instance lie was urged, by ditter- 
 ent motives, in an opposite direction. Some sparks 
 of affection had arrived in his bosom towards Anne 
 of Austria, and he wished much to satisfy himself 
 regarding the suspicions which had been urged 
 against her. De Blenau was the dear friend of his 
 favourite Cinq Mars ; and his mind also had begun 
 to yield to the arguments of those who sought the 
 destruction of the minister. But, on the other 
 hand, the habit of being ruled by Richelieu, and 
 the specious arguments he produced, made Louis 
 hesitate : — " what, then, do you intend to do ]" de- 
 manded he, addressing the cardinal. 
 
 "In the first place, sire," replied Richelieu, 
 sternly, I propose to interrogate the prisoner once 
 more, and if his contumacy still continues, let the 
 question be his doom." 
 
 The king's naturally good feelings snd love of 
 justice here at once overcame all doubt. "No, 
 God forbid !" cried he, rousing himself to energy. 
 "What,ar« we Christians. Monsieur le Carding.
 
 and shall we put a fellow-creature to the torture, 
 
 when there is a straight-forward way to gain the 
 information th-at we want ? Fie upon it ! iSo \" 
 
 Richelieu's ashy cheek grew still a shade paler.- 
 It was the first lime for many a year he had under- 
 gone rebul<e. H« lelt that the trammels with which 
 he ha^ so long held the king enthralled were but 
 as green lithes twined round the limbs of a giant. 
 He saw that the vast fabric of his power was raised 
 upon a foundation of unsteady sand, and that even 
 then it trembled to its very base. 
 
 "Monsieur La Riviere, answer the king f con- 
 tinued Louis, in a dignified tone. '' What says the 
 queen to the request of our council, that she would 
 command her chamberlain to answer those ques- 
 tions, in regard to which he has a scruple on her 
 account ? ' 
 
 *' Her majesty says, sire, answered La Riviere, 
 " that she is most willing to do any thing- that will 
 please your majesty } and slie has net only ordered 
 me to command, in her name, Monsieur de Ble- 
 nau to inform the council of every thing he knows 
 concerning her conduct ; but has also written this 
 letter, with her own hand, to the same effect.' And 
 advancing to the table, he bent his knee before the 
 king, and presented the document of which he was 
 the bearer. 
 
 Louis took the letter, and read it through. " Thi» 
 look« not like a guilty conscience," said he, frown- 
 ing upon Richelieu'. '• Give that to Monsieur de 
 Blenau, he continued, to one of the officers. 
 "There, Sir Count, is your warrant to speak free-^ 
 ly j and though we think you carry your sense of* 
 honor too far. so as to make it dangerous to your- 
 self, and almost rebellious towards us, we cannot 
 help respecting trie principle, even though it be in 
 excess." 
 
 "May f always have such a judge as your majes- 
 ty !" replied De Blenau. '' Most humbly do I crave 
 your royal pardon, if I have been at all wanting in 
 duty towards you. Believe me, sire, it has proceed-
 
 RICHELIEU. 77 
 
 ed not from any fault of inclination, but from an er- 
 ror in judgment. I have now no farther hesitation, 
 all my duties being reconciled ; and. 1 believe, the 
 best way fully to reply to the questions which have 
 been asked me, will be by telling your majesty, that 
 1 have on several occasions forwarded letters from 
 t!»e queen, by private couriers of my own, or by 
 any other conveyance that offered. JNone of these 
 letters have been either to the archduke, to Don 
 Francisco de Mello, or any other persf n whatever, 
 connected with the Spanish government, except her 
 mnjesty's brother, Fhilip, King of Spain, to whom I 
 have assuredly sent several ; but before 1 ever un- 
 dertook to do so, her majesty condescended to g>ve 
 me her most po.sitive promise, and to pledge her 
 royal word, that the tidings she gave her brother 
 should on all occasions be confined to her domes- 
 tic affairs, nor ever touch upon the externsil or inter- 
 nal policy of the government, so that my honour and 
 allegiance should be equally unsullied. These let- 
 ters have sometimes remained upon my person for 
 weeks, waiting for the fit opportunity to send them j 
 which circumstance having by some means been 
 discovered, has caused me no small inconvenience 
 at times. Farther 1 have nothing to tell your mnjes- 
 ty, but that i have ever heard the queen express 
 the greatest affection tor your royal person, and 
 the warmest wishes for your public and private 
 welfare : and on my honor, I have never observed 
 her do, by word or action, any thing which could 
 be construed into a breach of the duty she owes 
 your majesty, either as her sovereign or her hus- 
 band. 
 
 " You see !" exclaimed the king, turning to Riche- 
 lieu, as De Blenau concluded ; " You see — exactly 
 what she confessed herself^— not one little of dif- 
 ference." 
 
 The anger of the cardinal, at finding himself foil- 
 ed, swept away his political prudence Irritated 
 and weakened by a wearing disease, he was in no 
 firame of mind to see calmly a scheme he had form-
 
 7« RICHELIEU. 
 
 ed with infinite cafe, so completely overthrown; 
 and forgetting that the king's energies were now 
 aroused to oppose him. he resolved to let his ven- 
 geance fall on the head of De Blenau as the means 
 of his disaopointment. His brow darkened aiwi his 
 eye flashed, and he replied in that stern and haugh- 
 ty manner wliich had so often carried command 
 along with it. 
 
 '• if your majesty be satisfied, of course so am I, 
 whose sole wish was to purge the lily c-own frona 
 the profaning touch of strangers. But as for Mon- 
 sieur de Blenau, he has confessed himself guilty of 
 a crime lit'je short of high treason, in fowarding 
 those letters to a foreign enemy. We have already 
 condemned a woman to exile for a less offence j 
 and therefore the mildest sentence that the council 
 can pronounce, and which by my voice it does pro- 
 nounce, is, that Claude Count de Blenau be banish- 
 ed for ever from these realms ; and that, if after the 
 space of sixteen days he be found within their pre- 
 cincts, he shall be considered as without the pale 
 of law, -and his blood be required at the hand of no 
 mn that sheds it I" 
 
 There was an indignant spot glowing in the king's 
 face while Richelieu spoke thus, that Chavigni 
 marked with pain ; for he saw that the precipitant 
 haste of the minister was hurrying his power to its 
 fall. 
 
 "Too much of this!" cried Louis, angrily. "Lord- 
 Cardinal, you forget the presence of the king. Mon- 
 sieur de Blenau—- We, by our royal prerogative, da 
 annul and make void the sentence you have just 
 heard, merely commanding you to retire from this 
 chateau of The Bastille, without holding communi- 
 cation with any persons attached te the court, and 
 to render vourself within the limits of our province 
 of Bourbon, and there to wait our further pleasure. 
 The council is over," he continued, rising. " Mon- 
 sieur le Cardinal de Richelieu, by sending the war- 
 rant for the count's release soxne time in the dajr to
 
 RICHELIEU. 79 
 
 our governour of the Bastille, you will merit our 
 thanks." 
 
 The officers cleared the way for the king — the 
 huissiers of the chamber threw wide the doors — and 
 Louis with a firm and dignified step, proceeded 
 slowly out of the hall, followed by Richelieu, who 
 thunderstruck and confounded, kept his eyes bent 
 upon the ground, in the silence of deep astonish- 
 ment. The rest of the council, equally mute and 
 surprised, accompanied the cardinal with anxiety in 
 every eye ; while the officers of the Bastille and 
 the t^ountde Blenau remained the sole occupants 
 of the hall of audience. 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 In which De RIenau gets out of the scrape 
 
 The silence that reigned in the audience-hall of 
 the Bastille after the scene we have described, en- 
 dured several minutes, during which each person 
 who remained within its walls, commented mutely 
 on the extraordinary events he had just witnessed. 
 De Blenau's feelings were o** course mingled, of 
 surprise at the king's unusual conduct, and gratifi- 
 cation at his own deliverance. The governor's 
 thoughts were differently employed, looking for- 
 ward to the fall of Richelieu, speculating in regard 
 to his successor, and trying to determine who would 
 be the best person to court in the changes that were 
 likely to ensue. " Like master, like man," says 
 the adage ; and the inferior officers of the prison, in 
 compliance therewith, calculated upon the remov- 
 al of the governor as a consequence of the ruin of
 
 8ft rtlCMKLlEU. 
 
 the minister who had placed bim there, and laid 
 their own minor plans for tecurinir their places. 
 
 De Blenuu was the first to break silence. •• Well, 
 my friend," said he, addrfssin-j llio governor, "• I 
 am lo be your guest no longer, it seems; but be 
 assured that I shall not forget my promises. '' 
 
 '• You are infinitely good, nio'iseigneur," answer- 
 ed the < tlier, bowing almost to the ground. '' I 
 hope you will believe that I liave gone to the very 
 extreme of what my duly permitted, to aflord you 
 all convenience." 
 
 " I have no doubt of it,"' repiicd the count ; '• but 
 let me ask. what has become of my good friend, 
 Philip the woodman ? He must not be forgotten." 
 
 The knowledge of the .severity he had exercised 
 towards poor Pldiip, in the first heat of his anger, 
 now called up a quick llu-h in tlie pale cheek of 
 the oovernor} and he determined to shelter him- 
 self fr -m the resentment of his late prisoner, by 
 telling liim that the woodman had been liberat- 
 ed. 
 
 In those dangerous times, the acutenoss of every 
 one was sharpened by co tinual exercise j and De 
 Bleiiau's eye, fixing on the varying countenance of 
 his companion, soon detected tiiat there was so i.e- 
 thing amiss, by the alteraii^n which his question 
 produced. " IVIonsieur le (ioverneur,"' said he, 
 •'•give me the truth. I proi!>ise you th:>t every 
 thing shall be forgotten, provided )ou }:ave not se- 
 riously injured him; but I must know that the man 
 is safe who has served me so faithfully." 
 
 •'The fact then is this, monseigneur," replied 
 the governor ; '' thinking it best for all parties, I 
 ordered this monsieur Philip Grissoles to be con- 
 fined till after your examination to-day. lest any 
 thing might transpire that could injure you or me." 
 
 "You thought of yourself alone, sir," answered 
 De Blenau.soniewhat bitterly ; '■ but see that he be 
 restored to that degree of liberty which you were 
 ordered at first to permit, or you wUl hear more of 
 m«— "
 
 ttlOHELIKO, 81 
 
 As he epoke, the door of the audience-hail, com- 
 municating with the outer court, was thrown open 
 so sudden^y as to make the governor start a pace 
 back, and Chavigni entered the room with a coun- 
 tenance, from which all hisetibris could not banish 
 the anxiety of his mind. Naturally quick and impa- 
 tient, it oflen happened that his long training in 
 the school of political duplicity did not suffice to 
 overcome the struggles of his original disposition j 
 and even the violent effort to conquer the native 
 earnestness and impatience «>f his character would 
 sometimes produce more visible marks 'fits work- 
 ing than if he had suffered his passions to take 
 their course. In the present instance, his fine fea- 
 tures were drawn and sharpened by the attempt to 
 drive from them any *^xpression of his feelings, and 
 his eye flashed with ill-subdued fire, as he irritated 
 himself with a thousand conjectures concerning 
 the latent movers of the recent occurrences. On 
 entering, he pointed with his hand towards the 
 door for the governor to leave th»m 5 and seeing 
 that he did not immediately obey, he exclaimed in 
 no very placable voice, '' Begone ! 1 wish Mon- 
 sieur de Blenau's company alone. — What do you 
 wait for 1 Oh, there is the order for hjs liberation. 
 — Ther.', take your park with you." And he point- 
 ed to the lower officers of the prison, who thus dis- 
 missed quickly followed the governor as he shmnk 
 away from tiie statesman's hasiy and irritable 
 glance. 
 
 "' Monsieur de Blenau,'' «aid Chavigni, as soon 
 as the door was closed, " it was not worth while to 
 detain you here for an hour or two, till such lime 
 as the order could be sent for your emancipation j 
 I therefore drew it out in the lodge. — But y<»u owe 
 me no*hing for that}" he continued, seeing that De 
 Blenau was about to thank him for the supposed 
 service. " I made it an excuse to stay behind, in 
 order to seek an answer to a question or two. JNow. 
 I make no pretence of asking you these questions 
 a3 a friend, for I know that you consider me not 9a
 
 S2 RICHELIEU. 
 
 such ; but I do it merely on my own account, wish- 
 ing for information on some points regarding which 
 you alone can satisfy me. it is your business, 
 therefore, to consider before you answer, whether 
 so to do be foryour interest or not. Tne only thing 
 I will prorrise, which J do honestly, is. not to let 
 your replies go beyond my own breast." 
 
 "The method of your address is certainly extra 
 ordinary, Monsieur de Chavjgni," replied De Blenau: 
 "but however we may differ on many points, 1 give 
 you credit for so much fankness, that I believe 
 you would not betray even your eraeny if he relied 
 on you : neither do l know, or rather recollect, at 
 this moment, any quesstion I should hesitate to 
 answer. Therefore propose what you think fit, and 
 I will satisfy you, or not, as suits my convenience." 
 
 " Between you and me, Monsieur de Blenau, 
 there is no need of fine w rds. I have always found 
 you strickly honourable, and therefore I rely on 
 what vou tell me, as if it were within the sc pe of 
 my own knowledge. In the first place, then, you 
 have been witness to an extraordinary scene to-day. 
 Are you at all aware from what cause the king has 
 acted as he has done, so at variance with his con- 
 duct for fifteen years ?" 
 
 '' Particularly, I am aware of no cause, and can 
 only conjecture that his majesty is tired of being 
 dictated toby his servant?" 
 
 " Umph !" said Chavigni, in a tone of dissatisfac- 
 tion ; " there is no need to triumph, Monsieur de 
 Blenau. Am I to believe that you know of no one 
 who has instigated the king to take such singular 
 steps in your favour V 
 
 "Of none whatever," answered the count; "unless 
 it were her majesty the queen, — the effect of any 
 application from whom ^ would be quite different, I 
 should conceive." 
 
 " No, no, no I" said Chavigni. " It was not on 
 her that my suspicions rested. 1 must have been 
 mistaken. One word more. Have you had any late 
 communication with Monsieur de Cinq Mars V
 
 RICHKLIEU. 83 
 
 " About three weeks ago I wrote to him from St. 
 Germain, sending some young hounds for the king's 
 service ; but that was long before I dreamed of 
 finding my way hither." 
 
 '• 1 must have been mistaken.'' repeated Chavigni. 
 " I thank you, Monsieur de Blenau. This must be 
 a whim of the kin '.'s own — God grant it! for then 
 the humour will soon pass." 
 
 " And now sir," said De Blenau, " that I have an- 
 swered your questions, there are one or two subjects 
 on which you might give me satisfaction. Are you 
 inclined to do so ?" 
 
 " If I can , without injuring myself or others, or 
 disclosing any plan that I am desirous to conceal," 
 replied the statesman. 
 
 " My questions shall regard the past, and not the 
 future," said De Blenau ; "and are intended merely 
 to gratify my own curiosity. In the first place then, 
 I once saw you at St. Germain, in conversation 
 with a demoisell attached to Mademoiselle de Beau- 
 mont — to what did your buisness with her refer V 
 
 " I did not think you had seen us," replied Cha- 
 vigni. " I might answer that I was making love, 
 and probably you thought so as well as she did her- 
 self; but my conversation referred to you. 1 found 
 that she had been present when Seguin the surgeon 
 brought the news of your having been wounded to 
 the qu :en : and from her also I learned the words 
 he made use of to let her know that you had not 
 lost ihe packet which you had upon you in the 
 wood of Mantes." 
 
 " Monsieur de Chavigni," said De Blenau, with 
 more cordiality in his manner than he usually evinc- 
 ed towards the statesman ; " the world is too well 
 aware of your domestic happiness for , any one to 
 suspect you of degrading yourself to a soubrette ; I 
 thank you for your candour. Now tell me, is a poor 
 man, called Philip the woodman, detained hero 
 in my account? and why is he so?' 
 
 " He is," replied Chavigni, " and' the reason is 
 this — he happened to recognise among those who
 
 84 RICHELIEU. 
 
 attacked you a servant of mine, and was fool enough 
 to tell it abr.iad, so that it reached the king's ears. 
 Now, though every thing is justifiable in the service 
 of the state, 1 did not particularly wish thatbuisness 
 investigated, and I therefore put Monsieur Philip iu 
 here to keep him cit of the way for a time. Yi.u ate 
 now of course aware wliy you were attacked It was 
 to secure the papers on your person, which papers 
 we suppf)sed were part of a trea.«'Onable correspon- 
 dence between the queen and the Spanish govern- 
 ment. All that is now over ; and therefore, if you 
 will promise me not to stir th.e buisness of that 
 affray in any way — which indeed would do you no 
 good — this meddling woodman shall have his liber- 
 ty." 
 
 " I never had the slightest intention of stirring 
 it," replied De Blenau ; " and therefore rest satisfi- 
 ed on that score. But at the same time I must tell 
 you that the whole atlair came to the king's ears 
 through me, and not through the woodman, 1 be- 
 lieve. I observed your servant, as well as he did, 
 and did not fail to write of it to several of my 
 friends, as well as speak of it openly on more thaa 
 one occasion ; and this, depend upon it, has b«ea 
 the means by which it reached the ears of the king, 
 and not by poor Philip," 
 
 "Then 1 have done him wrong," said Chavigni, 
 " and must make him some amends. Let me see. 
 Oh, he shall be eub-lieutenant of the forest ; it will 
 just suit him. And now, Monseigneur de Bienau, 
 a.^ a friend, let me give you one piece of advice. 
 This country is in a troubled and uncertain state, 
 and there will be, doubtless, many plots and cabals 
 poing on. Retire, as you are commanded, into 
 Boiirbon ; and if any one attempt to lead you into 
 any conspiracy, so far fmm acceding, do not even 
 listen to them; for the Cardinal owes you some- 
 thing for what has happened to-day. in 1 he is not 
 one to forget such debts. The eye of an angry maa 
 is upon you ! — so be as guarded as if you irod amoog
 
 mCHELIElk 85 
 
 tipers. The time will come « hen you will say that 
 Chavigni has advised you well.'' 
 
 " And it is certainly advice uliich 1 shall follow, 
 both from reason and inclination. But let me ask— 
 am I to consider the king's prohibition strict in re- 
 gard to communicating with any one at the court?" 
 
 Chaviirni thought for a moment, and De Bleuau 
 imagined that he was considerinjr the circumstances 
 under which Louis's command had been given ; 
 but it was not so. The mind of the statesman rap- 
 idly reverted to Pauline de Beaumont, all his pre- 
 cautions with regard to whom turned out to be nu- 
 gatory ; and he now calculated the consequences 
 which were likely to ensue under the present state 
 of atiairs. He had no fear, indeed, in regard to the 
 responsibility he had taken upon himself; for it 
 would be easy to prove, in case of investigation, 
 that Pauline had attempted in disguise to commu- 
 nicite privately with a stale prisoner in the Bastille, 
 which would completely justify the measures he 
 had pursued ; but he wished on all accounts to let 
 a matter drop and be forgotten which had already 
 produced such disagreeable events, and he there- 
 fore determined boldly to inform Madame de Beau- 
 mont of what had been done, and the motives for 
 doing it ; and then — certain that for her own sake 
 she would keep silence on the subject — to restore 
 her daughter with all .speed. 
 
 Though the thoughts of Chavigni were very rap- 
 id in combination, yet all these considerations oc- 
 cupied him so long, that De Blenau, perceiving his 
 companion pfunged into so proiound a revery, took 
 the liberty of pulling him out by the ear, re|)eating 
 his former question, whether he was to consider the 
 king's prohibition in regard to communicating with 
 the court as strictly to be observed. 
 
 " Undoubtedly !" replied Chaviuni : " beyond all 
 quesiion ! You do not want to gel into the Bas- 
 tille again, do you ? Oh I I perceive it is Madem- 
 oiselle de Beaumont you are thinking of. But you 
 car not sec her. She is neither in Paris nor at St
 
 S6 RICHELIEU 
 
 Germain, but I will take care that when she joins 
 her mother in Paris, she shall be informed of your 
 safety ; and you can write yourself when you get 
 into the Bourbonnois.'' 
 
 The reader, who is behind the scenes, may proba- 
 bly take the trouble of pitying De Blenau f»)r the 
 anxiety he would suffer on hearing that Pauline was 
 neither at St. Germain nor in Paris ; but there i3 
 no occasion to distress himself. De Blenau, know- 
 ing that Pauline had absented herself from the 
 court for the purpose of conveying to him the epis- 
 tle of the queen, naturally concluded that Chavigni 
 had been deceived in regard to her absence, and 
 that she was at all events in safety wherever she 
 was. 
 
 In the mean time Chavigni proceeded. " You 
 must of course go to St. Germain, to prepare for 
 your journey 5 but stay ^ven there as few hours as 
 you well may. Remember, I have told you, the 
 eye of an angry man is upon you I — To-day is yours 
 — to-morrow may be his — take care that by the 
 least imprudence you do not turn your sunshine in- 
 to storm. That you may make all speed, I will 
 lend you ahorse ; for I own I take some interest in 
 your fate — I know not w;iy — it shall be at the gates 
 in an hour, together with an order for the wood- 
 mans liberation 5 so now, farewell. 1 have wasted 
 too much time on you already."' 
 
 With this speech, half kind, half rude Chavigni 
 left De Blenau. Whether the statesman's motives 
 were wholly friendly, or whether they might not be 
 partly interested, proceeding from a nice calcula- 
 ofthe precarious state both of the cardinal s health 
 and of his power, weighed with the authority the 
 queen might gain from the failure of either, the 
 count did not stay to investigate, although a sus- 
 picion of the latter kind flashed across his mind. 
 In this, however, he did Chavigni injustice. In 
 natural character he was not unlike De Blenau him- 
 self, frank, honourable, and generous ; but educa-
 
 niCHELIEU. 67 
 
 tion is stronger than nature } and. education had 
 made them different beings. 
 
 On the departure of the statesman, the count re- 
 turned once more to the apartment he had occupi- 
 ed while a prisoner, with no small seif-gratula- 
 tion on the change in his situation. Here he busi- 
 ed himself in preparations for his departure, and 
 took pains to ascertain that the paper written by the 
 unhappy Caply still remained in the book, as well 
 as that the file was yet in the position which it de- 
 scribed. Having finished this examination, which' 
 he looked upon as a duty to the next person destin- 
 ed to inhabit that abode, he waited impatiently till 
 the hour should be passed which Chavigni had 
 named as the time likely to elapse before the horse 
 he promised would be prepared. 
 
 Ere it had flown much more than half, however, 
 the governor entered the chamber, and with many 
 profound bows and civil speeches, informed him 
 that Monsieur de Chavigni had sent a horse for his 
 use, and an order for the immediate liberation of 
 - Philip the woodman. De Blenau was gratified by 
 Chavigni's prompt fulfillment of his word in this 
 last respect 5 and remembering the thousand crowns 
 which he had promised the governor on his libera- 
 tion, he placed them in his hands, which brought 
 him very near to the end of the large sum of gold 
 that his valise contained. 
 
 Now De Blenau was perfectly well convinced 
 that the governor was as great a rogue as need be ; 
 but there is something so expansive in the idea of 
 being liberated from prison, that he could not bear 
 the thought^of keeping his louis shut up in a bag 
 any longer, and he poured them forth into the gov- 
 ernor's palm with as much satisfaction as if he was 
 emancipating so many prisoners himself. 
 
 An ecu courani was worth, in that day, about three 
 
 francs, and a louis' d' or somewhat about four and 
 
 twenty (more or less, according to the depreciation), 
 
 so that eight ecus or crowns, went to the louis 3 and, 
 
 ' «onBcquently^ tho &am of one thousand crown*
 
 ft RlCHEtlEU. 
 
 aiftounted very nearly to one hundred and twenty* 
 five golden louis, which was a very pretty reward 
 for a riigue to receive for being a rascal in a good 
 cause : nevertheless, the governor, even when he 
 had safely clutched the proniised fee. looked very 
 wistfully at a little green silk bag, which De Bienau 
 reserved in his lelt hand, and which he calculated 
 must contain about the same sum, or more. 
 
 The count, however, held it br ■■ J and having giv- 
 en directions to whom, and when, his baggage was 
 to be delivered, he descended into the inner court, 
 and cnst his eyes round in search (if his faithful 
 friend Philip. But the woodman had received at 
 once his emancipation from the dungeon where we 
 )asf lett him, and the news that De Bienau was free ; 
 and though he lingered in the court to see the 
 young count depart, with somothinu both of joy and 
 pride m his feelings, yet there was a sort o| limid 
 delicacy in the peasant's mind, which made him 
 draw back from observation, amid the cr^wd of 
 p isoners that the court now contained, the mo- 
 ment that he perceived the governor, wilh many a 
 servile cringe, marshalling the late prisoner towards 
 the gate of the Basiille ; while thote less fortunate 
 persons, still destined to linger nut their lime wuh- 
 in lis wails, stood off with curious envying l^oks, 
 to allow a passage for him now freed from their sad 
 fellowsl.ip. De Bienau. however was by no means 
 forgetful of the woodman, and not perceiving him 
 among the rest, he inquired where he was of the 
 obsequious governor, who instantly vociferated his 
 name till the old arclies echoed with tj;e sound. 
 " Philip ! Philip the woodman ! Philip Grissoles '" 
 cried the governor. 
 
 •• Does he know that he is free altogether to re- 
 turn home ?■' demanded De Bienau, seeing him ap- 
 proach, 
 
 "jyo, 1 believe not." replied the governor. " I 
 had the honor of waiting first upon your lord- 
 ship." 
 
 Philip now came near, and De Bt«nau had the
 
 RICHELIEU. 89 
 
 gratification of announcing to him, unforestalled, 
 that the storm had blown over, and that he might 
 now return to his cottage in peace. He also told 
 him of the appointment with which Chavigni pro- 
 posed to compensate his imprisonment — an office 
 so elevated that the gayest day-dreams of Philip'* 
 ambition had never soared to half its height. But 
 the joy of returning to the bosom ot his family, to 
 the calm shelter of his native forest, and the even 
 tencr of his daily toil, swallowed up all his feelings, 
 a throne would not have made him happier; and 
 the tears of delight streaming down his rough cheek, 
 brought a glistening drop too info De Blenau's eye. 
 Woble and aristocratic as he was, De Blenaufelt that 
 there was an aristocracy above all — the nobility of 
 virtue ; and he did not disdain to grasp the broad 
 hand of the honest '^woodman. "Fare you well, 
 Philip ' he said " Fare you well, till wemeet again. 
 I shall not easily forget you." 
 
 The woodman felt something more weighty in 
 his plan than the hand of De Blenau, and looked at 
 the heavy green purse which remained in it with 
 a hesitating ghnce. But the count raised his 
 finger to his lip with a smile. "Not a word," 
 said he, *' not a word, as you value my friend- 
 ship." And turning round, he followed the gover- 
 nor through the vorious passages to the outer 
 court, where stood Chavigni's horse caparisoned 
 for his journey. De Blenau sprang into the saddle 
 with the lightness of recovered freedom. The 
 heavy gale was thrown open, the drawbridge fell, 
 and striking the eides of his horse with his armed 
 heel, the newly emancipated prisoner bounded over 
 the clattering boards of the pontleve, and with a 
 lightened heart took the road to St. Germain. 
 
 His journey was soon made, and, as he approach- 
 ed the place of his destination, all the well-known 
 objects round about seemed as if there shone upon 
 them now a brighter and more beautifying sun than 
 when he last beheld them. At his hotel all was 
 
 VOL. 11. 7
 
 90 RICHELIEl.'. 
 
 gladness and delight, znd crowding round their 
 loved lord, with smiles of v.elcome, his attendants 
 could scarcely be made to comprehend that he was 
 again about to quit St. Germain. De Blenau's com- 
 mands, however, immediately to prepare for a long 
 journey, recalled them to their duty; and eager to 
 accompany him wherever he went, their arrange- 
 ments were soon completed, and the major-domo 
 announced that all was jeady. 
 
 JS^ot so the count hiiuseif," who, notwithstanding 
 the king's command, could not resolve to quit St. 
 Germain's without visiting the palace. Sending 
 forward, therefore, his train to the entrance of the 
 forest, he proceeded on foot to the gate of the park, 
 and crossing the terrace, ertered t!ie ct;fiteau by 
 the small door in the western quadrangle. 
 
 Perhaps De Blenau was not without a hope that 
 Pauline might have returned thither from Paris ; 
 and at first, meeling none of tiie royai servants, he 
 walked from empty chamber to chamber, with a 
 degree of undefined expectation that in each he 
 should find the object cf his wishes: but of course 
 his search was in vain, and descending to the low- 
 er part of the building, he proceeded to the por- 
 ters chamber, who, ha\irig received no news to 
 the contrary, informed him that the wliole court was 
 still at Chantilly. 
 
 I know not why it is, but somehow the heart, by 
 long association with pr.rtcular rejects, fi^rms as 
 it v.ere a friendship even v.ith liiiogs inanimate, 
 when they have been the silent witnesses of our 
 hopes or our happiness ; they form a link between 
 us and past enjoyment, a sort of landmark for mem- 
 ory to guide us back to happy rec< llections ; and to 
 quit them, like every other soit of p.nrting. has no 
 small decree of pain. V/e r.re apt, too, to calculate 
 all that may happen before v>e see them again, and 
 the knowledge of the innumerable multitude of 
 humr.n miseries, jrom among which fortune may 
 choose, gives generally to such anticipations a 
 gloomy hue. L- oking back upon the towers of Sit.
 
 mCHELIEU. 51 
 
 Germain, De Blenau felt as if he were parting from 
 Pauline, and parting from her for a long and indefi- 
 nite time ; and his heart sickened in spile of all the 
 gay dreams to which his liberation had at first giv- 
 en birth. 
 
 Who is there that even when futurity is decked 
 in the brightest colors which probably can lend to 
 hope — when youth, and health, and ardent imagina- 
 tion combine to guaranty all the promises of life — 
 who is there, that even then does not feel the pain- 
 ful influence of parting from any thing that is lov- 
 ed ? Who is there in the world, the sum.mer of 
 whose bosom is so eternal, that at such moments^ 
 dark imaginings will not cloud the warmest sun- 
 shine of their heart, and cast a gloomy uncertain 
 shadow on the most glowing scenes expectation can 
 display ? Just so De Blenau. Fancy presented to 
 his mind a thousand forebodings of evil, as with 
 Baany a lingering look he turned again and again to- 
 wards the palace j and even when at lengtli he was 
 joined by his train, who waited at the entrance of 
 the forest, he was Gtill absorbed in gloomy medita- 
 tions. However, he felt it was in vain, and spring- 
 ing on his horse, he turned his face resolutely on 
 his onward way. 
 
 Skirting along the v/ood, he soon reached Ver- 
 sailles, and thence proceeding with little intermis- 
 sion, he arrived in time to pass The night at Etam- 
 pes, from which place he set out early the next 
 morning for Orleans. Continuing to trace along the 
 course of the Loire with quick stages, he soon ar- 
 rived at Nevers, where he crossed the river, and 
 shortly afcer entered the Bourbonnois.
 
 92 RICHELIEU. 
 
 CHAPTER VII!. 
 
 Which shows the truth of the French adage, » L habit ne fai 
 pas le moine." 
 
 I KNOW I am very ■oTong, very partial, and very 
 inconsiderate, to give two consecutive chapters t(> 
 the Count de Blenau, when I liave more people to 
 despatch than had Captain Bobadil in the play, and 
 less time to do it in. But I could not help it j 
 those two last chaptes would go together, and they 
 were too long to be clapped up into cue pat, as I 
 have seen Sarah the dairymaid do wiili the stray 
 lumps of butter that float about in ihe bultermilky 
 after the rest of the churn's produce has been othr 
 erwise disposed of. So i am very sorry, and so- 
 forth. And now, if you please, my dear reafler, we 
 will go on to some one else. What would you 
 think of the Norrnan ? Very well ! For my part I 
 look upon him as the true hero of the story ; for, 
 according to the best accounts, he ate more, drank 
 more, lied more, and foucrht more tljon any one 
 else, and was a great rogue into the bargain ; all 
 Avhich, in the opinion of Homer, is requisite to the 
 character of a hero. See the Odyssey passim. 
 
 At Troyes. the Norman's perquisitions were very 
 successful. JVo Bow-street officer could have de- 
 tected all the proceedings of Fontrailles with more 
 acutenes.?. Step by step he traced him, from his 
 first arrival at Troyes till the day he set out for 
 Mesnil" St. Loup ; and learning the road he had ta-, 
 ken, he determined upon following the same tracks' 
 fcr he shrewdly concluded, that Avhatever business 
 of import the conspirator had been engaged in, had 
 been transacted in the two days and one night, 
 •which, according to the story of the gorcon d au-
 
 RlCHELlEVy. 93 
 
 berge at the Hotel du Grand Soleil^ he had been 
 absent from the good city of Troyes. 
 
 IS^ow, our friend Monsieur Marteville had learned 
 unother piece of news, which made him the more 
 willing to bend his steps in the direction pointed 
 out as that which Fontrailles had taken. Tliis was 
 no other than that a corsiderable band of robbers 
 had lately come down into that part of the country 
 to collect their rents ; and that their principal haunt 
 was supposed to be the thick woods which lay on 
 the borders of the high road to Troyes, in the 
 neighborhood of Mesnil. 
 
 True it is, the Norraan had abandoned his free 
 companions of the forest, and received the wages 
 of Monsieur de Chavigni ; but still he keprup a 
 sort of desultory correspondence with his former 
 associates, and had not lost sight of them till cer- 
 tain reports got about, that the lieutenant criminel 
 was going to visit the forest of Laye, which induc- 
 ed them to leave the vicinity of St, Germain, for 
 fear that there should not be room enough in the 
 forest^or them and the lieutenant too. It was 
 nalurOT enough that Marteville should wish to make 
 a morning call upon his old friends : besides — I'll 
 tell you a story. There was once upon a time a 
 man who had a cat, of which he was &o fond, that, 
 understanding one Mr. Pigmalion had got an ivory 
 statue changed into a wife by just asking it, he re- 
 solved to see what he could do for his cat in the 
 same way. But I dare say you know the story just 
 as well as I do— how the cat was changed into a 
 woman, and how she jumped out of bed after a 
 mouse, and so forth ; showing plainly, that " what 
 is bred in the bone will never go out' of the flesh j" 
 that" nature is better than a schoolmaster ;" and 
 that "you can never make a silk purse out of a 
 sow's ear ;" as Sancho would say. But, however, 
 the Norman had a strange hankering after his good 
 old trade, and was very well inclined to pass a day 
 or two in the free forest, and do Chavigni's work 
 into the bargain. There was a little emharras in-
 
 94 iUCHELlEli 
 
 deed in the case, respecting Louise, for whoia, in 
 these first days of possession, he did feel a certaitt 
 degree of attachment , R.nd did not choose to leave 
 her behind, though he did not like to take her with 
 bira, considering the society he was going to meet, 
 " Pshaw I" said he at length, speaking to himself, 
 '* I'll leave her at Mesnil.'" 
 
 This resolution he began to piK in execution, bj 
 placing Louise upon one horse and himself upon the 
 other, together with their several valises ; and thus, 
 in the same state and order in which they had ar- 
 rived at Troyes, so they quitted it for Mesnil St, 
 Loup. All the information that Marleville possess- 
 ed to guide him in his farther inquiries, amounted 
 to no more than this (whieh he learned from the 
 foresaid gargond'auberge) ; namely, that the little 
 gentleman in gray had taken the road apparently 
 to Mesnil ; that he had been absent, as before said, 
 two days and one night; and that his horse, when 
 it came home, appeared to have been furnished 
 with a new shoe en route. This, however, was. 
 quite sufficient as a clew, and the ?vorman did not 
 fail to tarn it to its full account. 
 
 Passing through the little villages of Mehun and 
 Langley, the ^Norman e%'ed every blacksmith's forge- 
 as he went; but the one v.as nest to the post-house, 
 and the other was opposite to the inn j and the 
 Norman went on, saying within himself, " A man- 
 who was seeking concealment, would rather pro- 
 ceed with his beast unshod than stop there. y So, 
 resuming his conversation with Louise, they jogged 
 on, babbling, not of green fields, but of love and 
 war ; both of which subjects were much within the 
 knowledge of the Sieur Marteville, his battles be- 
 ing somewhat more numerous than his wives, and 
 having had plenty of both in his day. 
 
 At all events, Louise was very well satisfied with 
 the husband that Heaven had sent her, and looked 
 upon him as a very fine gentleman, and a great 
 warrior; and though, now and then, she would 
 play the coquette a little; and put forth all the little
 
 RICHEttK«. 95 
 
 ndnaiidcne which a Languedoc soubrelte could as- 
 sume, in order to prevent the Norman from having 
 too great a superiority, yet Monsieur Marteville 
 was better satisfied with her than witli any of his 
 former wives 3 and as she rode beside him, he ad- 
 mired her horsemanship, and looked at her from top 
 to toe iu much the same manner that he would 
 have examined the points of a fine ISorman char- 
 ger. JNo matter how Louise was mounted : suffice 
 it to say, that it was not on a side-saddle, such 
 things being but little known at the time 1 speak 
 of. 
 
 While they were thus shortening the road with 
 sweet discourse, at the door of a little hovel by the 
 side of the highway, half-hidden from sight by a 
 clumsy mud wall against which he leaned, half ex- 
 posed by the lolloping position he assufiied. appear- 
 ed the large, dirty, unmeaning face and begrimmed 
 person of a Champenois blacksmith, with one hand 
 grubbing among the roots of his grizzled hair, and 
 the other hanging listlessly by his side, loaded with 
 the ponderous hammer appropriated to his trade. 
 •' C est id,'' thought the JN'orman ; Qxiatre vingt dix 
 neuf moiitcnis et tm Champenois font cent — ninety- 
 nine sheep and a Champenois make a hundred ; so 
 we'll see what my fool will tell roe. Holla! Mon- 
 sieur .'■' 
 
 '• Plait-ilV cried the Champenois, advancing 
 from }(is hut. 
 
 '•' Pray has Monsieur Pont Orson passed here to- 
 day V demanded the Norman. 
 
 " Monsieur Pont Orson 1 Monsieur Pont Orson !" 
 cried the Champenois. trying to assume an air of 
 thought, and rummaging in his empty head for a 
 name that never was in it . " Pardie, I do not 
 know." 
 
 "I mean," said the Norman, '' the same little 
 gentleman in gray, who stopped here ten days a- 
 gone, to have a bay horse shod, as he was coming 
 back from — what's the name of the place ?"
 
 96 RICHELIKU, 
 
 " No '■" cried the Champenois ; " Jie was going, he 
 was not coining, when he had his horse shod." 
 
 "But I 6ay he was coming," replied the JSorman. 
 " How the devil do you know he was going V 
 
 '^ 3Jais Dame ."' exclaimed the other : " How do I 
 know he was going ? ^Vhy, did not he ask me how 
 far it was to Mesnil ? and if he had not been going, 
 why should he wish to know V 
 
 " It was not he, then/' said the jNorman. 
 
 " Mais dame ! ouai!" cried the Champenois. 
 " He was dressed all in gray, and had a bay horse, 
 on whose hoof 1 put as nice a piece of iron as ever 
 came off an anvil ; and he asked me how far it was 
 to Mesnil, and whereabouts was the old Castle of 
 St. Loup. Monsieur Pont Orson ? Monsieur Pont 
 Orson 7 Dieu qui aurait devini que c'etoit Monsieur 
 P(mt Orson ?" 
 
 " Mais je vous dis que ce n'etoit pas ltd." cried the 
 Norman, putting spurs to his horse. " Allons, cherie. 
 Adieu, Monsieur Champenois, adieu ! Ha ! ha 1 ha !" 
 cried he, when at a little distance. " Gancahe ! he 
 has told me all that I wanted to know. Then he 
 did go to Mesnil — the old Chateau of St. Loup ! 
 What could he want there ? I've heard of this old 
 chateau." 
 
 " But who is Monsieur Pont Orson ?" demanded 
 Louise, interrupting the broken cogitations of hef 
 husband. 
 
 " Nay, I know not, ma ch^e," replied her hus- 
 band. " The man in the moon, with a corkscrew 
 to tap yon fool's brains, and draw out all I wanted 
 to know about the person whom I told [you 1 was 
 seeking for Monsieur de Chavigni. It was a mere 
 name. But there, 1 see a steeple on yon hill in the 
 wood. Courage ! we shall soon reach it. It is not 
 above a league. That must be Mesnil." 
 
 The Norman's league, however, proved at least 
 two, and Louise, though a good horsewoman, was 
 complaining most bitterly of fatigue, when they ar- 
 rived in the little street of Mesnil St. Loup, and, 
 nding up to the dwelling of our old friend Gaultier
 
 RICHELIEU. 9-) 
 
 the innkeeper, alighted under the vvithered garland 
 that hung over the door. 
 
 "Holla! Auher^isU! Garcon!" cried the Nor- 
 man, "holla!" 
 
 But no one came ; and on repeating the summons, 
 the sweet voice of the dame of the house was all 
 that could be heard, screaming forth a variety of 
 tender epithets, applicable to the garQon d/ecurie, 
 and intended to stimulate him to come forth and 
 take charge of the strangers' horses. " Don't you 
 know, Lambin," cried she, " that that hog your 
 master is lying up stairs dying for no one knows 
 what ? And am I to go out. Maraud, and take 
 people's horses with my hands all over grease, 
 while you stand 1 — s — ng yourself there ? Cochon! 
 if you do not go, I'll throw this pot-lid at you." 
 And immediately a tremendous rattle on the boards 
 at the farther side of the stable, announced that 
 she had been as good as her word. 
 
 This seemed the only effectual method of arous- 
 ing the occult sensibilities of the garpoti d'^ciirie, 
 who listened unconcerned to her gentler solicita- 
 tions, but, yielding to the more potent applica- 
 tion of the pot-lid, came forth and took the bridle 
 of the horses, while our Norman lifted his lady to 
 the ground. 
 
 The sight of such goodly limbs as those possess- 
 ed by Monsieur Marteville, but more especially the 
 blue velvet pourpoint to which we have formerly 
 alluded, and which he wore on the present occa- 
 sion, did not fail to produce the most favourable 
 impression on the mind of the landlady 5 and, bust- 
 ling about with the activity ot a grasshopper, she 
 prepared to serve the athletic cavalier and his pret- 
 ty lady to the best cheer of the auberge. 
 
 *' Would madame choose some stewed escargots 
 potirse restaur eri Would monsieur take tm conp 
 de vin before dinner to wash the dust out of his 
 mouth ? Would madame set up-stairs to repose 
 herself? Would monsieur take a gouter?" These 
 and a thousand other civil proffers the hostess
 
 ShS EICHELIKU. 
 
 showered upon the iVorman and Louise, some of 
 which were accepted, some declined 5 but the 
 principal thing on which theK^orman seemed to set 
 his heart was the, speedy preparation of dinner, 
 which he ordered with the true galloping profusion 
 of a beggar on horseback, demanding the best of 
 everything. While this was in progress, he forgot 
 not the principal object of his journey, but began 
 with some circumlocui-on to draw the hostess to- , 
 wards the subject of Fontrailles' visit to Mesnil. 
 
 At the very mention, however, of a little man in 
 gray, the good landlady burstforth ins'Jch a torrent 
 of invective that she went well nigh to exhaust her 
 copious vocabulary of epithets and expletives; 
 while the jNorman, taken by surprise, stood gazing 
 and shrugging his shoulders, wondering at her fa- 
 cility of utterance, and the vast rnpidity with which 
 she concatenated her iiard names. The little man 
 in gray, who had been there precisely ten days be- 
 fore, was, according to ter opinion, a liar, and a 
 rogue, and a cheat; a conjuror, a Huguenot, and 
 a vagabond ; a man without honour, principle, or 
 faith ; a maraud, a rnaiin, a miserable ; together w ilh 
 a great many other titles the enumeration of which 
 Bhe summed up with " et sil n' est pas le Diable.Vem- 
 porte !" 
 
 '•' C'est vrai," cried the iSorman every time she 
 paused to take breath : C'est vrai. But how came 
 you to find out he was so wicked !"' 
 
 The lady's reply was not of the most direct kind ; 
 but fro'.ii it the Norman gathered, with his usual 
 acuteness, that after our friend Gaultier had point- 
 ed out to Fontrailes the road to the old Castle of 
 St. Loup, he returned home, his mind oppressed 
 with the consciousness of being the confidant of 
 a sorcerer. He laboured under the load of thisr 
 terrific secret for some days ; and then, his consti- 
 tution not being able to support his mental strug- 
 gles, he sickened and took to his bed, where he 
 still lay in a deplorable state, talking in his sleep 
 of the conjurer in gray, and of Pere Le Rouge, and
 
 RICHELIKa 9^ 
 
 the devil himself, and sundry other respectable 
 people of the same class. But when awake, it must 
 be remarked, the aubergiste never opened his lips 
 upon the subject, notwithstanding all the solicita- 
 tions which his better half, being tempted by the 
 curiosity of her sex, did not fail to make. From 
 all this the good dame concluded that the little 
 man in gray had bewitched her husband and driven 
 him mad, causing him to lie up there upon his bed 
 like a hog, neglecting his business and leaving her 
 worse than av.idow. 
 
 All this was corn, %vine, and oil, to the mind of 
 the Norman, who, wisely reserving his opinion on 
 the subject, retired to consult with Louise, having a 
 great esteem for woman's wit in such cases. After 
 some discussion, a plan was manufactured between 
 them, which, though somewhat bold in conception, 
 was happily brought to issue in the following man- 
 ner. 
 
 During the dinner, at which the bourgeoise wait- 
 ed herself, she was not a little surprised to hear 
 Louise more than once call Marteville by the rev- 
 erend appellation oi mon pae ; and if this astonish- 
 ed, how much was her wonder increased when af- 
 terward, during a concerted absence of the JNor- 
 man, the fair lady informed her, under a promise of 
 profound secrecy, that the goodly cavalier, whose 
 blue velvet doublet she had so much admired, was 
 neither mare nor less than the celebrated P^re 
 Alexis, directenr of the Jesuits of Alen9on, who was 
 travellmg in disguise in order to place her (one of 
 his penitents) in a monastery at Rome. 
 
 True, Louise either forgot or did not know that 
 they were not precisely in the most direct road to 
 Rome, but she was very safe in the person she 
 spoke to, who had even less knowledge of where 
 Rome stood than herself. Now the story of Louise 
 was a very probable one in every other respect, 
 considering the manners of the day ; for Ics bons 
 ptres Jesiiites\exy often travelled about in disguise 
 for purposes best known to themselves, and very-
 
 leO RICHELIEU. 
 
 few of the boiis peres, whether Jesuits or not, were 
 averse to a fair penitent. Be that as it may, the 
 simple bourgcoise never doubted it for a moment; 
 and casting herself at the feet of Louise, she en- 
 treated her, with tears in her eyes, to intercede with 
 the reverend directeur to confess and absolve her 
 sinful husband, who lay up-stairs like a hog, doing 
 nothing. 
 
 Just at this moment the Korman re-entered the 
 room 3 and though his precise object, in the little 
 drama they had got up, was neither more nor less 
 than to confess the unhappy aiibcrgiste, yet, as a 
 matter of form, he made some difficulty to med- 
 dling with the penitent of another ; but after faintly 
 advising that the cure of the village should be sent 
 for, he agreed, as the case was urgent, to under- 
 take the office of confessor himself, though he 
 mildly reproached Louise, in presence of the host- 
 ess, for having betrayed his real character, and bade 
 her be more careful in future. 
 
 As soon as he had signified his consent, the botir- 
 geoise ran to tell her husband that the very rever- 
 end Fere Alexis, directeur of the Jesuits of Alen9on, 
 had kindly consented to hear his confession and ab- 
 solve him of his sins ; and in the meanwhile the 
 INorman gave directions to Louise, whose adroit- 
 ness had often served him in discovering the se- 
 crets of the palace, while she had remained with 
 Madame de Beaumont, to gain, in the present in- 
 Btance, all the information she could from the wife, 
 while he went to interrogate the husband. 
 
 This being settled, as a blue velvet pourpoint was 
 not exactly the garb to play a confessor in, Louise 
 ran in all haste to strip the astrologer's robe we 
 have already mentioned of all its profane symbols, 
 and the iVorman, casting its shadowy folds over his 
 lusty limbs, and drawing the hood over his head, 
 appeared to the e^e as goodly a friar as ever crack- 
 ed a bottle. No great regard to costume was ne- 
 cessary, for the landlady took it all for granted ; 
 and when she beheld the Norman issue forth from
 
 RICHELIEU 101 
 
 the room in which the valise had been placed, cloth- 
 ed in' his long dark robes, she cast herself at his 
 feet in a transport of reverence and piety. 
 
 Monsieur Marteville, otherwise the Fere Alexis, 
 did not fail to give her his blessing with great gravi- 
 ty, and witn a solemn demeanor and slow step fol- 
 lowed to the chamber of the sick man. 
 
 Poor Gaultier was no longer the gay rosy-cheek- 
 ed inkeeper which he had appeared to Fonlrailles, 
 but stretched upon his bed, he lay pale and wan, 
 muttering over to himself shreds and tatters of 
 prayers, and thinking of the little man in gray, Pere 
 Le Rouge, and the devil. As soon as he beheld the 
 pretended Pere Alexis into his chamber, he essay- 
 ed to rise in his bed 5 but the Norman motioned him 
 to be still, and sitting down by him, exhorted him 
 to make a full confession of his sins, and then, to 
 give greater authenticity to his character, he knelt 
 down and composed an extempore prayer, in lan- 
 guage equally of his own mauufacture, but which 
 the poor aubergiste believed devoutly to be Latin, 
 hearing every now and then the words sanctissimus, 
 in secula seadorum, and bcnedidus, with which the 
 Norman did not fail to season it rchly. being the 
 only stray Latin he was possessed of. 
 
 " Humgumnibus quintessentialiter expositu dum 
 dum; benedictus sint foolatii et sanctissin-'is four- 
 bi. Hi sty Aubergisti rorum corum no bib excipe 
 capones poulardici generi, fur grataveruni pectus, 
 legbonibus in secula seculorum sanctissimus, bene- 
 dictus," said the Norman. 
 
 "Amen!" cried the innkeeper from the bottom 
 of his heart, with such fervency that the Pere Alexis 
 .could scarcely maintain his gravity. 
 
 The Norman now proceeded to business, and put- 
 ting down his ear to a level with the lips cf Gaul- 
 tier, he once more desired him to make a clear 
 breast. 
 
 " Oh, mon Pere,'' cried Gaultier, " Je avis im 
 pauvre v&cheur, un mis>rahlc /'■'
 
 102 RICHKLIKO 
 
 The good father exhorted him to take courage, 
 and to come to a detail of hia crimes. 
 
 ^' Oh, mon Fere, cried he. " I have sold cats for 
 rabbits, and more especially for hares. I have 
 moistened an old hareskin with warm water and 
 bloodied it with chicken's blood, to make my cats 
 and my badgers and my weasels pass for what they 
 really were not. 1 have cooked up snakes tor eels, 
 and dressed vipers en matdot. 1 have sold bad wine 
 ofBoismarly for good wine of Epernay 5 and, Oh, 
 mon Fere, je suis tin pauvre pedietir.-' 
 
 "Well, well, get on," cried the Tsorman some- 
 what impatiently, " I'll give you absolution for all 
 that. All inkeepers do the same. But what more 
 have you done V 
 
 •■• Oh, mon Perer je suis vu pauvre pecheur, pro- 
 ceeded Gaultier in a low voice 5 ''I haveVcharged 
 my customers twice as much as I aught to" charge. 
 I have vowed that fish was dear when it was cheap j 
 and I have — '' 
 
 •' Xom de Dieu .'" cried the Xorman, getting out 
 of temper with the recapitulation of Gaultier's pec- 
 cadilloes. " JXom de Dicu ! that is to say, in the 
 name of God, I absolve you from all such sins as 
 are common to innkeepers masters of taverns, 
 cooks, anbergutes and the like — sins of profession 
 as they may be called — only appointing you to 
 kneel before the altar of your pnrish church for 
 two complete hours, repeating the Pater and the 
 Ave during the whole time, by way of penance," 
 thought he, •' for making me hear all this nonsense. 
 — But, come,'" he continued, "bring up the heavy 
 artillery — that is, let me hear your more uncom- 
 mon sins. You !iave some worse things upon 
 your conscience than any you iiave told, or I am 
 mistaken." 
 
 ''Oh, mon Fere! Ok, mon bcra Pere !" groaned 
 Gaultier, " -'e suis vn pauvre pecheur, un misera- 
 ble." 
 
 •' Tsow it comes," thought the Tsorman ; '•' AUons
 
 RICHELIEU. 103 
 
 allons, monfils, ayez courage .' I'eglue est pleine de 
 mktricorde." 
 
 ''Tliere was an old owl in il.e barn," said Gaul- 
 tier, '' find woodcocUs being scarce — " 
 
 " V^enlre St. Grii! this will never como to an 
 end;" cried Marteville to himself, 'Mais mon 
 fils," he said aloud, '• I have told you, all that is par- 
 doned. Speak, can you charge yourself with mur- 
 der, treason, conspiracy, sorcery,"' — Gaultier groan- 
 ed — '-astrology,'" — Gaultier groaned still more deep- 
 ly — " or of havin;? concealed any such crimes, 
 when ccmnntted by others ?" Gaultier groaned a 
 lliird time. The JNJorman had now brought him to 
 the point; and after much moaning, hesitation, and 
 agony of mind, he acknowledged that he had been 
 privy to a raeeUng of sorcerers, Kay, thnt he had 
 even conducted a notorious astrologer, a little man 
 in gray, on the road to meet the defunct Pere Le 
 Rouge' r;rid his companion the devil, at the old 
 Chateau of St. Loup 5 and that it wns his remorse 
 of conscience for this crime, to^rether with his ter- 
 ror at revealing it, after the menaces of the sorcer- 
 er, that hod throv.n him into the lamentable state 
 in which he then lay. 
 
 By degrees, the Norman drew from him every 
 particular, and treasuring them up in his memory, 
 he hastened to give the suffering innkeeper absolu- 
 tion ; which though not performed in the most or- 
 thodox mar.ner; quite satishcd Gauliicr; who con- 
 cluded, that any liltie difference of form from tiiat 
 to which he had been used, proceeded from the 
 ..Norman being a Jesuit and a directeur ; and he af- 
 terward was heard to declare, that the Pere Alexis 
 was the most pious and saintly of men. and that one 
 absolution from him was worth a hundred from any 
 one else ; although the cure of the village, when he 
 Heard the molhod in which it had been administer- 
 ed, pronounced it to be heterodox and heretical, 
 and in short a damnable error. 
 
 And here be it remarked, that a neighboring curd 
 havmg taken up the quarrel of Pi^re Alexis, and
 
 104 RICHELIEU. 
 
 pronounced his form to be the right one, a violent 
 controversy ensued, which raged in Champagne for 
 more than fifty years, producing nine hundred pam- 
 phlets, three thousand letters, twenty public dis- 
 cussions, and four papal bulls, till at length it was 
 agreed on all hands to write to the Jesuits of Alen- 
 con, and demand their authority for such a devia- 
 tion from established rules ; when it was discover- 
 ed that they administered absolution like every one 
 else ; and that they never had such a person as 
 Pere Alexis belonging to their very respectable and 
 learned bod/. 
 
 But to return to the JXorman. As soon as he 
 concluded all the ceremonies he thought right to 
 perform, for the further consolation of Gaultier, he 
 said to him, "' Fear not, my son, the menaces of the 
 sorcerer; for I forbid all evil beings, even were it 
 the devil himself, to lay so much as the tip of a 
 finger upon you 5 and moreover, 1 will go this very 
 night to the old chateau of St. Loup, and will exor- 
 cise Pere Le Rouge and drive his spirit forth from 
 the place, and, morbleau! if he dare appear to me I 
 will take him by the beard, and lead him into the 
 middle of the village, and all the little children 
 shall drum him out of the regiment — I mean out of 
 the town." 
 
 With this bold resolution, Monsieur Marteville 
 descended to the ground floor, and communicated 
 his design to Louise and the bourgeoise, who were 
 sitting with their noses together over a flagon of 
 vin chaud. " Domnez moi un coup de vin said he, 
 " etfirai." 
 
 But Louise, who did not choose to trust her new 
 husband out of her sight, having discovered by a 
 kind of instinct, that in his case "'absence was 
 worse tiian death," declared she would go witJi him, 
 and see him take Pere Le Rouge by the beard. The 
 Norman remonstrated, but Louise persisted with a 
 sort of sweet pertinacity which was quite irresisti- 
 ble, and, though somewhat out of humor with her 
 obstinacv. he was obligod to consent.
 
 RlCHtLlE«. 1^ 
 
 However, he growled amUbly, while »he assisted 
 to disembarrass him of his long black r be ; and 
 probably, had it not been for his assumed cliaracter, 
 would have acco;npnniel iiis opposition with more 
 than one of those elegant expletives with which 
 he was wont to season his discourse. Louise, not- 
 withstanding all this, still maintained her point, and 
 the horses be/ng brought forth, the bags were plac- 
 ed on their backs, and the Norman and his spouse 
 set forth for tlip old chateau of St. Loup, taking 
 caro to repeat their ii junction to the landlady not 
 to discover their real characters to any one. as the 
 business of ihe-pere directeur required the utmost 
 secrecy. 
 
 The landlady p-ronvised devoutly to comply, and 
 having seen her guests depart, entered the' public 
 foom, whe4e several of the peasantry had by this 
 linif! assembled, and told every one in a whispet" 
 that iiie tall gentleman they had seen get on horse- 
 back was the Pere Alexis, directeur of the Jesuits 
 of Alencjon, and that the lady was Mademoiselle 
 Louise de Cracltm.acknole, sa penitente. Immedi- 
 ately, they all ran in different directions, some tft 
 the door, some to the window, to see so wonderful 
 a pair as the Ptre Alexis and his penitente. The 
 bustle, Mashing, aT:d chattering which succeeded, 
 and which the landlady could no way abate, called 
 the attention of the Sieur Marteville, who, not par- 
 ticularly in a good humor at being contradicted by 
 i.ouise. was so much excited into anger by the gap- 
 ing of trie multitude, that he had well nigh drawil 
 the portentous Toleda, which hung by his side. a.nd 
 returned to satisfy their curiosity by presenting his 
 person rather nearer than they might have deemed 
 agreeable. He bridled in his wrath, however, 6i" 
 rather, to change the figure, kept it in store fot 
 some future occasion J and consoling himself with 
 a few internal curses, in which Louise had her 
 Share, he rode on and soon arrived at that part df 
 the wood which we have already said was named 
 the Sorcerer's Grove. 
 
 TOI.. II. &
 
 1-06 RlCRELIfQ. 
 
 Of the unheard-of adventures wliich there befel 
 him, the giants that he slew, and the monsters Iha-t 
 he overcame, we shall treat in a future chapter, — 
 turning our attention at present to other important 
 •tibjects which call loudly for detaiU 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 Being a chapter of explanations, which the reader haf no oe- 
 casioa to perase if he uuderstands the story without it • 
 
 "Great news'. Cinq Mars.'"' exclaimed Fon- 
 trailles. " Great news ! the cardinal is sick to the 
 death, and goes without loss of time to Tarascon : 
 he trembles upon the brink of the grave." 
 
 Cinq Mars was stretched upon three chairs, the 
 farthest of which he kept balanced on its edge by 
 the weight of his feet, idly rocking it backwards and 
 forwards, while his mind was deeply buried in one 
 of the weak romances of the day, the reading wliich 
 was a favorite amusement with tlie master of the 
 horse, at those periods when the energies of his 
 mind seemed to sleep. '' Too good news to be 
 true, Fontrailles,*' he replied, hardly looking up; 
 "take my word for it, the devil never dies." 
 
 " That may be," answered Fontrailles, '• but nev- 
 ertheless, the cardinal, as I said, :s dying, and goes 
 instantly to Tarascon to try another climate.'" 
 
 " Why, where hast thou heard all this ? and wheu 
 didst thou come from Spain?'" demanded Cinq 
 Mars, rousing himself. Thou hast made good 
 speed." 
 
 " Had I not good reason ?" asked the other. 
 " But they tell me that I must question you for 
 news J for that it is something in regard to your 
 friend, the young Count de Blenau, which has deep- 
 ly struck the cardinal"
 
 RICHELIEU. 107 
 
 Well then/ 1 will give the story, in true heroic 
 -style/'' answered Cinq Mars, tossing the. book from 
 him. " Thou dost remember, O my friend!" he 
 'continued, imitalirg the language of the romance 
 he had just been reading, " how stormy was the 
 night, when last I parted from thee, at the old Cha- 
 teau of Mesnil St. Loup 3 and ifthe thunder-cloudg 
 passed away, and left, the sky clear and moonlight- 
 ed, it was but to be succeeded by a still .more vio- 
 lent tempest. For, long after thou wert snugly 
 housed at Troyes, De Thou and myself were gal- 
 loping on through the storm of the night. The rain 
 fell, the lightning glanced, the thunder rolled over 
 head, and tl;e way seemed doubly long, and the for- 
 »est doubly dreary, when by a sudden blaze of the 
 red fire of heaven, I descried some one, mounted 
 on a white horse, come rapidly towards us." 
 
 '•' Come, come. Cinq Mars !" exclaimed Fontrail- 
 'les, " for grace, leave tiie land of romance — remem- 
 ber T have a long story to tell, and not much time 
 to tell it in. Truce with imagination therefore, for 
 •we have more serious work before us." 
 
 " It's truth — it's truth, thou unbelieving .Jew," 
 •cried Cinq Mars. ''No romance, I can assure you. 
 Well, soon as this white horseman saw two others 
 wending their vvay towards him, he suddenly rein- 
 -ed in his beast, and turning round, galloped oft' as 
 -hard as he could go. Now, if curiosity be a failing. 
 it is one I possess in an eminent degree 5 so, clap- 
 >ping spurs to my horse, after him I v.cnt, full faster 
 ■than lie ran away. As for De Thou, he calls out 
 after me, loud enough to drown the thunder, cry- 
 iny, '■ Cinq Mars, where are you going ? — In God's 
 name stop — We know the.place is full of banditti — 
 If these are robbers, they may murder you,' and so 
 >on 5 but hnding that 1 did not much heed, he also 
 ^was smitten with a galloping fit, and so we rollovved 
 *each other, like a procession, though with no pro- 
 'Cession pace 5 the white horseman first — I next — 
 and De Thou last — with about a hundred yards be- 
 ctween each of us — going at full speed, to the great
 
 lOS RICHELIEtr. 
 
 peril of our necks, and no small danger of out heads, 
 from the boughs. I was best mounted however, on 
 ■my stout black horse Sloeberry — j'ou know Sloe- 
 berry ; — and so distancing De Thou all to nothing, f 
 began to come closer to my white horseman, who, 
 finding thai he could not get off, gradually pulled 
 in, and let me come up ^^ith him. ' Well, sir/" said' 
 he directly, with all possible coolness — you have 
 ridden hard to-night.' ' In truth, 1 have, my man,^ 
 answered I, • and so have you, and I should much 
 like to know why you did so.' ' For the same xea- 
 son that you did, f suppose,' replied the boy, for 
 such it was who spoke. — ' And what reason is that?' 
 I asked.—' Because we both liked it, 1 suppose/ re- 
 plied he. — • That may be,' answered f ; ' but we all 
 nave a reason for our likings.' — '' True, sir.' said tbs 
 bey, • and I dare say yours was a good one ; pray, 
 believe that mine was so also ' — All the time he 
 ^poke, he kept looking round at me, till at last he 
 got a good sight of my face. ' Are not you 
 Monsieur de Cinq Mars V cried he at length. ' And 
 if I am, v\-hat follows then ?' — ■ Why, it follows that, 
 you are the person 1 want,' said the boy. — ^ And 
 what want you viith me V — ' V/ho is that ?" deman- 
 ded he, pointing to De Thou, who now came up. I 
 .soon satisfied him on that score, and he went on.. 
 'My name is Henry de la Mothe, and I am page-to^ 
 your good friend, the Count de Blenau, whom I 
 have seen. arrested and carried to the Bastille.' 
 
 •• y'ow. yoa know, Fonlrailles, how deac. I hold 
 Do Blenau ;. so you may guess how pleasantly this 
 xajfig upon my ear. My first question to the pnge 
 was,.whet:-:er ray friend had sent him to me. ' No, 
 no, seigneur,' answered the boy; 'but as I knew 
 you loved my master, and the king loved- you, I 
 thnught it best to let you know, in case you migi»t 
 wish to serve him-. — He was taken as he was about 
 to go with the queen to Chantilly, and tiiey would 
 not let me or any other go with him, to serve him 
 in prison. So I cast about in my mind, howicotrid 
 "■erve him out of it, «nd consequently came off io
 
 ttlCHELItW. 109 
 
 -^eek you.' — * But how did you know where to find 
 me '?' demanded I, not a little fearing that our move- 
 ments were watched 5 but the boy relieved me from 
 that by answering, ' Why, sir, there was a messen- 
 ger came over from Chantiliy, to desire the qi>een's 
 •presence : and among all the questions I asked hira^ 
 there was one which made him tell me thnl. you had 
 gone to Troyes, upon some business of inheritance, 
 and as I heard that the path through this wood would 
 save me a league, I took it, hoping to reach the 
 town to-night.' 
 
 " Well, all the page's news vexed me not a little, 
 and I thought of a thousand things to oelieve De 
 Blenau ere I could fix on any. But it happened, as 
 it often does in this world, that chance directed me 
 •when reasoning failed. Having made the best of 
 *n»y way, I arrived with De Thou and the boy ac 
 Chantiliy, at the hour of nine the next night, and 
 passing towards my own apartments in the palace, I 
 saw the king's cabinet open, and on inquiry, found 
 -that he had not yet retired to rest. JMy resolution 
 was instanly taken ; and without waiting even to 
 .dust my boots, i went just as I was, to pay my duty 
 to his majesty. My short absence had done me no 
 harm with Louis, who received me with more grace 
 than ever; so while the newness was on, 1 dashed 
 at the subject next my heart at once. Like a well- 
 te-ed falcon, I soared my foil pitch, hovered an in- 
 -4*actin.my pride of place, and then stooped at 
 once with irresistible force. In short, Fontrailles, 
 for the first time I believe in my life, I boasted. I 
 told Louis how I loved him ; I counted over the 
 .services I had done him. His noble heart — yoa 
 ■may smile, sir, but he has a noble heart — was tou- 
 ched ; I saw it,«nd gave him a moment to think. 
 over all old passages of affection betweeji us, and 
 to combine them with the feelings of the mo- 
 ment, and then I told him that my friend— 
 «y bosom friend-^was suffering from the tyraa- 
 ^ of the cardinal, and demanded his favor for De 
 .Keaw. * What can I do, Cinq Mars V demanded
 
 no RICHELIEU. 
 
 he, ' you know I must follow the advice ef mj mm- 
 isters and counsellors.' 
 
 " It was an opportunity not to be lost,*' exclaimed 
 Fontmilles, ea':ferly 5 " I hope you seized it.'' — ''I 
 did,-"- replied Cinq Mars. " I plied him hard on 
 every point that could shake the influence of Rich- 
 elieu. 1 showed him the shameful bondage he suf- 
 fered. I told him, that if he allowed the sovereign 
 power, placed by God in his hands, to be abused by 
 another, he was as guilty as if he misused it himself j. 
 and then I said — ' 1 plead alone for the innocent^ 
 sir. Hear Ds Blenau yourself, and if you find him 
 guilty, bring him to the block at once. But if he 
 have done nothing worthy of death I v/ill trust that 
 ynur majesty's justice will instantly set him free.' 
 V\'cdl, the king not only promised that he would go- 
 to Paris and examine De Blenau himself, but he ad- 
 ded, ' And I will be firm, Cinq Mars ; I know the- 
 power is in my own hands, and L will exert it'to- 
 save your friend, if he be not criminal.' 
 
 '' This was all fair, Fontrailles } 1 could desire no 
 more; but Louis even outdid my expectation. Some- 
 thing had already irritated him against the cardinal — 
 I think it was the banishment of Clara de Haute- 
 ford. However, he went to the Bastille with Rich- 
 elieu, Ghavigni, and others of the council. Of course 
 1 was not admitted ; but I heard all tliat passed from 
 onf» who was present. De Blenau bore him nobly 
 and bravely, and downrig^ht refused to answer any 
 questions about the queen, without her majesty's 
 own commands. Well ; Richelieu according to 
 custom, was for giving him the torture instantly. 
 But the king had many gocd reasons for not suffering 
 that to be done. Besides wishing to pleasure me^ 
 and being niturally averse to cruelty, he had a 
 lingering inclination to cross Richelieu ; and I>e 
 Blenau's firmness set him a good example : so- 
 the cardinal was overruled ; and the queen's com- 
 mands to De Blenau to confess all being easily 
 procured, he owned that he had forw^arded letters 
 from her majesty to her brother the King of Spain-
 
 RICHELIEU. Ill 
 
 Now, you see, Rich<^iieu was angry, and irritated 
 at being thwarted ; and he did the most foolish 
 thing that man ever did; for though he saw that 
 Louis was roused, and just in the humour to cross 
 him, he got up, and not considering the king's 
 presence, at once pronounced a sentence of exile 
 against De Blenau, as if the sovereign power had 
 been entirely his own, without consulting Louis, or 
 asking his approbation at all. Though, God knows, 
 the king cares, little about using his power, of course 
 he does not like to be treated as a mere cipher 
 before his own council ; and accordingly he re- 
 voked the cardinal's sentence without hesitation, 
 Bending De Blenau, merely for form's sake, into 
 Bourbon, and then rising, he broke up the council, 
 treating Richelieu with as scanty consideration as 
 he had shown himself. By Heaven! Fontrailles, 
 when I heard it, 1 could have played the fool for 
 joy. Richelieu was deeply touched, you may sup- 
 pose ; and what with his former ill-health and this 
 new blow, he has never been himself since ; but I 
 knew Snot that he was so far gone as you de- 
 scribe." 
 
 " It is so reported in Paris," replied Fontrailles, 
 '' and he'has become so humble that no one would 
 know him. But mark me. Cinq Mars. The cardi- 
 nal is now upon ,the brink of a precipice, and we 
 must urge him quickly down ; for if he once again 
 gain the ascendency,' we are not only lost foi:^/- 
 er, but his power will be far greater than it was 
 before." 
 
 " He will never rise more in this world," an- 
 swered Cinq Mars. " His day, I trust, is gone by : 
 his health is broken ; and the king, who always 
 hated him> now begins to fear him no longer. I 
 will do my best to strengthen Louis's resolution, 
 and get him into a way of thinking for himself. 
 And now, Fontrailles, for the news from Spain." 
 
 " Why, my story might be made longer than 
 yours, if I were to go through all that happened to 
 me on the road. It was a long and barren jou*-
 
 112 RICHELIEU 
 
 Bey, and I believe 1 should have been almoet star- 
 ved before I reached Madrid, if I had not half- 
 filled my bags with biscuits, Hovsever, 1 arrived 
 at length, and not witlioiit some diificully found 
 a place to lodge, for these cold Spaniards are as 
 fearlui of admitting a stranger to their house, as 
 if he were a man-tiger. My next step was to send 
 for a tailor, and to hire me a lacquais or two. one 
 of whom I sent instantly to Madame de Chevreuse, 
 praying an audience of her^ which was granted im- 
 mediately."' 
 
 '• Why ihoa wert not mad enough to make a con^ 
 dajite of Madame de Chevreuse ?'•' exclaimed Cinq 
 Mars; "why, it is carrying water in a sieve. A 
 thousand to one ?he makes her peace with Riche- 
 heo. by telling him the whole story.'*' 
 
 '' Fear not, Cinq Mar?,"' answered Fontrailles, 
 ^ Have you yet to learn that a woman's ftfst p.^ssion 
 isievenge ? To such extent is the hatred of Mad- 
 ame de Chevreuse against the Cardinal, that i be- 
 )ieve,were she asked to sacrifice one of her beautiful 
 hands, she would doit, if it would but conduce to 
 his ruin." 
 
 Cinq Mars shook his head;, still doubting the pro- 
 priety of what had been done, but Fontraille» pro- 
 ceeded. 
 
 " However, I told her nothing; she knew it all be- 
 fore 1 set foot in Spain. You must know. King Flftl- 
 i^ is a monarch noway insensible to female charms, 
 and the duchess is too lovely to passurnoticed any- 
 where. The consequences are natural ; a lady of 
 her rank having taken refuge in his dominioiis. of 
 course the king mast pay her every attention. He is 
 always with her— 4ias a friendship, a j)f7?r/jon<, an af- 
 fection ferher — call it what you %vill,but it is that sort 
 of feeling which makes a •mau'teW-a woman every 
 thin^r; and thus very naturally our whole correspon- 
 dence has gone direct toj Madame de Chevreuse. 
 My object in first asking to see her, was only to gain 
 an immediate audience of the' king^ which she caa 
 al A aye comjnand ; bat when I fcuad she Ttnew. the
 
 -RICHELIEU. 113 
 
 w^iole business, of course I made her believe that I 
 ^came for the express purpose of consulting her upon 
 it. Her vanity was flattered. She became more 
 than ever convinced that she was a person of infinite 
 consequence and acknowledged discernment ; enter- 
 ed heart and hand into all our schemes ; stuck out 
 her pretty little foot,and made me buckle her shoe ; 
 brought me speedily to the king's presence, and 
 made him consent to all 1 wished ; got the treaty 
 signed and sealed, and sent me back to France witli 
 -my object accomplished, remaining, herself fully 
 convinced thnt she is at tlie head of the most formida- 
 ble conspiracy that ever was formed, and that future 
 ages will celebrate her talents for diplomacy and 
 intrigue." 
 
 Cinque Mars, though not fully satisfied at the ad- 
 mission of so light a being as Madame de Chevre- 
 use into secrets of such importance, could not help 
 amiling at the account his companion gave ; and 
 as it was in vain to regret what was done, he turned 
 Jto the present, asking what was to be done next. 
 "('No time is now to be lost," said he. "For the 
 whole danger is now incurred and we must not allow 
 it to be fruitless." 
 
 '' Certainly not.'" answered Fontrailles. " You 
 must ply the king hard to procure his consent as far 
 as possible. In the next place a counterpart of the 
 treaty must be signed by all the confederates, and 
 sent into Spain, for which 1 have pledged my v/ord.j 
 and another, similarly signed, must be sent to 
 the Duke of Bouillon in Italy. But who will carry 
 it to the duke ? that is tiie question. 1 cannot ab- 
 sent myself again." 
 
 " 1 vvill provide a messenger," sard Cinq Mars. 
 "There is an Italian attached to my service, named 
 Ville Grande, a ?nrt of half-bred <{Gntleman, who, 
 lacking gold himself, hangs upon any vvlio will feed 
 him. 'I'liey im^^di at him here for his long musta- 
 chtos, and his long rapier ; but if he tell truth, his 
 rapier has done good service ; so, as this will be an 
 lUadertaking of danger, lie.shall have it, as he sajs
 
 114 KIOHELIEU. 
 
 he seeks but to distinguish himself in my service, 
 apd, being on Italian, he knows the country to 
 which he is going."' 
 
 " If you can trust him, be it so,'" replied Fon- 
 trailles* '^ At present let us look to other consid- 
 erations. We must seek to strengthen our party 
 by ail means ; for though circumstances seem to 
 combine to favor us, yet it is necessary to guard 
 against any change. Do you think that the queen 
 could.be brought to join us?" 
 
 '• Certainly not !" replied the master of the horse; 
 " and if she would, to us it would be far more 
 dangerous than advantageous. She has no power 
 over the mind of the king — she has no separate au- 
 thority ■ and besides, thousrh Richelieu's avowed 
 enemy, she is so cautious of giving offence to Lou- 
 is, that she would consent to nothing that was not 
 openly warranted by him." 
 
 '•■ But suppose we are obliged to have recourse to 
 arms," said Fontrailles/-would it not be every thing 
 in our favor to have in our hands the queen and the 
 heir apparent to the throne.'- 
 
 '• True,'- answered Cinq Mars; '-'but if we are 
 driven to such extremity, she will be obliged to de- 
 clare for some party, and that of necessity must be 
 ours; for she will never side with Richelieu. We 
 can also have her well surrounded by her friends, 
 and seize upon the Dauphin should the case require 
 it." 
 
 " What say you, then, to trying the Count de 
 Blenau ? He is your friend. He is brave, expert in 
 war. and just such a man as leads the blind multi- 
 tude. But more, he is wealthy and powerful, and 
 has much credit in Lanjuedoc." 
 
 *-' I do not know," said'Cinq Mars, thoughtfully, 
 " I do not know. Da Blenau would never betray 
 us, even if he refused to aid our scheme. But I 
 much think his scruples would go further than even 
 De Thou's. 1 have often remarked, he has that sort 
 of nicety in his idea? which will not suffer him to
 
 raCHELlETJ. 115 
 
 enter into any thing which may, by even a remote 
 chance, casta shade upon tiis name." 
 
 " Well, we can try him at all events," said Fon- 
 trailles. " You, Cinq Mars, can ask him whether 
 he will join the liberators of his country." 
 
 " No, Fontrnilles," answered the master of the 
 horse in a decided tone y "no, 1 will not do it. — 
 Claude de Blenau is a man by whom I should not 
 like to be refused. Besides, I should hesitale to 
 involve him, young and noble-hearted as he is, in a^ 
 scheme which might draw down ruin on his head." 
 
 " In the name of Heaven, Cinq Mars,/" cried 
 Fontrailles, with real astonishment at a degree of 
 generosity of which he could find no trace in his 
 own bosom, '* of whrit are you dreaming ? Are you 
 phrensied ? Why, you have engaged life and for- 
 tune, hope and happiness, in this scheme yourself, 
 and can you love another man better V 
 
 " There is every difference, Fontrailles — every 
 difference. If 1 cut my own throat, I am a fool 
 and a madman, granted ; but if I cut the throat of 
 another man, I am a murderer, which is somewhat 
 worse. But I will be plain with you. I have em- 
 barked in this with my eyes open, and it is my own 
 fault. Therefore, whatever happens, I will go on 
 and do my best fur om* success. But mark me, 
 Fontrailles, if all were to come over again, I would 
 rather lay down one of my hands, and have it chop- 
 ped off,than enter into any engagement of the kind." 
 
 A cloud came over the brow of Fontrailles for a 
 momrnt and a gleam of rage lighted up his dark 
 gray eye, which soon, however, passed away from 
 his features, though the rankling passion still lay at 
 his heart, like a smouldering fire, which wants but 
 a touch to blaze forth and destroy. But his look, as 
 I have said, was soon cleared of all trace of angerj 
 and he replied v/ith that show of clieerfilness 
 which he well knew how to assume. " Well, Cinq 
 Mars, I do not look upon it in so gloomy a liglit as 
 you do : though perhaps, were it now to begin, 1 
 might not be so ready in it either, for the chances
 
 11^ RICHELIEU. 
 
 we have run"are great; but these I tj-ust,are over,and 
 every thing certainly looks prosperous at present. 
 However, there is no use in thinking what either of 
 us might do had we now our choice. We are botli 
 too hr engaged to go back at this lime of day ; so 
 Jet us think alone of insuring success, and the glr.ry 
 of having attempted to free our country will at least 
 be ours, let the worst befall us.'' 
 
 The word glory was never v.-ithout its effect cm 
 Cinq Mars. It was his passion, and was but the 
 more violent from the restr int to which his con- 
 stant attendance on the king had subjected it, sel- 
 dom having been enabled to display in their proper 
 field thoeehigh qualities which he possessed as a 
 soldier. •' So far you are right, P'ontrailles,"' repli- 
 ed he ; '' the glory even of the attempt is great,an^ 
 we have but one coarse to pursue, wjiich is straight- 
 -forward to our object. You, do every thing to bind 
 the fickle goddess to our cause, and so will I ; but 
 thinking as I do, I cannot.find it in my heart to in- 
 volve De Blenau. Manage that as you like ; only 
 do not ask me to do it." 
 
 "Oh, that is easily done,'" answered Fontraille», 
 "without your bearing any part in it. Of course 
 •each of the confederates has a right to invite whom- 
 soever he may think proper to join his party, and it 
 would be highly dishonorable of any other to dis- 
 suade the person so invited from aiding the scheme 
 on which all our lives depend. The .Count de "Bie- 
 -na-u, 1 think you sar, is now retired to Bourbon.— 
 There also is the Duke of Orleans, and I will take 
 care that he shall broach the subject to the count 
 without implicating you." 
 
 Cinq Mars started from his seat, and began pac- 
 ing the room with his eves bent on the ground. feel- 
 in;.; an undefined sensation of dissatisfaction at th« 
 plans of Fonlrailles. yet hardly knowing how to op- 
 pose them. '• Well, well,'"' said he at length ; " it 
 is your business, not mine ; and besides, I do not 
 in 'the least, think that De Blenau will listen to yo« 
 for a moment. He has other thing* Uf think oi—
 
 KICIIELIEU. U7 
 
 Mademoiselle de Beaumont is absent, and no one 
 knows where 5 and he must soon hear of it." 
 
 *' Be that as it may/' replied Fontrailles, " I will 
 try. And now, Cinq Mars, let me touch upon an- 
 other point t'^and the wily canspirator prepared all 
 his powers to work upon the mind of his less cau- 
 tious companion, and to urge him on to an attempt 
 which had already been the object of more than 
 one conspiracy in that day, but which, by some un- 
 accountable means, had always tailed without any 
 apparent difficulty or obstacle. This was no < ther 
 than the assassination of the Cardinal de Richelieu; 
 and those who read the memoirs of the faction- 
 breathing Gondi, or any oiher of the historical re- 
 cords of the time, will wonder how, without any 
 precaution for his personal safety, Richelieu escap- 
 ed the many hands vvhiclj were armed for his de- 
 Btruction. 
 
 Princes and nobles, warriors and politicians hatt 
 though' it no crime to undertake the death of this 
 tyrant minister ; but yet there was something in the 
 mind of Cinq Mars so opposite to every thing base 
 and treacherous,that Fontrailles feared to approach 
 boldlv the proposal he was about to make. " Let 
 us suppose, my noble friend," said he, in that slow 
 and energetic manner which often lends authority 
 to bad argument, '■ that all our schemes succeed—- 
 that the tyrant is stripped of the power he has so 
 abused — that the tiger is enveloped in our toils. — 
 What are we to do '/ Are we to content ourselves 
 with having caught him ? Arc we only to hold him 
 for a moment in oiir power, and tlien set him loose 
 again, once more to ravage France, and to destroy 
 ourselves? And if we agree to hold him in cap- 
 tivity, where siiall we find chains sufficient to bind 
 him, or a cage in which we can confine him with 
 security, wiien there a thousand other tigers of his 
 race ready to attack the hunters of their fellow V.' 
 
 " I propose nolhisg of the kind," answered Cinq 
 MatB ; " once stripped of his authority, let him be 
 Vraigned-for the crimes which be ha^committed^
 
 118 - TtTClIELlEU- 
 
 and suffer the death he has merited. The blood of 
 thousands will cry out for justice, and his very crea- 
 tures will spurn the monster which they eerved 
 from fear.'' 
 
 " Then you think him worthy of death, said Fon- 
 traillfis, in that kind of undecided manner which 
 showed that he felt he was treading on dangerous 
 ground. " Worthy of death'" exclaimed Cinq Marsj 
 ** who can doubt it ? — Fontrailles, what is it that 
 you mean ? You speak as if there was something ia 
 your mind that you know not how to discover. 
 Speak, man. What is it you would say V 
 
 '• Who will deny that Brutus was a patriot ?'*.said 
 Fontrailles 5 '* a brave, a noble, and a glorious man"? 
 And Brutus stabbed Caesar in the Capitol 1 — Cinq 
 Mars, when the freedom of our country is at stake, 
 shall we wait tamely till we have prsached a timid 
 monarch into compliance , or drawn a foreign power 
 to our aid, when 07ie — si7igle — hand could do the 
 V. Oik of justice, and rid the world of a tyrant who 
 has lived so much too long?" 
 
 •'•' Ha !" exclaimed Cinq Mars, starting back, and. 
 laying his hand upon his sword; "dost thcu sup- 
 pose me an assassin ? Art thou one thyself, that 
 thou canst so well gloze over murder with a stale 
 tale of antiquity ? — Monsieur de Fontrailles," he 
 continued more calmly, but still with stern indigna- 
 tion, 'you have mistaken the person to whom you 
 addressed yourself. Pardon me. We will speak no 
 more upon this subject, lest w^e end worse friends 
 than we began." 
 
 Fontrailles was not a common hypocrite 3 he saw 
 at once that on this point persuasion would be vain, 
 and defence of his tirst proposal would but lea>;e 
 the worse impression on the mind of his compan- 
 ion ; and therefore his determination was formed in 
 a moment to take up the exact reverse position to 
 that which he had just occupied, and if possible to 
 force Cinq Mars into a belief that the proposal had 
 only been made to try him. The first wild start of 
 his companion had caused Fontrailles to draw back
 
 BICHKLIiFU 119 
 
 almost in fear J but instantly recovering himself, 
 like a well trained actor, every muscle of whose 
 face is under command, he fixed his eyes on Cinq 
 jVIars, and instead of any sign of anger or disap- 
 pointment, he threw into his countenance an ex- 
 pression of gratified admiration. " Cinq Mars, my 
 noble friend !' he exclaimed, opening his arms to 
 embrace him as the other concluded 3 " you are the 
 man I thought jou ! Pardon me if I have sought 
 to trv you ! but when 1 heard you propose to effect 
 the cardinal's life by our plans, I knew not how far 
 that idea might lead you, and 1 wisiied to be sure of 
 the man with whom I was so deeply engaged. I 
 declare before Heaven, that had I lound that you 
 proposed to do Richelieu to death by aught but le- 
 gal means, I should have been deeply grieved, and 
 would have fled from France wheree'er my fortune 
 might lead, leaving you to follow your plans as best 
 you might. But i am now satished, and demand 
 your pardon for having ever doubted you." 
 
 Cinq IVIars suffered llie-euibrace which Fontrail- 
 les protlered, but returned it coldly. Acting is ever 
 acting, however near it may approacli to nature j and 
 notwithstanding all the Isypocritical art of which 
 Fonlrailles was a mastt-r, and which he took care 
 to exert on the present occasion, the mind of Cinq 
 Mars still retained its doubts as to the character of 
 t,he man with vvhom he had so closely linked his 
 I'ate, " if he is a villain,'' I'lought the master of the 
 horse, " ho is a most black and consummate villain;" 
 and though they parted aftparentiy friends, the re- 
 collection of that moraiiig s conversation still haunt- 
 ed the imagination of Cinq Mars like some ill vis- 
 ion; nor did the impression cease with his waking 
 thoughts, but visited him even during the hours of 
 repose, making him believe himself chained in a 
 dungeon with Fonlrailles standing over him, turning 
 a dagger round and round in his heart, while ever 
 and unon he cried, " Thou art the murderer !"
 
 120 RICHELIEU, 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 Which evinces t!ie necessity of saymg No ; anil s'iows what A 
 is la liunt upon a wrong; scent. 
 
 Ik journeyin;? onward towards the Bourbonnois, 
 the ihoughts of De Blenau had full lime In rest up- 
 on the late occurrences 5 and though tliese had been 
 of such a fearful nature, yet so rapidly had they 
 passed, that dangers and sorrows, p-jsons and trials, 
 Hoated before his remembrance like a confused and 
 uncertain dream; and it required an effort to tix all; 
 the particular circumstances in tiieir correct posi- 
 tion, for the purpose of investigating the motives of 
 the principal actors in those events which had so 
 deeply affected himself. 
 
 Tliis, v/hen he could turn his mind from happier 
 contemplations, was the principal occupation of hiB 
 thoughts; and more especiallv in reflecting upon 
 th. conduct of the king. De Blenau ima2i!;ed. that 
 he could perceive a regular design in every part of 
 the monarch's behavior, which in tiuth it did not 
 possess. Uiider this vievv he was left to conclude, 
 that he had boen ordered to retire to Bourbon for 
 the .spocific reason that he had there no acquain* 
 tance or inlluence v-hich could be danfiorous to the 
 government ; but it is more probable that Louis not 
 wishing to reverse the cardinal's sentence entirely, 
 by freely pardoiiing De Blenau, tiad in the hurry of 
 the moment meutioned any province that suggested 
 itself However that might be, it so happened that 
 De Blenau was hardly known to any individual with- 
 in the limits to which, by the kings command^ he 
 wag bound to confine himself. Nor did he feel any 
 additional uncomfort in the prospect of passing %
 
 RICHELIEU. 121 
 
 short space of time in comparative solitude ; for hia 
 mind was npt likely to be well attuned to society, 
 while constrained to absent himself from those be 
 loved best j and he was rather pleased than other- 
 wise, that the time of his separation from Pauline 
 would be passed without the annoyance of associa- 
 ting with people to whom he was indifterent. 
 
 De Blenau's first care, on arriving at MouUnQS, 
 was to write to Pauline de Beaumont. 
 
 Fancy might easily supply his letter, \yhich is 
 ollierwise irrecoverably gone 5 but as each reader's 
 imagination will do more justice to it, according to 
 his own taste, than mine could do, I will leave it 
 unwritten here, especially as I have undertaken to 
 commemoiate truth only 3 and 1 really know noth- 
 ing of the matter. Suffice it that it was full of all 
 that affection, and gratitude and hope, and delight 
 could suggest, and gave a bright picture of a bright 
 and happy mind. As couriers and poats in those 
 days were as different froni such things at present, 
 as the first wooden deck was from a modern chro- 
 jiometer, De Blenau did not choose to trust his let- 
 ter to the uncertain conveyance of the government 
 carrier, or, as he was then called, the ordinaire; 
 but placing it in the hands of his trusty page Henry 
 de la Mothe, he sent him forth upon a journey to 
 St, Germain, with orders to deliver many a kind 
 greeting to Pauline in person, and to bring back 
 an answer with all speed. 
 
 The boy set out, and De Blenau, fl^tterng blip- 
 self with the idea that his banishment from court 
 would not be of any long continuance, took his res- 
 idence fo|- the time in the immediate neighborhood 
 of Moulins, contenting himself with an old chateau, 
 the proprietor of which was very willing — his for- 
 tune and his castle both being somewhat decayed — 
 to sacrifice his pride of birth, in consideration of a 
 hajadsomc remuneration from the young count. 
 
 Here De Blenau had dwelt some time, waiting 
 j^ return of hii| ai3S9.engev, and in poasessioii ol 
 
 TOL. II. 9
 
 122 RICIIELIKO. 
 
 that quiet solitude most consonant to his feelings, 
 when he was disturbed by a billet left at his gate by 
 a horseman, who waited not to be questioned, but 
 rode away immediailv after having delivered it. The 
 note itself merely contained a request, that the 
 Count de Blenau would ride in the direclioa cf St. 
 Aniand on the following evf^ning, at the hour of 
 fuur, when he would meet with one who had busin- 
 ess of importance to communicate. The handwri- 
 ting was unknown to him, and de Blenau at first 
 hesitated whether to obey the summons or not; but 
 curiosity has a thousand ways of strengthening it- 
 self, and at In-t he rensoncd himspif into a bclipf, 
 that whatever it might be,, no harm could accrue 
 from his compliance. 
 
 Accordingly, on the following evening, as the 
 hour drew ne^r, he mounlifd Ids horse, and, ac- 
 companied by his usual attendants, proceeded to- 
 wards St. Amand. Having ridden on for more than 
 an hour without meeting any one above the rank of 
 a peas.ant, he began to accuse himself for hnving 
 been the dupe of what might prove some foolisfi 
 joke. He had even reined in his Imrse with the 
 purpose of returning, when he perceived a person 
 approachvng on horseback, who. notwitiistindinga 
 sort of carelessness, — e\en perhaps, slovenliness 
 of mnnner and carriage — iiad about him that utidefi, 
 nable air, which in all ages, and in every cruise- 
 denotes a gentleman, and a diilingu'shcd o e. It 
 was not, however, till he came near, that Do Ble- 
 nau recognised Gaston Duke of Orleans, whom he 
 had not seen for some time. The moment he 
 did remember him, he g;ive him the centre of the 
 road, and saliiting him respectfully, was passinij on, 
 never dreaming that the summons he had received 
 could have proceeded from him, 
 
 '• Good dav, Monsieur de Blenau. You are clora' 
 tipon the hour,'' said the duke, drawing np hia 
 horse, and at once allowing the count to tinder* 
 stand that it v/as with him tliat the appoiatment 
 had been made. 
 
 ? • -I
 
 RICIIETLIEU. \ 23 
 
 ' I was not aware/' replied De Blenau, " thnt 
 the summons which I received last night was from 
 so honorable a hand, or I should have had no hesi- 
 tation in obeying." 
 
 '• Why, that is right," said the duke. " The truth 
 is, I wished much to see you, Monsieur le Comte, 
 upon a business wherein you may not only be of 
 much service to yourself and me, but also to yonr 
 country. We will ride on, if you please 5 and as we 
 go, I will explain myself farther." 
 
 De Blenau turned his horse, and "rode with the 
 duke } but the warning wliich Chavigr.i had g^iYen 
 him, came strongly into his mind 5 and Gaston of 
 Orleans was too famous for the unfortunate con- 
 spiracies in which he had been engaged, for De 
 Blenau to think with aught but horror, of acting in 
 any way with a man, the weak versatility of whose 
 disposition had already brouglit more than one of 
 Jiis friends to the scaffold. He therefore waited for 
 the duke's communication, determined to cut it 
 short as soon as propriety admitted ; and even to 
 deviate from the respect due to his rank, rather than 
 become the confidant <>i a prince, whose station was 
 his sole title to "reverence. 
 
 " You do not -answer me, Monsieur de Blenau," 
 said the duke, after having waited a moment or two 
 for some reply. " Are you, sir, inclined to serve 
 your country ; or is the Cardinal deRichelieu your 
 good friend ?" 
 
 " That I am inclined to serve my conntry," re- 
 plied De Blenau, ■ your highness need not doubt ; 
 and when my sword can avail that country against a 
 foreign adversary, it shall always be ready at her 
 call. In regard to his eminence of Richelieu, I 
 hope that he is no more my enemy than I am his j 
 and that he will no more attempt to injure me than 
 1 will to injure him." 
 
 " But has he not endeavored to injure you al- 
 ready ?■' said the duke. " Listen to me, Sir Count. 
 Suppose tliatthee were many men at this moment 
 well inclined to free France from the voke under
 
 ff^ RICHELIEU 
 
 which she labors. Suppose I were to tell you that^ 
 
 " Let me beseech your highness, interposed De 
 Blenau, " to tell me no more : lor, if I understand 
 you rightly, it must be a confidence dangerous ei- 
 ther to you or me — dangerous to yoa, if 1 reveal- 
 it 5 and dangerous to me, if 1 do not. Pardon me, 
 my lord, for interrupting you 3 but let my ears re- 
 main in their present innocence of what you mean.. 
 What maybe your wishes with me, 1 know not. :• 
 but before you proceed farther,- let me say that I 
 will enter into no scheme w hatever against a gov- 
 ernment to which his majesty has given his sanc- 
 tion, aad which it is always in his power to alter 
 or remove at his pleasure, without any one being. 
 entitled to questio.u his authority, either in raising 
 it or casting it down. And now, having ventured ta 
 premise thus much, if I can serve }<.i:r highness, 
 personally, in any way whcr'^. my Lonor and my 
 allegiance are not at all implicated, 1 ishall be most 
 kappy in aa opportunity of showing my attachment 
 to your royal person and family.'' 
 
 '• Why then, Monsieur de Blenau," replied thd 
 duke, '• I think the best thing we can do is to tura* 
 our horses ditferent ways, and forget tiiat we have 
 met to-day at all. Our conferenee has been shorty 
 But it has been to the purpose. But ofcourse, be- 
 fore we part, ( e.xpect your promise, ns a man of. 
 honor, that you will not betray me. 
 
 •' I have nothing to betray, my lord," replied De- 
 Blenau with a smile. "' We have met on the road 
 to St. Amand. We have not been five minutes in 
 each other's company. Your highness has told me 
 nothing, whatever 1 may have suspected ; therefore 
 you may rest perfectly secure tha.t I have* nolhirg 
 10 betray, even if they put me to the torture to- 
 morrow. But as I think that for your highness's 
 sake we had better beas little together as possible, 
 1 will hamblv take my leave." 
 
 So saying, De Blenau bowed low, and turned his 
 horee towards Moultns, the Duke of Orleans pre-
 
 HtCHELIEU. : 125 
 
 jSSring to take the other road; but swddenly the 
 latter stopped, and "turning his head, asked if De 
 Blenau had gained any news of Mademoiselle d6 
 Beaumont. 
 
 " I am not aware of what your highness alludes 
 to/' replied De Blenau, quickly reining in his horse, 
 retnrning to thfe side of the duke. 
 
 " What, then you have not heard— when had 
 you letters from St. Germ ain 1" 
 
 " Heard what ? In the name of God, speak, my 
 lord !" cried De Blenau : "Do not keep me in sus- 
 pense." 
 
 "Nay, ilPlonsieur de Blenau, 1 know but little/' 
 answered the Duke. " All my nevvs came yester- 
 day in a letter from St. Germain, whereby I find 
 that Mademoiselle de Beaumont has disappeared ; 
 and as no one knows whither she is gone, and no 
 cause is apparent for her voluntary absense, it is 
 conjectured that Richelieu, finding, as it is whis- 
 pered, that she endeavored to convey intelligence 
 to you in the Bastille, has caused her to be arrested 
 and confined au secret." 
 
 ''But when did she disappear ? — Who saw her 
 last ? — Have no traces been discovered ? — Why do 
 they not apply to the king ?" exclaimed De Blenau, 
 with a degree of agitation that afforded amusement, 
 -rather than excited sympathy in the frivolous mind 
 of the Duke of Orleans. 
 
 " Really, Monsieur de Blenau, to none of all youi* 
 questions can I at all reply, answered "Gaston. 
 " Very possibly, the lady may have gone off with 
 some fair lover, in which case she will have takea 
 care to leave no traces of her flight. — What think 
 you of the weather ? — will it rain to-day?" 
 
 " Heil and fury ?" cried De Blenau, incensed at 
 "the weak trifling of the prince, at a moment when 
 '^s feelings were so deeply interested ; and turnin? 
 fiis horse round without farther adieu, he struck his 
 -ipurs into the animal's sides, and, followed by his 
 ■«tehdants, galloped off towards Moulins. Arrived 
 At the ch&teau which he inhabited, his Ihouglfti
 
 126r aiCHELIEU. 
 
 were still in such a troubled state a* to forbidair 
 calm consideration. "Prepare everything to set 
 out. Saddle fresh horses. Send to Moulins for the 
 proprietaire" we e De Blenau's first commands, de- 
 termined at all risks to set out for St. Gjrmain, 
 and seek for Pauline himself. But while his orders 
 were in train of execution, reflection came to his 
 aid, and he began to think that the news which the 
 duke had given liim might not be true — that Gas- 
 ton might either be deceived himself, or that he- 
 jnight have invented the story for the purpose of 
 forcing him into a conspiracy against Richelieu's 
 government. " At all events," thought he, " Hen- 
 ry de la Mothe cannot be longer absent than to- 
 morrow. I may miss him on the road, and thus 
 be four days without information instead of one "'^ 
 Accordingly, after some farther hesitation, he de- 
 termined to delay his journey one day, and coun- 
 ter ordered the preparations v/hich he had before 
 commanded. Nevertheless, his mind was too 
 much agitated to permit of his resting inactive f 
 and quitting the chateau, he walked quickly oa 
 the road towards Paris ; but he had not proceeded 
 more than a quarter of a league, when from the: 
 top of a hill lie perceived a horseman coming full 
 speed towards him. At first, while the distance, 
 rendered his form altogether indistinct, De Blenaa 
 decided that it was Henry de la Mothe — it must be 
 — it could be nobody else,- Then again he began 
 to doubt — the horse did not look like his ; and De 
 Blenau had almost determined that it was not his 
 page, when the fluttering scarf of blue and gold 
 becoming apparent, decided the question, and he 
 hurried forward, impatient even of the delay which 
 must yet intervene. 
 
 The page rode on at full speed ; and even" from 
 that circumstance De Blenau drew an unfavorable 
 augury : he had something evidently to communi- 
 cate which required haste. His horse, too, was 
 not the same which had carried him away, and he 
 must haxe. changed him on the road ; this too was.
 
 Riciii:L!fc.y. 127 
 
 a siga of lliat urgent despatch which conld alone 
 proceed from some painful cause. However, the 
 ]:'Z' cnine rapidiy forward, recognised his lord, and 
 d: iwing- in his horse, aligiited to give relief to De 
 Beuau & doubts, only by contirming his fears. 
 
 His first tidings were perfectly similar to the 
 informalion wiiich had been given by the Duke of 
 Orleans ; but the more minute details which he 
 had obtained, fi»rmi-ng a part of the history which 
 ],e gave De Blerau of all that had occurred to him 
 on liis journey, 1 shall take the liberty of ahrid>»ing 
 myself, instead of leaving them in a desultory and 
 l<jng-winded condition in wr.ich they proceeded 
 from ti;e mouth of Monsieur de la Moth^. 
 
 Setting out from iVloulins on one of the Count 
 de Blenau's strongest horses, and furnished with 
 plenty of that patent anti-attrition composition, 
 which has facilitated the progression of all sorts of 
 people in all ages of the world, and in all stales ex- 
 cept Lycurgud governed Sparta- — namely gold, 
 Henry da la Mothe was not long in reaching St. 
 Germain ; and with all the promptitude of his age 
 and nature, he hastened eagerly towards the palace, 
 promising himself inSnite pleasure in delivering a 
 genuine love-letter into the '"air hands of Madem- 
 oiselle Pauline. No small air of consequence, 
 therefoi'e, did he assume in inquiring for Mademoi- 
 selle de Beaumont, and announcing that he must 
 speak with her himself; but the boyish vivacity of 
 the page was soon changed into sorrowful anxiety, 
 when the old servant of Anne of Austria, to whom 
 his inquiries had been addressed, informed him that 
 the- young lady had disappeared, and was nowhere 
 to be heard of Now Henry de la Mothe, the no- 
 ble Count de Blenau's gay page, was an universal 
 favorite at St. Germain ; so, out of pure kindness, 
 and without the least inclination in the world to 
 gossip, the old servant took him into the palace, 
 and after treating him to a cup of old St. Vallier 
 vime, told him all about the disappearance of Pau-
 
 128 ftlCaKlTEO- 
 
 line, which ffermed a history occupying Exactly 
 ofle hour and ten minutes in delivering. 
 
 Among other interesting particulars, he describ- 
 ed to the page how he himself had accompanied 
 Mademoiselle dc Hauteford and Mademoiselle de 
 Beaumont from Chantilly to Paris, for the purpose 
 of conveying news to Monsieur de Blenau, in the 
 Bastille ; and how that night he followed the two 
 young ladies as far. as the church of St. Gervais, 
 where they separated, and he remained at the 
 church door, while Mademoiselle de Hauteford 
 went in and prayed for the good success of Pauline j 
 — and further, how Mademoiselle de Hauteford said 
 all the prayers she knew, and composed a great 
 many new ones to pass the time, and yet no Pau- 
 line returned) and now at last she came out to 
 know what the devil had become of her y— and how 
 he told her, that he could not tell. 
 
 He then went on to describe theif search for 
 Pauline, and their disappointment and distress at 
 not finding her, and the insolence of a lying inn- 
 keeper, who lived opposite the prison, and who 
 assured him that the young lady was safe, for th.it 
 he himself had delivered her from peril by the 
 valor of his invincible arm. After this, he took up 
 the pathetic, and showed forth in moving terras the 
 agony and despair of Madame de Beaumont on first 
 hearing erf" the non-appearance of her daughter j 
 and then commented upon the extraordinary in- 
 sensibility that she had since shown. " For after 
 two days/' said he, "she seemed to grow quite 
 satisfied, and to forget it all, the cold-hearted old 
 cat:' 
 
 " 'Tis just like her," said Henry de la Mothe. — 
 " They say, when her husband was killed, she nev- 
 er shed a tear. But mark me, Monsieur Mathieu, 
 she shall not have the count's letter. As mademoi- 
 selle is not here, Pll take it back to him unopened : 
 •o have a care not to tell the old marquise that 1 
 have been here. Before I go back, however, I'll 
 away to Paris, to gather what news I can. That
 
 RICHELIEU. 129 
 
 aubergisie meant something— I know him well. 
 'Tis old Jacques Chatpillieur, the vivandier, who 
 •served with the army in Roussillon, when I was 
 there with the count. '^ 
 
 " Well, well, my good youth, go to Paris if you 
 please," replied the old servant. " You'll gain n-o 
 tidings more than I have given you. — Did not 1 
 make all sorts of inquiries myself ? and they are 
 not likely to deceive me, I wot. Young birds think 
 they can fly before they can peck ; but go, go, — 
 you'll gain no more than what 1 have told you." 
 
 Henry de la Mothe did not feel very well assure 
 ed of the truth of this last position; and therefore, 
 though his back ached with a four days^ ride as 
 fast as he could go, he set out again for Paris, 
 where he arrived before nightfall ; and entering the 
 city by the port St. Antoine, directed his course 
 to the house of our doughty friend, Jacques Chat- 
 pilleur, where he was instantly acknowledged as an 
 old acquaintance by the worthy aubergiste, and 
 treated with suitable distinction. Althotrgh every 
 raoment was precious, the page did not think fit to 
 enter upon the business that brought him till the 
 aubcrge was clear of intruders; and this being the 
 hour at which many an honest burgess of the good 
 city solaced his inward man with boxidin blanc and 
 Burgundy, when the fati'gues of Ihfe day began to 
 cease, Henry de la Mothe thought he might as well 
 follow the same agreeable calling, and while he 
 was at Rome, do as Romans did. 
 
 More than an hour pasSed before the page had 
 an opportunity of communicating fully with the 
 good aubergiste ; but when Jacques Chatpilleur 
 heard that the lady he had delivered trom the 
 clutches of Letrames, was no less a person than 
 Pauline, only daughter and heiress of the late cele- 
 brated Marquis Ue Beaumont, and that, notwith- 
 standing his assistance, she had somehow been car- 
 ried off on that identical night, his strange wood- 
 cocked-shaped person became agitated with various 
 •extraordinary contortions, proceeding from an odd
 
 130 RICHEUED. 
 
 mixture of pleasure and grief, which at once took 
 possession of him, and contended for the mastery. 
 
 " Mon Dieu !" cried he, " to think that it was 
 Mademoiselle de Beaumont, and that s]:e should be 
 Inst after all I'' And the aubergiste set himself to 
 think of how it could all have happened. I'll bet 
 a millic.n," cried he at length, starling from his- 
 revery, and clapping his hands together with a con- 
 cussion that echoed to the Bastiiie itself — "I'll bet 
 a million tliat it was that great gluttonous rsorman 
 vagabond, who on that very night e°l me up a 
 matelot d'anguille and a dind-e piquee. He is under- 
 strapping cut-throat to Master Chavigni, and he 
 has never been- here since. — He has carried her 
 off. for a million ; and taken her away to some 
 prison in the provinces, all for trying to give a little 
 news to the good count. But I'll ferret out his 
 route for you. On with your beaver and come 
 with me. Marguerite, look to the doors while 1 
 am absent. 1 know where the scoundrel lodged j 
 so come along ; and we'll soon hear more of him." 
 
 So saying, the landlord of the Sanglier Gourmand 
 led Henry de la Mothe forth into the Rue St. 
 Antoine, and thence through the several turnings 
 and windings by which the Norman had carried 
 Pauline to the late lodaings of Monsieur Marte- 
 ville. Here Jacques Chatpilleur summoned all 
 persons in the house, male and female, lodger and 
 landlord, to give a full, true, and particular account 
 of all they knew, believed, or suspected concern- 
 ing the tall Norman, who usually dweh there. 
 And such was the tone of authority which he used, 
 and the frequency of his- reference to Henry de 
 la Mothe, whom he always specified as " this hon- 
 orable youth," that the good folks instantly trans- 
 formed, in their own imaginations, the page of the 
 Count de Blenau into little hss than the valet de 
 chanibre of the prime minister, and consequently 
 answered all questions with becoming deference. 
 
 The sum of the information which was thus ob- 
 tained amounted to this, that on the evening in
 
 RICHELIKU. ' ' 181 
 
 qaeslion, Monsieur Marteville had brought thither 
 a young lady — whether by force or not. no one could 
 specify ; that she was dressed as aLanguedoc peas- 
 ant, which Monsieur Chatpilleur acknowledged to 
 be the disguise Pauline had assumed ; and that the 
 same evening he had carried her away again on 
 horseback, leading her steed by the bridle rein. It 
 further appeared that the Norman, while preparing 
 to set out, had asked a great many questions about 
 Troyes in Champagne, and had inquired whether 
 there was not a wood extending over some leagues 
 near Mesnil St. Loup which^ was reported to be 
 infested by robbers. From all this the inhabitants 
 of the house had concluded universally that his 
 journey was destined to be towards Troyes, and 
 that he would take care to avoid the wood of Mes- 
 nil St. Loup. 
 
 Henry de la Mothe now fancied that he had the 
 clew completely in his hands, and returning with 
 Jacques Chatpilleur to his auberge, he took one 
 night's necessary rest, and having exchanged his 
 horse, which was knocked up with its journey,, he 
 set out the next morning on his return to Moulins. 
 
 After this recital, all considerations of personal 
 safety, the king's commands to remain in Bourbon, 
 the enmity of the cardinal, and the warnings of 
 Chavigni, vanished from the mind of De Blenau 
 like smoke ; and returning to the chateau, he order- 
 ed his horses to be instantly.'prepared, chose ten of 
 his most resolute servants to accompany him, order- 
 ed Henry de la Mothe to remain till he had recov- 
 ered from hiii fatigues, and then to return to St. 
 Germain, and tell Madame de Beaumont that he 
 would send her news of her daughter, or loose hia 
 life in the search ; and having made all other neces- 
 sary arrangements, he took his departure forTroyea 
 without a consideration of the consequences.
 
 132 «ICflM.ILO 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 The cbnttqiience of fishing m troubled watdr. 
 
 We must now return to the two worthy person- 
 ages whom we left jogging on towards the chateau 
 of St. Loup, taking them up at the precise place 
 where we set them dow^n. 
 
 " Bon gre mal gre va le pritre au s4n^." grumbled 
 the Korman. " Remember, Madame Louise, I take 
 you with no good will : you insist upon going ; so 
 now if you meet with any thing disagreeable, it ia 
 your own fault, ^mark that,??ia poide." 
 
 "Vm no more afraid of the devil than yourself." 
 answered Louise, pertly ; " and I suppose 1 shall 
 meet with no one worse than he is."' 
 
 " You may," replied the Norman ; " but come on, 
 it gets late, and we have no time to spare." 
 
 The tone of Msrteville was not very encourag- 
 ing 3 but Louise was resolved not to lose sight of 
 her husband, and being by nature as bold as a lion, 
 she followed on without fear. True it is, that she 
 did not know the whole history of the Socerer'a 
 Grove, or perhaps she might have felt some of those 
 imaginary tenors from which hardly a bosom in 
 France was altog-ether free : although Louise, bred 
 up by Madame de Beaumont, whose strong and 
 masculine mind rejected most of the errors of that 
 age, had perhaps less of the superstition of the 
 day than any other person of her own class. 
 
 The first approach to the Sorcerer's Grove was 
 any thing but te-rifying. The road, winding gentlr 
 down the slope of the hill, entered the forest be- 
 tween some fine tall trees, which rising out of a
 
 ttlUHELILH. 133 
 
 tract of scanty underwood and open ground, with 
 considerable spaces between each of the boughs, 
 afforded plenty of room for the rich sun to pour his 
 rays between,' and to checker the green shadows of 
 the wood with intervals of golden light. Every 
 here and there, also, the declining sunbeams caught 
 upon the old knotted trunks, and on the angles of 
 the broken ground on either side, enlivening the 
 scene without taking from its repose 3 and at the 
 bottom of the hill, seen through the arch of boughs 
 which canopied the way, appeared a bright mass of 
 sunshine, wiih a glimpse of the sky beyond, where 
 a larger open space than ordinary gave free ac- 
 cess to the day. From this spot, however, the 
 road, entering the deeper part ot the wood, took a 
 direction towar-ds the old chateau ©f St. Loup 5 and 
 here the trees, growing closer together, began to 
 shut out the raysj gloom and darkness spread over 
 the path, and the rocks rising up into high broken 
 banks on each side, cut off even the scanty-light 
 which glided between the thick branches above. 
 At the same time the whole scenery assumed, a 
 wilder and more desolate character, and the wind- 
 ings of the road round the base of the hill prevented 
 the eye from catching even a glimpse ©f the pros- 
 pect beyond. 
 
 Here, strewed upon the path, lay great masses of 
 green mouldy rock, fallen from the banks on eacli 
 side, evincing plainly how seldom the foot of man 
 traversed its solitude ; there again a mundic stream, 
 blood-red, flowed across and tinged ell the earth 
 around with its own- unseemly hu-e ; wliile long 
 brambles and creeping shrubs, dropping with chili 
 dew, grew at the base of the rocks on either side, 
 and shooting out their thorny arms, caught the feet 
 of the horses as they passed. Tlie deep solitude, 
 the profound silence, the shadow of the overhang- 
 ing woods, and the sorribre gloom of every object 
 around, began to have their effect 'on the mind of 
 Louise, and notwilhstauding hernative boldness of 
 heart, she set herself to conjure up moro than one
 
 134 RICHELIEU. 
 
 unpleasing vision. Her fears, however, were mow 
 of the living than the dead -, and liaving now, against 
 her nature, iiept silence a long while, out of re- 
 spect to the angry humor of her dearly beloved 
 husband, she ventured to nssert that it looked quite 
 a place for robbers, and added a hope that they 
 should not meet any. 
 
 '' Pardi ! 1 hope we shall !" replied the Norman. 
 ■''Those you call robbers uTe jbrl honnetes gc?j9 ; 
 they are merely gentlemen from the wars, as I am 
 myself : soldiers at free quarters, who have ever 
 had a right prescriptive to levy their pay with their 
 -own hand. I beg that you will speak respectfully 
 of them.'"' 
 
 Louise looked at her husband with an inquiring 
 glance, not very well knowing whether to take hia 
 speech seriously, or merely as a jest ; but there was 
 nothing mirthlul in the countenance of Monsieur 
 Marteville who, out of humor with his fair lady for 
 persisting to accompany him, was in no mood for 
 jesting. At this moment a whistle was heard in 
 the w.>od, so like the note of a bird, that Louise 
 was deceived, and would have taken no further 
 fjotice of the sound, had not htr companion appli- 
 ed his hand to his lips and imitated it exactly. 
 
 " What is that V demanded Louise, upon whose 
 mind a thousand undelined suspicions were crow<l- 
 ing fast : '' What noise is that in the wood?"' 
 
 " It's only a pivert,'' replied the JNcrman with a 
 grim smile, in the effort of uhicli the scar upon his 
 ■lip drew the corner of his mouth almost into his 
 •eye. 
 
 "A divert ."■ replied Louise : "Tso, no, tliat is 
 not the cry of a woodpecker — you arc cheating 
 me." 
 
 "Well, you will see,'' replied MarteriJle ; •' I'll 
 make him come out." So saying, he repeated the 
 same peculiar whistle, and then drawing in his rein, 
 shook him.-elf in the saddle, loosened his sword in 
 4ha sheath, and laid liis hand on one of his holsters, 
 as a man who prepares for a« encounter, of the
 
 niCHELIEO. 135 
 
 event of which he is not quite certain whether it 
 ■will be for peace or war. 
 
 Plis vvhistle was again returred, and a moment 
 after the form of a man was seen protruding itself 
 through the trees that crowned the high bank un- 
 der which they stood. His rusty iron morion, his 
 -still rustier cuirass, his weather-beaten countenance 
 and dingy apparel, formed altogether an appearance 
 so similar to the trunks of the tvnes among which 
 he stood, that he w-ould have been scarcely distin- 
 guishable, had it not been for the etfort to push his 
 way through the lower branches, the rustling of 
 which, and a few falling stones forced over ths 
 edge of the rock at his approach, drew tiic eye 
 more particularly to the spot where he np[,eared. 
 In his hand he carried a firelock, which, by a natu- 
 ral impulse, was pointed at the JMoiman the mo- 
 ment he perceived a doublet of blue velvet — as 
 the fowling-piece of a sportsman is instinctively 
 carried to his shoulder, on the rising of a partridge 
 ^or a grouse. But Monsieur Marteville was prepar- 
 ed for all such Circumstances ; and drawing the 
 pistol which hung at his saddle-bow, and which, if 
 one might judge l)y length, would carry a mile at 
 least, he pointed directly towards the rusty gentle- 
 man above ^escribed, crying out, "Eh hien, I' ami! 
 Eh! ben ! Do you shoot your friends like wood- 
 cocks ? or have you forgotten me 1' 
 
 " Nom de Diexi !' cried the man above : Je vovs 
 en dcmande mille pardoneset raiUe. AJonsicur le Capl- 
 iauie. I'll come down to you directly. Ckristi ! 1 
 had nearly given you a ball ! But I'll come down!" 
 
 While the robber was putting this promise in ex- 
 ecution, Marteville whispered a few words of con- 
 eolation to Louise, bidding her not to be afraid, 
 that they were fort honnetes gens, trh aimables to 
 their friends, et cetera; but seeing that his words 
 produced no effect, and that the unfortunate girl, 
 beginning to comprehend the nature of his charac- 
 ter, had burst into tears of bitter regret, he mutter- 
 ed a curse or two, not loud, but deep ; and without
 
 136* RtCHELItU. 
 
 any farther effort to allay her fears, sat whistling 
 on his horse, till the robber, half-sliding, half-run- 
 ning, managed to descend from the eminence on 
 which he had first appeared. 
 
 " Eh bien, Callot." said Monsieur Marteville to 
 his former companion; " how goes it with the 
 troop ?'■' 
 
 '• But badly," replied Callot : "What with one 
 devilry or another, we have but half a dozen left." 
 
 " And where is Pierrepont Le Blanc V demand- 
 ed the jNorman : " Could not he keep vou togeth- 
 er ?" 
 
 "Oh! we have sent him to the kingdom of 
 moles, answered the robber, twisting his face into a 
 most horrible grin. " First he quarrelled with one, 
 and then he quarrelled with another ; and then, as 
 he was captain, and had the purse, he bethought 
 him of taking himself off with all the treasure. But 
 we caught him on the road ; and so, as I have said, 
 we sent the bucanier en an embassy to the king- 
 dom of moles. After that, there were two of us 
 shot near Epernay, by a party of the guard ; and 
 then six more went to see what could be gathered 
 upon the road to Perpignan, and one was taken and 
 hanged at Troves ; so that there are but myself and 
 five others of the old band left.'-' 
 
 " And quite enough too, if you had a bold lead- 
 er,*' replied the JNorman. " But where do vou 
 roost, mesjolis oiseaiur ?" 
 
 '• JNo, no ; we db not perch now," answered the 
 robber J -'we go to earth. .Under tae old castle 
 here, are the most beautiful vaults in the world ; 
 and I defy Beelzebub himself to nose us, when we 
 are hidden there.'" 
 
 '• But why not take to the chateau itself ? Is it 
 so fhr decayed ?" 
 
 " INay,' replied the other, '' for that matter, it is 
 as good a nest as any one would wish to house in : 
 but it is not quite so forsaken as folks think. We 
 did put up there at first \ but one night, while all 
 our party were out hul three— being xnyBelf and
 
 KIGHtLIEU i'37 
 
 two others m^lio staid — we hetird suddenly ihe sound 
 of horses, and looking out, we saw by the twilight 
 five stout cavaliers dismount in the court ; and up 
 they marched to the very room where we were sit- 
 ting, so that we had scarce time te bundle up our 
 things and to cover. And there they sat foi- four 
 good hours 3 while we were shut Up in the little 
 watch-tower next to them, with no way to get out, 
 and no pov/der but what was in our cabines, or 
 may hap wc should have given them a dose or two 
 of leaden pills, for at first v-e thought they were on 
 the look-out for our band. But presently after, 
 up came another, and tiien tiiey all set to, to talk 
 high-treason. I could not well hear, for the door 
 was so lliick, and we dred not move; but I know 
 thev spoke of a treaty with Spain, and bringing in 
 Spanish troops into France. Since then, we have 
 kept to iho vaults, for fear of being nosed." 
 
 "Well, Louise," -.vhispercd the Norman, turning 
 to the ?.cnihreUe, " you see i did not come here for 
 no purpose. It is this treaty with Spain I want to 
 find out 3 and if 1 do, our fortune is made for ever, 
 and you will eat off gold, and drink out of gold, and 
 be as happy as a princess !"' 
 
 The prospects v.liich her husband held out, and 
 which miglit certainly be called goldj^n, were not 
 without tlieir effect on Louise : but still his evi- 
 dc.it faraiiiarity witli the gentleman in the rusty 
 steel cnat did not at all suit lier ideas of propriety, 
 nor were the matters which they' discussed in the 
 least to her tastP. ; but as remonstrance was in vain, 
 and she began to perceive that the influence of her 
 tears was not very great, she resigned herself to 
 her fate in silence. 
 
 Several more questions and replies passed be- 
 tween the IS'orman and hisanc'icnt comrade, whiclj, 
 as thcvlond to thiow no light upon this history, 
 shall not find a place therein. At length Monsieur 
 Calint, in as hospitable and coiutly a strain as he 
 could assume, requested the {)!casure of Monsieur 
 
 vol. 11. 10
 
 138 RICHELIEU. 
 
 Marteville's company to spend the evening in the 
 vaults of the old chateau, if he had not grown too 
 fine, by living anaong the great, to associate with hia 
 old friends. In return for this, the worthy JSor- 
 man assured him, that he never was so happy as 
 when he was in their society, accepted the invita- 
 tion with pleasure, and begged to introduce his 
 wife. Callot would fain have offered his salute to 
 the lips of the fair lady, and had mounted on a 
 huge stone beside her horse for that purpose 3 but 
 Louise repulsed him with the dignity of a duchess, 
 and Callot did not press the matter further, mere- 
 ly giving a shrewd wink of the eye and screw of the 
 under-jaw, as much as to say , " she's nice, it seems," 
 and then led the way towards the present abode of 
 Marteville's old band. 
 
 The road which he took wound through the very 
 depth of the wood towards that side ofthe hill which, 
 looking over the wide extent of forest-ground lyi: g 
 between the old castle and the hig^ road to Troyes 
 seemed to offer nothing but dark inaccessible preci' 
 pices, from the shallow stream that ran bubbling a' 
 Its base to the walls of the ruin above. Crossing 
 the rivulet, however, which did-not rise higher tnan 
 the horses' knees, the robber led the way round a 
 projecting mass of rocks, that seemed to have been 
 forcibly riverr from the rest, and which, though it 
 left space enough for the horses to turn, would have 
 effectually concealed them from the sight of any 
 one who might be in the wood. 
 
 The two sides of the hill next to the village of 
 Mesnil, and the ridge of rising ground on which it 
 was situ.ated, sloped easily into the valleys around, 
 and were covered willi a rich and glowing vegeta- 
 tion 3 but on tlie northern as well as the western 
 side, which the i^ornian and Lis companions now 
 approached, the rock offered a very (iiffereutcliarac- 
 ter, and one, indeed, extremely rare in ti at part f-f 
 the country. 
 
 Wherever the eye turned, nothing presented it- 
 self but flat surfaces of cold gray stone, with the
 
 tltCHELIEU. 1 39 
 
 deep markings of the rifts and hollows wiiich separ- 
 ated them from each other. Occasionally, indeed, 
 a patch of thin vegetable earth, accumulathig on 
 any point that offered the means of support, yielded 
 a slight gleam of verdue, so poor in hue, and so 
 limited in extent, that it seemed alone to rival the 
 lichens and stains of the rocks around, and to serve 
 but as a mockery of the naked crag that bore it. 
 Here and there too, a black antique pine fixing its 
 sturdy roots in the Weakest pinnacles, would be 
 seen to start boldly out, as if to brave the tempests, 
 that, sweeping over the oaks in the forest below, 
 spent their full fury on its more ambitious head. 
 The principle objects, however, that attracted at' 
 tention were the multitude of deep fissures and 
 hollows which presented themselves at every 
 point, and the immense blocks of stone which, scat- 
 tered about round the base of the rock, offered 
 plentiful means of concealment to any one who 
 might there seek to baffle a pursuer. 
 
 Turning, as we have said, round the base of one 
 of these large masses, the robber uttered three loud 
 whistles, to give notice that it was a friend approach- 
 ed ; and immediately after, from a cavern, the 
 mouth of which was concealed in one ot the fissures 
 above-mentioned, came forth two figures, whose 
 wild apparel corresponded t'ery well with that of 
 their companion. 
 
 "Morbleu! Monsieur MarlevilleP' cried one of 
 them, the moment he'recognised the Norman, " est 
 ce vous 1 Soyez le bien venu ! Come at^ a lucky 
 moment for some of the beat wine of Bonne ! The 
 Gros St. Nicolas — you remember our old com- 
 panion — he has just returned from the Chemin de 
 Troyes, where he met two charitable monks, who, 
 out of pure benevolence, bestowed upon him three 
 panniers of good wine and twelve broad pieces ; 
 though they threatened to excommunicate him, and 
 the two who were with him, for holding steel pon- 
 iards to their throats while they did their alms.
 
 140 RICHELIEU. 
 
 However, you are heartily welcome, and the moi-er 
 BO if you are come to stay with ns." 
 
 " VVe will talk of that presently,"' said the JSor- 
 man. " But in the first place, good friends, tell me, 
 can one get up to the castle above, which, Callot 
 says, is habitable yet ? for here is my wife, who io 
 not much used to dwell in vaults, and may like a 
 lodging above ground belter." 
 
 " Oh, certainly ' Madame shall be accommodat- 
 ed," said the last speaker, who seemed to be more 
 civilized than good Monsieur Callot. " Our own 
 dwelling is well enough 3 but if she please, I will 
 show you up the staircase whi<:h leads from the 
 vaults to the court above. However, I hope, she 
 will stay to partake ofoursupper, which is now be- 
 fore the fire, as you shall see,'" 
 
 " She shall come down again,'" .''aiii the Norman, 
 dismounting, and lifting Louise out of the saddle, 
 '' and will thank you for your good cheer, for we 
 have ridden far." So saying, he followed into the 
 cave, which at first presented nothing but the natural 
 ruggedness of the rock ; but at that spot where the 
 daylight began to lose its effect in the increasing 
 darkness of the cavern, one might perceive, though 
 with difiiculty, that it assumed tlie form of a regular 
 arch cased with masonry ; and in a moment or two, 
 as they preceded groping their way after the robber, 
 they were warned that there were steps : mounting 
 these, and turning to the left, they discerned, at a 
 little distance in advance, a bright red light stream- 
 ing from behind a projecting angle,^ which itself 
 remained in utter obscurity. The robber here went 
 on first, and they heard him announce in a loud and 
 jocular tone, " Li Sicur Marteville, et Madame sa 
 femme .''' with as much ceremony as if he had been 
 heralding th-^m into the presence of royalty. 
 
 " Bah '. vons plaisantez .'"'cried a thick merry voice, 
 seeming as if it issued from the midst of stewed 
 prunes. But the Norman sdvancing, bore evidence 
 of the truth of the other's annunciation, and was 
 instantly caught in the arms of the Gros St, Nic-
 
 ItlCHELlEU. t4l 
 
 «la3, as he was called ; who merited, at least, the 
 appellation of gros, though with the sanctity he ap- 
 peared to have but little to do. He was fat, short, 
 and protuberant, with a face as round [as the full 
 moon, and as rosy as a piony. In fact, he seemed 
 much better fitted for a burgess or a priest, an inn- 
 keeper or an alderman, than for the thin and meaner 
 t^ade of a cut-purse, which seldom leaves anything 
 but bones to be hanged at last. However, be bore 
 him joUily j and, when the party entered, was, with 
 morion and breast-plate thrown aside, engaged in 
 basting a large quarter of venison, which smoked 
 before a stupendous fire, whose blaze illuminated all 
 the wide vault, which formed their salle a manger 
 and kitchen both in one. 
 
 " Est-il possible?'^ cried the Gros St. Nicolas, em- 
 bracing our Norman, whose companion he had been 
 for many years both in honorable and dishonorable 
 trades ; — '' Mon ami ! Mon Capitain ! Mon Brave ! 
 Mon Prince ! Enjin, mon Noi-man'" 
 
 Quitting the eostacies of the Gros St. Nicholas 
 at meeting once more with his friend, and the for- 
 malities of his introduction to Louise,we shall only 
 say that, according to the request of the Norman, 
 one of the freebooters led the way up a circular 
 staircase in the rock, which soon brought them into 
 the open air, through a small arch entering upon 
 the court of the old castle. Here Marteville, hav- 
 ing marked all the peculiar turns which they had 
 taken, with the accuracy which his former life had 
 taught, bade good day to their guide, promising to 
 
 j rejoin the party below by the time the v«nison was 
 roasted ; and finding that more than an hour of day- 
 
 I light yet remained, he proceeded with Louise to 
 
 ' explore the remains of the chateau. 
 
 The little attentions he had lately paid, had great- 
 ly conciliated his fair lady ; and though still some- 
 what disposed to pout, she suffered him to explain 
 his views with a tolerable degree of placability. — 
 " You must know, ma charmante Louise," said he, 
 '' that there is a tremendous plot going on against
 
 142 RICHELIEtJ. 
 
 the government ; and that Monsieur de Chavigni 
 has intrusted rae to discover it. You heard what 
 Callot said, concerning a treaty with Spain Now 
 I have always understood, that when these secret 
 treaties areformed, a copy is deposited in some un- 
 inhabited place for greater security. You see, I 
 have traced Fontrailles to this castle, and it is evi- 
 dent that here he met the other conspirators : now 
 where, then, can they have secreted the treaty but 
 somewhere about here ? So now, Louise, help me 
 to find this paper, if it is to be found 5 and then we 
 will soon quit these men, of whom you seem so 
 much afraid, and go and live like princes on the for- 
 tune that Chavigni has promised." 
 
 To this long speech of her husband, which he ac- 
 companied with sundry little carresses, Louise re- 
 plied, in a tone half sulky, that she was ready to 
 seek the paper, but she did not see how they could 
 find it, with nothing to guide them in their search. 
 But nevertheless, when they did seriously bogir> 
 their perquisitions, she displayed all that sagacity in 
 discovering a secret which women instinctively 
 possess. Of course, the first place to which they 
 particularly directed their inquiries was the cham- 
 ber in which, according to the account of Callot^ 
 the meeting of the coBspirators had been held. 
 
 Here they looked in every nook and corner, turn- 
 ed over every heap of rubbish, examined the chairs 
 and the table of old Pere Le Ronge.and having gone 
 over every inch of the apartment, began anew and 
 went over it all again. At length Louise, seeming- 
 ly tired of her search in that chamber, left her hus- 
 band to pursue it as he pleased, and sitting down in 
 one of the settles, began to hum a Languedoc air, 
 beating'time with her fingers on the table. 
 
 " Pardi.'" cried the J>sorman, after having hunted 
 for some time in vain : " it is not here, that is cer- 
 tain !'■ 
 
 " Yee, it is .'" said Louise, very quietly continu- 
 ing to beat time on the table ; " it is in this very 
 room."
 
 lUCHELIEU. 143 
 
 " Nom de Dieu! where is it then V cried Mon- 
 sieur Marteville. 
 
 " It is here, in the inside of this hollow piece of 
 wood," answered Louise, tapping the table with her 
 knuckles, which produced that sort of empty echo- 
 ing sound that evinced it was not so solid as it ap- 
 peared. 
 
 The Norman now approached, and soon convinc- 
 ing himself that Louise wus right, he took her in 
 his arms and gave her a kiss that made the ruin echo. 
 The next thing was to get into the drawer, or 
 I whatsoever it was, that occupied the interior of the 
 I table : but this not proving very easy, the impatient 
 j Norman set it upright on one end, and drawing his 
 sword, soon contrived to cleave it through the mid- 
 dle ; when, to the delight of the eyes that looked 
 ! upon it, appeared a large cavity neatly wrought in 
 the wood, containing a packet of vellum folded and 
 sealed at the corners in blue and yellow wax, with 
 neat pieces of floss-silk to keep it all together. The 
 Norman could have eaten it up ; and Louise, with 
 a degree of impatient curiosity peculiarly her own, 
 was already fingering one of the seals, about to 
 break it open, when Marteville stopped her with a 
 tremendous oath. " What are you going to do V* 
 cried he : ''you know little what it is to pry into 
 state secrets. If you had opened that seal, instead 
 of having perhaps a reward of twenty thousand 
 crowns, we should have both been sent to the Bas- 
 i tille for the rest of our lives." Louise dropped the 
 I packet in dismay ; and the Norman continued, "Did 
 ! you never hear of the Abb6 de Langy, who, hap- 
 pening to be left by Monsieur de Richelieu in his 
 private cabinet only for five minutes, with some 
 state papers on the table, was sent to the Bastille 
 for twelve years, merely for fear he had read them? 
 No, no ; this must go to Monsieur Chavigni without 
 j so much as cracking the wax." 
 
 " Could not we just look in at the end V demand- 
 ed Louise, looking wistfully at the packet, which 
 her husband had now picked up. But upon this he
 
 144 RICHELIEU. 
 
 put a decided negative ; and having now succeeded 
 
 to his heart's content, the burly N rman, in the ex- 
 uberance of his joy, began singing and capering till 
 the old pile both echoed ard shook with his gigan- 
 tic gambols. '^•Ma Louise," cried he at length, "vous 
 etes fatigi'k. Je vais voiis porter ;" and catching 
 her up in his arms, notwithstanding all remonstran- 
 ces, he carried her like a feather into the court-yard, 
 through the narrow arch, and threading all the in- 
 tricacies of the vaults with the same sagacious fa- 
 cility with which a ferret glides through the wind- 
 ings of a warren, he bore her safely and in triumph 
 into the salle a manger of the honorable fraternity 
 below. This was not the mode of progression which 
 Louise most admired, nor was she very much grati- 
 fiel at beiug exhibited to her husbands old friends 
 in so ungraceful an attitude; and the consequences, 
 of course, were, that she would willingly have torn 
 his eyes out had she dared. 
 
 However, Monsieur Callot, Le Gros St. Nicolas, 
 and others, applied them-sehes successively to sooth 
 her rufiied spirits 3 and the venison being ready .and 
 a lon^ table laid, each person drew forth their knife, 
 and soon committed inlinite havoc on the plump 
 haunch which was placed before tliem. The wine 
 succeeded, and then that water of life which very 
 often ends in death. All was hilarity and mirth, 
 song, jest, and laughter. Gradually, one barrier after 
 another fell, as cup succeeded cup. Each one told 
 his own story, without regard to the rest ; each one 
 sang his own song; each one cracked his own joke. 
 Louise had retired to a settle by the side of the fire, 
 but still mingled in the^conversation, when it could 
 be called such ; and Monsieur Callot.somew hat full 
 of wine, and a good deal smitten with her charms, 
 plied her with assiduities rather more perhaps than 
 was necessary. In the the meantime, the Gros St. 
 Nic'las, running over with brandy and good spirits, 
 kept jesting the Xorman upon some passages of his 
 former life, which might as well have been passed 
 over and forgotten. " Madame \" cried he at length .
 
 RlCHELItU. 145 
 
 turning round towards Louise, with an overflowing 
 goblet, in his hand, and his broad face full of glee, 
 " I have the honor of drinking to your health, as the 
 tifth spouse of our good friend Monsieur de Marte- 
 ville ; and let me assure you, that ol the three that 
 are living and the two that are dead, \oa are the 
 most beautiful beyond compare .'" 
 
 Up started Louise in an agony of indignation, and 
 forth she poured upon the (aros St. JVicolas a tor- 
 rent of vituperation for jesting upon such a subject. 
 But on his part he only shrugged his shoulders, and 
 declared that he did not jest at all. " Mon Dieu .'" 
 said he. ''it is very unreasonable to suppose that 
 Monsieur Marteville, who is as big as live men, 
 should be contented vvith one wife. Besides, it is 
 ires agreable lo have a wife in every province : J al- 
 ways do so myself." 
 
 The thunder of Louise's ire, now increased in a 
 seven-fold degree, was turned instantly upon her 
 dearly beloved husband. Her eyes flashed and her 
 cheek flamed, and approaching him, where he sat 
 laughing at the whole business, she demanded that 
 he should exculpate himself from this charge ofpen- 
 tigamy,with a tone and manner that made the INor- 
 man, who had drunk quite enough, laugh still more. 
 With an unheard-of e.'jertion of self-command, 
 Louise kept her fingers from his face : she burst 
 fnrth into reproaches so bitter and stinging, that 
 Marteville's mirth was soon converted info,' rage, 
 and he looked at her with a glance which would 
 quickly have taught those woo knew him well not 
 to urge him further. But Louise went on, and 
 wound up by declaring, that she would live with 
 him no longer — that she would quit him- that very 
 moment, and finding her way to Monsieur Chavigni, 
 would tell him all — adding that she would soon send 
 the guard lo ferret out that nest of ruffians,and tha* 
 Bhe hoped to see him hanging at the head of them. 
 With this expression of her intentions, Louise dart' 
 ed out of the vault j but the JNorman, who, speech- 
 less with rage,had sat listeping to her with his teeth
 
 146 RICliELlEU. 
 
 clenched.and his nether lip quivering with suppres- 
 sed passion, started suddenly up.cast the settle from 
 him with such force that it was dashed to pieces 
 against the wall, and strode after her with the awful 
 cloud of determined wrath settled upon his brow. 
 
 The mirth of the robbers, who knew the ungoy- 
 ernable nature of their companion's passion, was 
 now over, and each looked in the face of the oth- 
 er with silent expectation. After a space, there 
 was the murmur of angry voices heard for a moment 
 at the farther end of the passage j then a loud pierc- 
 ing shriek rang through the vault ; and then all was 
 silence. A momentary sensation of horror ran 
 through the bosoms of even the ferocious men 
 whose habits rendered them familiar with almost 
 every species of bloodshed. But this was new and 
 strange among them, and they waited the return of 
 the Gorman with feelings near akin to awe. 
 
 At length, after some time, he came with a firm 
 step and unblenching brow, but with a haggard 
 wildness in his eye whieh seemed to tell that re- 
 morse was busy with his heart. However, he sat 
 him down without any allusion to the past, and 
 draining off a cup of ^^^ne, strove laboriously after 
 merriment. But it was in vain ; the mirth 'of the 
 whole party was evidently forced ; and Marteville 
 soon took up another strain, which accorded better 
 with the feelings of the moment. He spoke to them 
 of the dispersion of the band, which had taken 
 place since he left them 5 announced his Intention 
 of joining them again 5 and drawing forth a purse 
 containing about a thousand livres, he poured them 
 forth upon the table, declaring them to be his first 
 offering to the treasury. 
 
 This ma^ificent donation, which came in aid of 
 their finances at a moment when such a recruit was 
 very n^essary, called forth loud shouts of applause 
 from the freemen of the forest ; and the Gros St, 
 Nicolas starting up, addressod the company much 
 to the following effect : '' Messieurs — every one 
 knows that I am St. Nicolas, and no one will deny
 
 RICHELIBU* 147 
 
 that I am surrounded by a number of goodly clerks. 
 But although in my saintly character, 1 will give 
 up my clerical superiority to nobody 5 yet it appears 
 to me, that our society requires some lay command- 
 er 5 therefore I, your bishop, do propose to you to 
 elect and choose the Sieur Marteville, here present, 
 to be our king, and captain in the wars, in room of 
 the Sieur Pierrepont Le Blanc, who, having abdi- 
 cated without cause, was committed to the custo- 
 dy of the great receiver-general — the earth, by war- 
 rant of cold iron and pistol-balls. What say ye, 
 Messieurs, shall he be elected 1" 
 
 A shout of approbation was the reply ; and Mar- 
 teville, having been duly elected, took the oaths, 
 and received the homage of his new subjects. He 
 then entered into a variety of plans for increasing 
 the band, concentrating its operations, and once 
 more rendering it that formidable body which it 
 had been in former times. All this met with the 
 highest approbation j but the captain showing the 
 most marked dislike to remaining in the forest 
 which they at present tenanted, and producing a 
 variety of reasons for moving their quarters to Lan- 
 guedoc, where the neighborhood of the court and 
 the army offered greater facilities both for recruit- 
 ing their numbers and their purses; it was agreed 
 that they should disperse the next morning, and 
 reassemble as soon as possible, at a certain spot 
 %vell known to the whole party, about forty leagues 
 distant from Lyons. 
 
 This was happily effected ; and the Norman, on 
 presenting himself at the rendezvous, had the pleas- 
 ure of introducing to the band two new associates, 
 whom he had found the means of converting on 
 the road. 
 
 Although abandoning himself heart and soul to 
 the pleasures of his resumed profession, our friend 
 Marteville was not forgetful of the reward he ex- 
 pected from Chavigni ; and as his official duties 
 prevented his being himself the bearer of the paper 
 he had obtained, he despatched it to Narbonne,
 
 148 RICHELieC 
 
 where the statesman now \' as, by hig faithful sub- 
 ject Callot. with orders to demand ten thousand 
 crowns of Monsieur de Chavigni, as a reward for 
 having discovered it, adding also an elaborate epis- 
 tle to the same effect. 
 
 The Xorman never for a moment entertained a 
 suspicion that the paper he sent was any thing but 
 the identical treaty with Spain, which the conspira- 
 tors had been heard to mention ; and he doubted 
 not that the statesman would willingly pay such a 
 sum for so precious a document. But the embassy 
 of Monsieur Callot did not prave so fortunate as 
 had been anticipated. Presenting himself to Cha- 
 vigni, with as much importance of aspect as the am- 
 bassador from Sia<n, he tendered his credentials, 
 and demanded the reward, at a moment when the 
 statesman was irritated by a thousand anxieties and 
 dangers. 
 
 Making no ceremony with the fine blue and yel- 
 low wax, Chavigni, having read the Norman's epis- 
 tle, soon found his vvay into the inside of the other 
 packet, and beheld in the midst of a thousand signs 
 and figures, unintelligible to any but a professed 
 astrologer, a prophetic scroll containing some dog- 
 grel verses, which may be thus rendered into Eng. 
 lish :— 
 
 THE FATE OF RICHELIEU. 
 
 Bom beneath two mighty stars. 
 Mercury with Mars combined, 
 
 He shall prompt a thousand wars, 
 Nor live the balm of peace to find. 
 
 Less than a king, yet kings shall fall 
 And tremble at his fatal sway 5 
 
 Yet at life's end he shall recall 
 The memory of no happy day. 
 
 And the last year that he shall know, 
 Shall see him fall, and see him rise;
 
 RtCHhlLlEO. 149 
 
 Shall see him yield, yet slay his foe^ 
 And scarcely triumph ere he dies. 
 
 Begot in factions, nursed in strife, 
 Till all his troubled years be past, 
 
 Cunning and care eat up his life, 
 A slave and tyrant first and last. 
 
 Perk Le Rouge. 
 
 Chavigni gazed at the paper in amazement, ancJ 
 then at the face of Monsieur Callot, who, totally 
 unconscious of the content?, remained very non- 
 chalantly expecting the reward. " Ten thousand 
 crowns !" cried the statesman, giving way to his 
 passion. "Ho! without there! take this fellow 
 out and flog him with your huntinjr whips out of 
 I^arbdnne. Away witJi him, and curry him well I" 
 
 The gi'ooms instantly seized upon poor Callot, 
 and executed Chavigni's commands with high glee. 
 The robber, however, though somewhat surprised, 
 bore his flaggellation very patiently ', for under the 
 jerkin which he wore, still lay the rustv iron corslet 
 we have before described, which saved him from 
 appreciating the blows at their full value. 
 
 The matter, however, was yet to be remember- 
 ed, as we shall see 3 for when Callot, on his return 
 to the forest, informed his captain what sort of re- 
 ward he had received for the packet, the Norman's 
 gigantic limbs seemed to swell to a still greater 
 size with a passion, and drawing his sword he put 
 the blade to his lips, swearing, that before twelve 
 months were over, it should drink Chavigni's blood ; 
 and promises of such sort he usually kept most 
 punctually.
 
 150 RlOJlfLlKU. 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 Wherein De Blenau finds out that he has made a raislake, 
 and what follows. 
 
 Having now conducicd ©ur truly-begotten friend 
 the Sieur Marteville, considerably in advance of 
 the rest of the characters in this true history, it be- 
 cgmes us to show our impartiality by detailing the 
 principal actions of our other personages, and also 
 to display the causes which brought the noble Count 
 de Chavigni to such a distance as jSarbonne, a little 
 town in the southern nook of Languedoc, not above 
 a few leagues from Perpignan. However, as all 
 these circumstances are naturally explained in the 
 history of the Count de Blenau, we may as well fol- 
 low him on the useless pursuit into which he had 
 been led by the precipitancy of monsieur Henry 
 de La i>iothe, his page, who would have saved his 
 master a great deal of trouble and distress, as we all 
 know, if he had thought fit to see the -'W^arquise de 
 Beaumont j but young hounds will often cry upon a 
 wrong scent, and mislead those who should know 
 better. 
 
 Thus it happened in the present instance j and 
 De Blenau, blinded by anxiety for Pauline, took 
 the suspicions of his page for granted, without ex- 
 amination. He knew that Chavigni scrupled not 
 at any measures which might serve a political pur- 
 pose ; he knew that the Norman was in the imme- 
 diate employment of the statesman, and was still 
 less delicate in his notions than his master ; jind 
 he doubted not that Pauline, having been discover- 
 ed issuing from the Bastile, had been carried oflf 
 without ceremony, and sent from Paris under the 
 custody of the ci-devant robber. At all events, De 
 Blenau, as he rode along, composed a very plausible 
 chain of reasoning upon the subject ; and far from 
 supposing that the ISorman would avoid the wood
 
 RICHELIEVJ. 151 
 
 in the neighbourhood of Mesnil, he concluded, 
 from his knowledge of Marteville's former habits, 
 that a forest filled with robbers would fulfil all his 
 anticipations of paradise, and be too stroi»g an at* 
 traction to be resisted. 
 
 Thus cogitating, he rode on to Decize, and thecce 
 to Corbigny, where day once more broke upon his 
 path 3 and having been obliged to allow the horses 
 a few hours' rest, he tried in vain for some repose 
 himself. Auxerre was his next halt, but here only 
 granting his domestics one hour to refresh, he pass- 
 ed the Yonne, and soon after entered Champagne, 
 which traversing without stopping, except for a 
 few minutes at Bar sur Seine, he reached Troyes 
 before midnight, with man and horse too wearied to 
 begin their search before the following morning. 
 
 It unluckily so happened that De Blenau did not 
 alight at the hotel of the Grand Soleil, where he 
 might have gained such information as would in all 
 probability have prevented his farther procedings ; 
 and as the keeper of the aberge where he stopped 
 was at open war with the landlord of the Grand 
 Solcii, to all the inquiries which were made the 
 Qext morning, the only reply the aubergiste thought 
 fit to give was, that '-indeed he could not tell 5 
 he had never seen such a person as De Blenau de- 
 scribed the Norman to be, or such a lady as Pau- 
 line }'' though be it remarked, every body in the 
 house, after having gazed at Marteville and Louise 
 for a full hour on their arrival, had watched their 
 motions every day, and had wondered themselves 
 stifl'at who they could be and what they could want. 
 At length, however, De Blenau caught hold of an un- 
 sophisticated hostler, of whom he asked if within 
 the last ten days he had see a carriage stop or pass 
 thrcugh the town, containing two such persons as 
 he described. 
 
 The hostler replied, " ISo ; that they seldom saw 
 carriages there ; that a tall gentleman, like the one 
 he mentioned, had ridden out of the town just two 
 days before with a lady on horseback ; but devil a
 
 1^2 RICHELIEU. 
 
 carriage had their been in Troyes for six years or 
 more, except that of Monseignear the governor.'' 
 
 De Blenau, glad of the least intimation where 
 r.ews seemed so scanty, now described the iSorman 
 as particularly as he could from what he had seen 
 of him while speaking to Chavigni in the park of St. 
 Germain's, dwelling upon his giganlic proportions, 
 and the remarkable cut upon liis cheek. 
 
 " Yes. yes 1" replied the hostler, '• that v/as the 
 man 5 I saw him ride out with s.jolie demoiselle on 
 the road to Mesnil St. Loup : but devil a carriage 
 has there been in Troyes for six years or more, 
 except that of ."^lonsiegneur tlie governor.'' 
 
 "Well; well/"'" replied De Blenau, wishing if pos- 
 sible to hear more, "perhaps they might not be in 
 a carriage. But can you teil me whe ^e they lodged 
 while inthe city of Troyes ?" 
 
 Even tlie obtuse wculiies of the hostler had been 
 drilled into knowing nothing of any other aubergc 
 in the- town but his own. " Can't tell/" replied h^e. 
 " Saw him and the lady ride out on horseback ; but 
 devil a carriage has there 'been in Tr«yes for six 
 years or more, except that of 3fonseigneur tlie gov- 
 ernor." 
 
 Jt may have been remarked, that a certain degree 
 of impatience and hastiness of determination v.'as 
 one of the prevailing.faults of De Bienau's disposi- 
 tion : and in this case, without waiting for farther 
 examination, he set out in pursuit of t'le iSor.nian as 
 soon as his horses were ready, merely inquiring if 
 there was any castie in the neighborhood of 7»/es- 
 nil wjiich might serve for the confinement of state 
 prisoners. 
 
 The landlord, f^^ whom the question was address- 
 ed, immediately determined in his ow^n mind that 
 De Blenau was an n:-cr.t f f the government ; and re- 
 plied, " Aone, Ihnt fie kriew of. but the old chjiteau 
 of St. Loup; but thn.t A'onseigneur had belter have 
 it repaired before he confined any one there, for it 
 was so ruinous they would get out, t.» a certainty, 
 if they were placed there i.a its present Etatc."
 
 aiCHELIER 
 
 De Blenau smiled at the mistake, bat prepos- 
 sessed with the idea that the Norman was carrying 
 Pauline to some place of secret imprisonment, he 
 determined at once to proceed to the spot the au- 
 bergiste mentioned, and to traverse the wood from 
 the high road to Troyes, as the most likely route on 
 which to encounter the Norman, against whom he 
 vowed tl»e most summary vengeance, if fortune 
 should afford him the opportunity. | 
 
 As, from every report upon the subject, the for- 
 est had been for some time past the resort of ban- 
 ditti, De Blenau gave orders to his servants to hold 
 themselves upon their guard, and took the precau- 
 tion of throwing forward two of his shrewdest fol- 
 lowers, as a sort of reconnoitring party, to give him 
 intelligence of the least noise which could indicate 
 the presence of any human being besides them- 
 selves. But all these measures seemed to be un- 
 necessary ; not a sound met the ear ; and De Ble- 
 nau's party soon began to catch glimpses of the old 
 chateau of St. Loup, through the breaks in the 
 wood ; and gradually winding round towards the 
 east, gained the slope which gave them a clear 
 view of the whole building. • 
 
 Tl)e whole appearance of the place was so deso- 
 late and dilapidated, that the first glance convinc- 
 ed De Blenau that Chavigni would never dream of 
 confining Pauline within such ruinous walls ; as the 
 mere consideration of her rank would prevent him 
 from usin? any unnecessary severity, though her 
 successful attempt to penetrate into the Bastille 
 afforded a plausible excuse for removing her from 
 Paris. However, in order not to leave the least 
 doubt upon the subject, he mounted to the court- 
 yard, and having ascertained that every part of the 
 building was equally unfit for the purposes of a pris- 
 on, and that it was actually uninhabited except by 
 ovvls and ravens, he determined to cross to a 
 town, the tpirc of whose church he saw rising on
 
 154 RlVtiLLlKa 
 
 the opposite hill, and to pursue his.seetch in-BOine 
 other direction. 
 
 Descending, therefore, by the same elope which 
 he had prerioasly mounted, he wound round the 
 base of the hill much in ihe same patS> by wiiich 
 Callot had conducted the iNomian and Louise. 
 Th3 stream, however, formed the boundary «»f his 
 approach to the castle on that side 5 and passing 
 the rocks, which we have already mentioned as 
 strewed about at the foot of the precipices, he fol- 
 lowed the course of the river, till, winding into the 
 wood, the castle, and the hill on whicii it etood, 
 were lost to the sight. Here as he rude slowly on, 
 revolving various plans for more successfully pur- 
 8uin;5 the INorman, and reproaching liimselt for not 
 having made more accurate inquiries at Troyes, his 
 eye was suddenly attracted by the appearance of 
 something floating on the river like the long black 
 hair of a young woman. 
 
 De Blenau's heart sank within hiih ; his courage 
 failed, his whole strength seemed to give way, 
 and he sat upon his horse like a statute, pointing 
 with his hand towards the object that had thus af- 
 fected him, but without the power of uttering any 
 Order concerning it. 
 
 In the meanwhile the hair vyav.ed slowly back- 
 wards and forwards upon the stream, and one of the 
 servants perceiving it, dismounted from his horse, 
 waded into the water, and catching it in his grasp, 
 began dragging the body to which it was atiached 
 towards tiie brink. Ashe did so, the part of a red 
 serge dress, such as that in which Pauline had visit- 
 ed the Bistille, floated to the surlace, and offered a 
 hornbie confirmation of De Blenau's fears. The 
 first shock, however, was passed, and leaping from 
 his horse with agony depicted in his sirainmg eye, 
 be sprang down the bank into the stream, and 
 raising the f ice of the dead person above the water, 
 beheld the countenance of Louise. 
 
 Perhaps the immoderate joy which De Blenau 
 felt at ^thifi Mgbt might be Wrong, but it wa«
 
 RICHELIEU. 
 
 1D5 
 
 ^natural ; and sitting down on the bank, he coverc } 
 •his face with his hands, overcome by the violent 
 T-evolution of feeling v/hich so suddenly took place 
 in his bosom. 
 
 In the meanwhile his servants drew the body of 
 the unfortunate girl to the bank, and speedily dis- 
 covered that the mode of her death had been of a 
 more horrible description than even that which 
 tliQv had at first supposed ; for in her bosom appear- 
 ed a deep broad gash as if from the blow of a pon- 
 iard, which had undoubtedly deprived her of life 
 before her murderer committed the body to the 
 strenm. 
 
 According to the costume of her country. Louise 
 •had worn upon the day of her death two large 
 ■tvhite pockets above tbre jupe of red serge. These 
 were still attached to the black velvet bodice which 
 she displayed in honor of her marriage with the 
 Norraao, and contained a variety of miscellaneous 
 articles, among which were -several epistles from 
 her husband to herself in the dr.ys of their court- 
 ship, which showed De Blenau that she had been 
 employed as a spy upon Pauline and Madame de 
 Beaumont ever since their arrival at St. Germains : 
 added to these was a certificate of marriage between 
 Jean Baptiste Marteviile and Louise Thibault, cel- 
 ebrated in the cliapd of the Palais Cardinal, by 
 Francois Giraud. All this fed De Blenau to con- 
 clude that he had been misled in regard to the 
 cause of Pauline's absence from St. Germnin'6,and 
 he accordingly proceeJed to the little bourg of 
 Senecy on his return towards Troj-es, making his 
 men bear thither the body of Louise witii as much 
 decent solemnity as the circumstances admitted. 
 Having here intrusted to the good cure of the place 
 the charge of the funeral, and given two sums for 
 the very different purposes of promoting the dis- 
 covery ofthe murderer and buying a hundred masses 
 for the soul of the deceased, De Blenau, pursued 
 his journey, and arrived at Troyes before night. 
 Putting up this time at the 'hotel of the Grand
 
 150 RICUKLILC 
 
 Soleil, De Blenaii soon acquired sufficient informa- 
 tion to confirm him in the opinion that the J>sor- 
 man had been accompanied by Louise alone ; but 
 at the same time, the accounts which the people of 
 the house' gave respecting the kii>dness and affec- 
 tion that Marteville had shown his bride, greatly 
 shook the suspicions which had been entertained 
 against him by De Blenau, who, unacquainted with 
 any such character as that of the JNornran, knew 
 not that there are men who, like tigers when un- 
 yrged by hunger, wiil play with their victims before 
 they destroy them. 
 
 The next morning early, all was prepared for the 
 departure of De Blenau, on liis return to Moulins, 
 when his farlner progress in tliat direction was ar- 
 rested by the arrival of Henry de La il/othe, his 
 page, accompanied by one of the king's couriers, 
 who immediately presented to the co«7'.t two pack- 
 ets, of which he had been tiie bearer from St. Ger- 
 main's. The firsi of these seemed, from the super- 
 scription, to be a common official document ; but 
 the second attracted all liis attention, and made his 
 heart beat high by presenting to him the genuine 
 handwriting of PauUine deBeaumont.Wfthout mean- 
 ing any oflence to royally, whose insignia were im- 
 pressed upon the seal of the other packet, De Ble- 
 nau eagerly cut the silk which fastened tie billet 
 from Pauline. It contained only alow lines, but 
 these, were quite sufficient to give renewed happi- 
 ness to the heart of him who read it. She had just 
 beard, she said, that the king's mes^scnger was 
 aBout to set out, and though they hardly gave her 
 time to fold her paper, yet she would not let any 
 one be before her iu congratulating him on his 
 freedom to direct his course wheresoever he pleas- 
 ed. She could not divine, she continued, whether 
 his choice would lead him to St. Germain's, but if 
 it did, perhaps he might be treated to the history of 
 an errant demoiselle, who had suffered various ad- 
 ventures in endeavoring to liberate her true knigl^t 
 from prison.
 
 SICHEUEU. 157 
 
 'Be Bienau read it over again, and then lurmrd to 
 ^he other paper, which merely notified that the 
 Icing, contented with his royal and peaceable be- 
 haviour while reiegu^ ra Bourbon, had been gra- 
 -ciously pleased to relieve him from the restrictions 
 -under which he had been placed for his own benefit 
 and the state's security ; and informed him, in short 
 that he had leave, liberty, and licence, to turn his 
 steps whithersoever he listed. 
 
 '* To St. Germain's .'"' cried De Bienau, gayly. 
 "To St. Germain's!" You, Henry de La Molhe, 
 ■stay here with Franccois and Clement, Take good 
 care of Monsieur rOrdinarie, and see that he be re- 
 warded." — The messenger made him a reverence. — 
 *' After you have reposed yourself here for a day," 
 continued the count, " return to Moulins ; pay »ic- 
 Ire proprieiaire, and all that may be there due. 
 There is the key of the coffre fort. Use all speed ' 
 that you well may, and then join me at home. And 
 now for St. Germain's." 
 
 So saying he sprang on his horse as lisht as air, 
 gave the well-known signal with his heel, and in a 
 moment was once more on the road to Paris. 
 
 Although I find a minute account of De Blenau's 
 ■whole journey to St. Germain's with the towns arui 
 inns at which he stopped, marked with the precis- 
 ion of a road-book, J shall nevertheless take upon 
 myself the responsibility of abridging it as far as 
 well can be, by saying that it began and ended hap- 
 pily. 
 
 The aspect of St. Germain's, however, had very 
 much changed since De Bienau left it. Louis had 
 -now fixed his residence there 5 his confidence i-n 
 the queen seemed perfectly restored ; every counte- 
 Hflnce glowed with that air of satisfaction, which 
 such a renewal of good intelligence naturally pro- 
 duced ; and the royal residence had once more as- 
 sumed the appearance of a court. 
 
 The first welcome received by De Bienau was 
 -from his gallant friend Cinq Mars, at whose request 
 bis recall had been granted by the king, and who
 
 158 aiCHKLIEU. 
 
 now, calculating the tiiae of the exile's return, stood' 
 at the door of De Blenau'3 hotel, ready to meet him 
 on his arrival. 
 
 •'' Welcome, welcome back ! my long-lost friend 
 Claude de Blenau,'* exclaimed Cinq Mars, as the- 
 count spraag from his horse ; '* welcome from the 
 midst of prisons and trials, perils and dangers ."' 
 
 "And vveli met gallant Cinq Mars, the noble and 
 the true," replied De Blenau. " But tell me, in 
 heaven's name. Cinq JNJars, what makes all this 
 change at St. Germain's 1 Why, it looks as if the 
 forest were a fair, and that the old town had put on- 
 its holiday suit to come and see it." 
 
 " Aay, nay ! rather like a true dame that dresses- 
 herself out for her lover's return, it has made itself" 
 fine to receive you back again, replied the masterr 
 of the horse. '' But if ynu would really know the- 
 secret of all the change that you see now. and will 
 see still more wonderfully as you look farther, it is 
 this. Richelieu is ill atTarascon, and his name is 
 scarcely remembered at the court, though Chavig- 
 ni, that bold rascal, and Mazarin, that subtle one, 
 come prowling about to maintain, if possible, their 
 master's sway. But the spell is broken, and Louis 
 is beginning to be a king again : so we shall see 
 bright dnys yet.'' 
 
 '* 1 hope so ; in truth f hope so, Cinq Mars," repli- 
 ed De Blenau. '■ But at ail events, we will enjoy 
 the change so far as it has gone. And now, what 
 news ut the palace { How fare all the lovely ladies- 
 of the court V 
 
 "Why well," answered Cinq Mars j. '•' all well } 
 though I know, De Blenau, that your question, in 
 comprising a hundred, meant but one only. Well, 
 what say you ? — I have seen thy Pauline, and cannot 
 but allow that thy taste is marvellous good. There 
 is a wild grace about her, well worth all the formal' 
 dignity of a court. One gets tired of the stiff court- 
 esy and- the precise bow ; the kissing of. hands and. 
 the Ujsping-of names ; the momeigneurings and the
 
 RICHELIEU. 150 
 
 madttminga, Fif ! one Httle touch of natiird is worth 
 
 it all." 
 
 ' But answer me one question, Jl/onsieur le 
 Grand,'' said De B;cuau. '•' Ho v catne there a re- 
 port about, that Pauline had been carried oli" by 
 some of the cardinal's pf>ople, and that no one knew 
 where she was ? for suoh a tale reached me even ia 
 Btjur'iion." 
 
 " Is it possible that you are the last to hear that 
 stnry T' exclaimed Cinq iWars. " Why, though the 
 old marquise, and the rest at the palace, afiecl to 
 keep it a secret, every one knows the advfentur^fi 
 of yo'jr denwiseUe eirante,'' 
 
 De Blenau's cheek flushed to hear such anime 
 applied to Pauline; but Cinq Mars continued, ob- 
 serving that his friend was hurt — " Nay, nay. every 
 one admires her for the whole business, and no one 
 more than I. But. as I was saying, all ihe world 
 knows it. The queen herself told it to Monsieur 
 de Louienie, and he to tiis cousin De Thou, and De 
 Tiinu to me*, and so it goes on. Well, but I must 
 taiye up the gossip's tale at the bc;2;inning. The 
 queen, wishing to communicate with ynu in pris- 
 on, could Hnd no messenger, who, for either g'dd or 
 fair words, would venture his hend into the rat- 
 trap, except your fair Pauline; and she, it seems, 
 attempted twice to get into the Bostille, once by 
 day and once at night, but bnth times fruitlessly. 
 How it happened I hardly remember, but by sonve 
 means Chavigni, thrf*^h some of his creatures, 
 winded the whole aflair ; and, posting from Chantil- 
 ly to Pnris, catches my fair lady in tlie very effort, 
 disguised as a soubrette ; down he pounces, like a 
 falcon on a partridge, and having secured the delin- 
 quent, places her in a carriage, which, with the 
 speed of light, cimveys her away to his castle in 
 Maine, where Madame I* Comtesse de Chav'ii^ni — 
 who. by the way. is an angel according to all ac- 
 counts—receives the young lady and entertains her 
 with all kindness. Ia the mea:n whil6. MoHsiieui^ 
 le Coiitpte d« Bienalt is exdmiaed by thd kin|^iii
 
 ieO . RICHELIEU* 
 
 person, and instead of having his head cut off, is 
 merely relegu^ in Bourbon : upon which Chavigni 
 finds he has lost his labour, and is obliged to send 
 for the pretty prisoner back again with all speed." 
 
 Although De Blenau was aware, from his own 
 personal experience, that Cinq Mars had mistaken 
 several parts of his history, he did not think tit to 
 Bet him right, and the master of the horse proceed- 
 ed ; " However, let us into thy hotel. Get thy 
 dinner, wash the dust from thy beard, array thyself 
 in an unsullied doublet, and we will hie to the 
 dwelling of thy lady fair, to glad her eyes with the 
 sight of thy sweet person." 
 
 De Blenau smiled at his friend's raillery, and as 
 the proposal very well accorded with his wishes, 
 every moment seeming misspent that detained him 
 from Pauline, he changed his dress as speedilv as 
 possible, and was soon ready to accompany Cinq 
 A/ars to the palace. 
 
 As they proceeded on their way towards the 
 gates of the park, a figure presented itself, which, 
 from its singularity, was worthy of notice. It was 
 that of a tall, thin, raw-boned man, who, naturally 
 possessing a countenance of the ugliest cast of Ital- 
 ian ugliness, had rendered it still more disagreeable 
 by the enormous length of his mustachios, which 
 would have far overtopped his nose, had it been a 
 nose of any ordinary proportion 3 but a more exten- 
 sive, pear-shaped, ill-adapted organ never project- 
 ed from a human countenanae 5 and this, together 
 with a pair of small, flaming black eyes, which it 
 seemed to bear forward with it above the rest of the 
 face, protruding from a mass of beard and hair, in- 
 stantly reminding the beholder of a badger looking 
 out of a hole. The chin, however, bore no pro- 
 portion to the nose, and seemed rather to slink 
 away from it in an oblique direction, apparently 
 overawed by its more ambitious neighbour. 
 
 The dress of this delectable personage was a 
 medley of the French and Flemish costumes. He 
 wore a gray vest of silk, with sleeves slashed at
 
 RICHELIBO. 161 
 
 the elbow, and the shirt, which was not conspicu- 
 ously clean, buttoned at the wrist with agate studs. 
 His Haute, de chausse, which was of deep crimson, 
 and bore loops and ribands of yellow, was fringed 
 rotmd the leg.near the knees, with a series of brazen 
 tags or points but indifferently silvered ; and as he 
 walked along with huge steps, these aforesaid tags 
 clattered together with a sort of important sound, 
 which, put in combination with the rest of his ap- 
 pearance, drew many a laugh from the boys of St. 
 Germain's. Over his gray vest was drawn a straight- 
 cut doublet of yellow silk, without sleeves 5 and a 
 pair of long boots, of untanned leather, covered all 
 defects which might otherwise have been apparent 
 in his hose. His dress was completed by a tawdry 
 bonnet with a high black plume j and a Toledo 
 blade of immeasurable length, with a worked iron 
 hilt and black scabbard hung by his side, describ- 
 ing with its point various strange figures on the dust 
 of the road. 
 
 '* Here comes Villa Grande, the Italian lute- 
 player," exclaimed Cinq Mars the moment he saw 
 him. " Do you know him, De Blenau ?" 
 
 " 1 have heard him play on his instrument and 
 sing at your house," replied De Blenau ; "and from 
 his language that night, may say I know him 
 through and through, for a boasting coxcomb, with 
 as much courage as the sheath of a rapier — which 
 looks as good as u rapier itself till it is touched, 
 and then it proves all emptiness. Mind you hovv 
 he boasted of having routed whole squadrons when 
 he served in the Italian horse ? and I dare say he 
 would run from a stuffed pikeman in an old hall." 
 
 "Nay, nay ; you do him wrong, Claude," replied 
 Cinq Mars. " He has rather too much tongue, it is 
 true ; but that is not always the sign of a bad hound. 
 I must speak to him, however, for he does me ser- 
 vice. Well, Signor Villa Grand," continued he, 
 addressing the Italian, who now approached, swing- 
 ing an enormous oane in his hand, and from time 
 to time curling up the end of his raustachios ; "you
 
 162 ~ aiCflEtlElh 
 
 remember that you are to be ready at a moment's 
 notice. Be sure, also, that your mind be made upj 
 for I tell you fairly, the service which you under- 
 take is Olio of danger." 
 
 " Monsieur,' replied the iLalian with a strong 
 foreign accent, •' 1 will be ready, when you call up- 
 on me. in shorter time than you could draw your 
 sword ; and as for my mind being marie up, if there 
 were an nrmy drawn out to oppose my progress, I 
 would be bound to carry the despatch to tiie Duke 
 of Bouillon, or die in the attempt. Fear not my 
 yielding it to any body ; piutosto morir vol' io, as 
 the song has it," and he hummed a fevv bars of one 
 of his native airs. " Oh Dio .'" continued he, re- 
 cognising De Blenau, who liad turned away on per- 
 ceiving that Cinq Mars spoke to the ltaii:in<>n some 
 business of a private nature. " Oh L'io ! Monsieur 
 le Counte de Blenau, is it really you returned at 
 last? Benedetto quel gioino felice ! Doubtless you 
 are aware of the glorious plans of your triend 
 Mon>ieurle Grand." 
 
 . '• Good day, signor," answered De Blennu ; " I 
 know of no one's plans but my own, the m- st glori- 
 ous of which, within my apprehension at present, is 
 to got to the palace as soon as possible. Come, 
 Cinq Mars, are you at leisure !" and he took a step 
 or two in advance, while the master of the horse 
 gave the Italian a warning to put a bridle on his 
 tongue, and not to let ii run so loosely w^iihoul any 
 regard to necessary caution. 
 
 " For Heaven's sake, take care what you are 
 about, ('inq Mars!" said De Blerau, when he was 
 again joined byJiis friend. "OC course you are the 
 best judge of your own plans ; but unless you have 
 a mind to ruin them all, do not Unr them to .such 
 a babbling idiot as that ; and beware that, in attempt- 
 ing to catch a lion, you do not get torn yourself.^ 
 
 '•Oh, no fear," replipd the grand ecuyer ; ' ibat 
 fellow knows nothing more than it is absolutely 
 B«<ie98af J for hiia to know ; and aa for the rest, I
 
 RICHELIEU. 163 
 
 have pIuDgied into a wide sea, Claude, and must 
 Bwim to land somehow." 
 
 They had by this time reached the gates on the 
 palace, and Cinq JVlnrs, knowing tl-.at some meet- 
 ings are better in privtiie, left his friend, and turned 
 his steps towards the apartments of the king. 
 
 In the mean wiiile. De Blenau proceeded with a 
 rapid pace towards thnt part of the palace which 
 had been assigned to Madame de Beaumont ; and 
 his heart beat with that wild uncontrollable emo- 
 tion, whicli the meeting with one dearly loved can 
 alone produce. At that very moment similar sen- 
 sations were throbbing in the bosom of Pauline de 
 Beaumont, who from the window had seen the af>- 
 proach of Cinq Mars and another ; and long before 
 her eye could distinguish a feature, her heart had 
 told her who it was. A sort of irresistibl'^ impulse 
 led her, at first, to fly towards the door by which 
 she expected him to enter ; but before she was half 
 across the room, some other feeling came over her 
 mind. She returned to her seat at the window, 
 and a blush stole over her cheek, though there was 
 no otiier person present to observe her emotion or 
 pry into its cause. 
 
 The door was partially open, and more than once 
 she raised her eyes towards i', and thought that De 
 Blennu was long in coming so short a distance. 
 But presently she heard his step, and there was an 
 impatient eagerness even in the sound ot his foot- 
 fall that convinced her he lost no time. Another 
 moment and he entered the room— ^very feeling but 
 one was at an end, and Pauline was in his arms. 
 
 It is not at the moment when a lover has endured 
 many sorrows, and escap d from many dangers, that 
 a gentle heart cnn practise even the every-day af- 
 fectations which a great part of the world are pleas- 
 ed to mistake for delicacy ; and far less inclined to 
 attempt it than any other person in the world, was 
 Pauline de Beaumont. The child of nature and 
 simplicity, her delicacy was that of an elegant mind 
 and a puro heart Of whal she did feel she con-
 
 164 ^RICHELIEU. 
 
 cealed little, ^ind affected nothing ; and De Blerau 
 was happy. 
 
 or course there was a great deal to be told, and 
 De Blenau was listening delighted to an account of 
 the considerate kindness with which the Countess 
 de Chavigni had treated his Pauline, when the 
 sound of voices approacMng towards them stopped 
 her in her history. 
 
 It is precisely at such moments as those when 
 we wish every body but ourselves away, that the 
 world is most likely to intrude upon us ; and Pau- 
 line and De Blenau had not met more than five 
 minutes, as it seemed to them, when the queen and 
 Madame De Beaumont entered the apartment. 
 How long they had been really together is another 
 question, for lovers' feelings are not always the 
 truest watches. 
 
 " Welcome, -my faithful De Blenau," said the 
 <5ueen. " We encountered the grand ecuyer but 
 now, who told us where we §hou!d find you. For 
 my own part, I suppose I must in all justice forgive 
 your paying your devoirs here before you came to 
 visit even me. However, ere there be any one 
 near to overhear, I must thank you for all you have 
 done for me, and for all you have suffered on my 
 account. Nor must I forget my little heroine here, 
 who went through all sorts of peril and danger in 
 conveying my message to you in the Bastille." 
 
 " Your majesty was very good in sending me such 
 an angel of comfort," replied De Blenau. " And 
 certainly, had it not been for the commands she 
 brought' me. I believe that his most (.'hristian-like 
 eminence of Richelieu would have doomed me to 
 the torture for my obstinacv." 
 
 " Put it in other words, De Blenau.-' said Anne of 
 Austria. " You mean that you would have endur- 
 ed the torture sooner than betray yourqueen. But 
 truly, Pauline must have a stout heart to have carried 
 through such an undertaking ; and 1 think that the 
 fidelity and attachment which you have both shown 
 to me, offers a fair promise for your conduct to-
 
 IllCili-LiEV. 165 
 
 wards each other. What say you, iWadame de Beau- 
 mont?" 
 
 " 1 think, madame, replied the marcT»ioness, " that 
 Pauline has done her duty with more firmness than 
 most girls could have commanded : and that De 
 Blenau has done his as well as it could be done." 
 
 '' Pauline merits more praise than her mother 
 ventures to give," said the queen. " But I had for- 
 got the king's summons •, and probably he is even 
 now waiting for us. Come, JPauline ; come, De 
 Blenau. Louis gives high commendation to your 
 demeanor in prison } let us see how he greets you 
 out of it." 
 
 A message had been conveyed lo Anne of Aus- 
 tria, just before the arrival of De Blenau, intimating 
 that the king had desired to see her ; and she now 
 led the way to the Salle Ronde, as it was then caD- 
 ed, or the Salle dcs Muses, as it was afterward nam- 
 ed by Louis the Fourteenth, where the king waited 
 her approach. Although the uncertain nature of 
 Louis's temper always made her feel some degree 
 of apprehension when summoned to his presence, 
 the kindness he had lately shown lier, and the 
 presence of a large proportion of her friends, made 
 her obey his call with more pleasure than she usual- 
 ly felt on similar occasions. 
 
 Louis's object, in the present instance, w;is to 
 inform the queen of the journey he was abou!. to 
 make into the neiglibourhood of Fernignan, in onler 
 to confirni the inhabitants of lloussillon in tlitir 
 new allegiance to the crown -^f France 5 and Cinq 
 Mars, who had always sincerely witjied the welfare 
 of Anne of Austria, took this opportunity of insinua- 
 ting to the king, that to show publicly liis restored 
 conlidence in the queen, so far from lessening liis 
 authoriiy, oven in appearance, would be in truth 
 only assr,itin;T his own dignity, from which the pro- 
 cce«Ungsof Fiichelieu had so greatly derogated. 
 
 De Blenau and Pauline followed a step or two be- 
 hind' the queen and iliadamc de Beaumont, and 
 would willingly have lingered still lojngor by them-
 
 166 RICHELIEU 
 
 selves ; but as something must alwnys be sacrificed 
 to appearance, they quickened their pace as Anne 
 of Austria approached the door of the Salic Ronde, 
 and came up with lier just as she entered the room 
 in which the principrl part of the French court was 
 assembled. The moment she appeared. Louis ad- 
 vanced towards the queen from the brilliant circle 
 in which he stood, and embraced her affectionate- 
 ly. "Welcome, my fair lady," said he. " I see 
 you have brought the new returned exile with you. 
 — Monsieur de Blenau, I am glad to see you at 
 court ; — this is a pleasanter place than where we 
 met last.'" 
 
 "I can assure you, sire.** replied De Blenau, 
 •' that I will never be willingly in circumstances to 
 meet your majesty there again.*' 
 
 '• 1 do not doubt it, I do not doubt it," said the 
 king. " You should thank Heaven that delivered 
 you from such peril. Sir Count. — Madam '' he con- 
 tinued, turning to the queen, " I requested to see 
 you, not only for the pleasure which your presence 
 mubt always ^ive, but to inform you,' that affairs of 
 state will "sliortly call me to Tsarbonne, in Langue- 
 dcrc, from whence 1 shall return with all conveni- 
 ent speed."' 
 
 '• Your majesty soon leaves St. Germain's, " re- 
 plied the queen. " I do not think }ou love it for a 
 sojourn, as in <.ther days." 
 
 •Kotso." answered Louis: "so well do I love 
 it, that T had purposed to have worn out the rest 
 of my days here, hr.d not the duties of my (station 
 called mo lienre : but my return will be speedy if 
 • God give me life. — What man can say how long he 
 may remain ? and I feel many a warning that my 
 time will 1 e but short in this world. — Tla I what 
 mean tlK-.-^e drops in your eyes? — 1 did r-ot know, 
 Anne, tliat such were your feelings." And he 
 pressed the queen's hand, uhich be had continued 
 tt) retain in his. 
 
 " Oh Louis :"' replied Anne of Austria, and by that 
 Fimple exclamation conveyed a more delicate »«- 
 
 i
 
 RICHELIEU. 167 
 
 proach to the heart of her husband than she could 
 nave done by any other expression in the range of 
 language. Louis felt it, and drawing her arm kind- 
 ly through his own, Uf proposed aloud tlial the 
 whole party should waik iorth upon the terrace. It 
 was the queen's favorite spot, and she easily under- 
 Bt«-'i«d that it was meant as some atonement for 
 many a former slight. Those, too, who stood round 
 and saw what had taken place, began to perceive 
 that a new star was dawning in the horizon, and 
 ttirned their eyes to watch its progress and court its 
 influence. 
 
 Tho king and queen were followed by t!ie great- 
 er part of tlie court: and during the walk Lauis 
 continued to manifest that kindness towards his 
 wife, which, had it been earlier shown, might have 
 given him a life of happiness. Let me beg you, 
 madam,-' said he, as at length they turned to enter 
 the palace, " not only to be careful of our chil- 
 dren, for that I am sure you will be, but also to be 
 careful of their rnother, for my sake.'' 
 
 The queen's feelings were overpowering; the 
 tears rtdJed rapidly down her checks, taking from 
 her all power of utterance, and quitting the king, 
 ai'ier pressing his hand to her lips, she retired to 
 her own apartments, to indulge in so'itude the new 
 and d.elightful emotions which her husband's un- 
 fxpecied kindness had excited. 
 
 CHAPTER XIII 
 
 Whicli slicws til."! tlie infimRnt and t!ie rnnnner have often 
 more lo do witU i'uccess dian llie in •Iter 
 
 The various preparations for the king's journey 
 into Roussillon occupied no small space of time:
 
 IQ^ RICHELIEU. 
 
 Litters and carriages were to be provided ; relays of 
 horses to be stationed on the road j cooks and victu- 
 allers were to be sent forward 3 and a thousand oth- 
 er arrangements to be made, required either by the 
 general difficulty of locomotion in those days, or 
 by the failing health of the king. It was not'lhen, 
 as in the present time, when monarchs and subjects 
 travel with equal facility all over the globe : when 
 a king gets into his travelling chaise with no more 
 to do than x private man. and is carried along over 
 a level road without let or hinderance jolt or jumb- 
 ling, to whatsoever place his fancy may incline 
 him. The journey of a sovereign was then as for- 
 midable an undertaking as the passage of the great 
 desert to a modern traveller, and required fully as 
 much provision and circumspection. 
 
 One great object of Richelieu's policy had been 
 to diminish the feudal influence of the nobility, and 
 by forcing them to reside with the court, to 'break 
 through tlieir constant communication with their 
 vassals. In pursuit of this, he had drawn the greater 
 part of the nobles to Paris ; and now that his ab- 
 sence and declining favor with the king dissolved 
 the charm which seemed to hold them in the capi- 
 tal, they congregated at St. Germain's like a flock 
 of bees^ that, having lost their hive, flew forth in 
 search of a new one. Many rf these were bound, 
 bv their various offices in the household, to accom- 
 pany the king in lus present joo.rney ; others were 
 particularly invited to do so either by Louis himself 
 or by Cinq Mars and Fontraiiles, who sought to 
 turrouud the king with those who, on any sudden 
 emergency, might support their party against the 
 cardinal ; "and a crowd of others from vanity or in- 
 terest, curiosity or ambition, were glad to follow in 
 the train of the monarch. 
 
 Thus the greater part of the nobles who had 
 flocked to St. Germain's, on Richelieu's departure 
 from Paris, now again left it in order to take part 
 in the journey to Narbonne. As all the horsea, and 
 "Very sort of accommodation on the direct road.
 
 RiaitKLTKD . ie^ 
 
 Were engaged for the service of the king and those 
 iminadiateiy attendant upon him. the greater part 
 of vise court took the indirect roads by vvhich they 
 could always b3 near tlie royal party 3 and the rest 
 followed a day or two after, taking advantage of 
 whatever conveaiencos might be left unappropriat- 
 ed. 
 
 There were one or two, however, who departed 
 bo'ore Louis, and of these the principal was Ciia- 
 vigni, who set out accompanied by a few servants, 
 two or three days prior to that appointed for the 
 k'ng's expedition. His ostensible destination was, 
 like tliat of the rast of the court, to Narbonae 5 but 
 turning to the left, he directed his course towards 
 Tarascon, and having travelled with the utmost 
 rapidity, wliile Louis proceeded by easy stages, he 
 had quite sufficient lime to communicate fully with 
 Richelieu, and to proceed to iNarbonnc before the 
 king's arrival. 
 
 The journey into Uoussillon had been undertak- 
 en by the express advice of Richelieu ; and though 
 Cinq M.iis ventured boldly to attack the conduct 
 of iho cardinal in evrn-y respect^ to place ail his 
 measures in the worst point of view, and to encour- 
 age every sentiment in the king's mind which was 
 in o,)position to those of the minister, still no 
 change, or even a proposal of change in the gov* 
 ernm'jnt had been mentioned, up'to the time of the 
 court reaching JNaibounc. Richelieu was still 
 prime minister, and the council remained composed 
 of persons devoted to his interest, tliough the views 
 of Cinq Mars were already spoken (>f in more than 
 one circle, and the consent of the king was so far 
 assumed as a matter decided, that the two parlies 
 were distinguished by the names of Royalist and 
 Catdinaiist. 
 
 While ll»e court remained with the army near 
 
 Perpiga.in. and after its removal to JS'arbonne, 
 
 Richelieu siill lav dangerously ill at Tarascon. His 
 
 I mind was deeply depressed, as well as hia copoeal 
 
 VOL. II 12
 
 ^fQ KlCKELiEU, 
 
 {(Owers ', and in the opinion of all, a few weeks were , 
 ikely to terminate both his ministry and his exis- 
 tencC; even if the eager hand of his enemies did 
 not hurry him onward to more rapid destruction. 
 But the fiery spirit of Cinq Mare brooked no delayj 
 the lazy course of natural decay was too slow for 
 his impatience ; and though De Thou, who accom- 
 pinied ^his friend to Narbonne, reiterated in his 
 cars the maxims of caution and wisdom, on the 
 other hand Fontraiiles, fearful lest he should lose 
 the merit and consequent influence he should ac- 
 quire by the removal of Richelieu, never ceased to 
 urge the favorite to hurry on the compleiion of 
 their design. 
 
 In the meantime, every thing seemed favorable 
 to the conapiratorg ; and Cinq Mare felt confident 
 that the secret inclination of Louis would second 
 all his views j but neverthelese, he wished for some 
 more public and determinate expression of the 
 king's opinion, before he asked his consent to the 
 measures which had been concerted. After the 
 arrival of the court at Karbonne; however, the 
 monarch's conduct in respect to Rlchelieti became 
 of so decisive acharacte-, tliat no farther delay ap- 
 peared necessary. Withiss a few miles ot* the 
 place where the "cardinal lay ill, the kii.ij seemed 
 entirely to have forgotten 
 or only to remember hin 
 if it was ever mentioned, 
 
 ii's countenance an expression of uncaijineBs and 
 disapprobation j and by no chance was the king 
 ever heard to pronounce it bimself. By all these 
 circumstances, Cinq Mars was determined to com- 
 municate to Louis, as soon ns poBeiblc, (he schemes 
 which had been formed for freeing the country 
 from the yoke of Uichelicii. Ke si'.f'crGd, liowevcr, 
 •everal days to elnpse in waiiin,^ for a favorabio 
 opportunity, and at lenith, as often happens.. gro>v- 
 jng impatient of delay rtook perhaps the most in- 
 auspicious moment that could have been selected. 
 
 rfmal lay iH, the kn.ij seemed 
 !)iten that auch a man existed, J 
 him with hatred. Hia name, i 
 sed, instantly called ir.to Lou- *
 
 illCHELlEU. 171 
 
 tt was on a morning when every thing had gone 
 \vrong with Louis. 
 
 Notwithstanding his failing health, he still clung 
 lo his accustomed amusements, and very often 
 rode forth to hunt when he was very unfit for any 
 bodily exercise. On these occasions, the distress- 
 ing consciousness of his decaying powers always 
 l-endered him doubly irritabie ; and on the day 
 which Cinq Mars unfortunately chose to broach 
 the subject of the dismissal of Richelieu, a thou- 
 sand trivial accidents had occurred to increase his 
 ill-humor to the highest pitch. His horse had fall- 
 en with him in the chase ; they had beat the coun- 
 try lor hours without finding any game worthy of 
 pursuit; and when at length they did rouse a fine 
 boar, and had brought him to bay, he broke out, 
 after killing two of the king's best hounds, and 
 plunged into the deepest pari of the forest. Lo«is 
 was returning home from this unsuccessful chase, 
 when Cinq Mars, turning his eyes towards the 
 towers of Tarascon, which just then were seen 
 rising above the trees in the dislance, pointed to 
 them witlj his hunting-whip, saying, " There lies 
 the cardinal !" 
 
 " Well, sir," exclaimed Louis eagerly, catching 
 at any tiling on which to vent his irritability—" do 
 you wish me to g^o and see him ? Doubtless he will 
 be glad of the visit. Let us go." And he reined 
 in his horse, as if with the intention of turning him 
 towards Tarascom. 
 
 *' Far be it from me to advise yxiur majesty so to 
 do," replied Cinq Mars, who clearly perceived that 
 the king's answer proceeded only from casual irri- 
 tation. " It was the sight of the old towers of the 
 chateau that called the cardinal to my mind. In 
 truth, 1 had almost forgotten him." 
 
 "Forgolien him, Cniq Mars!" cried the king. 
 " 1 think he has done enough to make himself re- 
 membered." 
 
 " He has indeed, sire," replied Cinq Mars, " and 
 his memory will long last, coupled with curses, in
 
 172 RICHELIEU. 
 
 the heart of evefy true Frenchman. But there hi8 
 lies , 1 trust, like the Tarasque, hideous but harm- 
 less, for the present." 
 
 '' What do you mean by the Tarasque 1" deman- 
 ded Louis 5 '' I never heard of it." 
 
 '• It IS merely a whimsical stone dragon, sire," 
 replied Ci.nq Mars, " that lies carved in the church 
 of St. Martlie, at Tarascon on the Rhone — a thing 
 of no more real use than the Cardinal de Riche- 
 lieu." 
 
 " Of no use, sir \" exclaimed the king, his eye 
 flashing fire. ''Do you think that we would repose 
 such trust, and confide our kingdom's weal to one 
 who is of no use ? Silence, sir !" he continued, 
 seeing Cinq Mars about to reply : ''No more of 
 this subject — we have heard too much of it." 
 
 Cinq ^lars was too wise to add another word, 
 and the king rede on to Narbonne, maintaining a 
 jjullen silence towards all around him. 
 
 Of the conversation which had passed not one 
 word had escaped the ears of Fontrailles ; and the 
 moment the cortege had dismounted, he followed 
 the master of the horse towards a distant part of 
 the grounds which lay behind the chateau. Cinq 
 Mars walked on as if he did not see him, and at 
 last finding that he persisted in following, he stopi 
 ped abruptly, exclaiming, ••Well, Fontrailles! 
 well! what now ? What would you say? lean 
 guess it all, so spare yourself the trouble.-' 
 
 " You mistake me, Cinq Mars, replied Fontrail- 
 les, "if you think 1 would blame you. You did 
 your best, though ths time was not the best chos- 
 en; but all I wish to press upon you is, not to let 
 this dispirit you. Let the subject die away for the 
 i^resent, and seem forgotten ti4l the king is in a 
 Letter mood. Every hour of his neglect is death 
 to Richelieu ; and besides, the kings consent is 
 not absolutely necessary to us," 
 
 " To me, absolutely necessary," replied Cinq 
 Mars, " for I stir not one step without it." 
 
 •'Nay, the king's private consent to you is ef
 
 course necessary," answered Fontrailles^ ^^ but you 
 surely do not think of informing him of the treaty 
 with Spain. After the affair is finished, and Riclie- 
 lieu's power at an end, Louis will see the necessi- 
 ty of it 5 but such, you must know, is his hatred to- 
 wards Spain, that he would consider the very pro- 
 posal as little better than high treason." 
 
 " I am not yet determined in that respect," an- 
 swered Cinq Mars ; " my conduct will of course be 
 decided by how I find the king inclined. I like no 
 concealments, where they can be avoided. But in 
 thlB first place. Villa Grande must carry the treaty 
 to—' 
 
 Cinq Mars paused; for, as he spoke, Chavigni 
 turned sharp round from an alley close by, and pass- 
 ed on. The statesman bowed, en passant, to the 
 waster of the horse, who but slightly returned his 
 salutation, while, on the other hand, Fontrailles 
 doffed his hat and inclined his head with a hypocrit- 
 ical smile, in which habitual servility was strongly 
 blended with triumphant malice, 
 
 Chavigni spoke jaot, but there were tv/o or three 
 \<fords caught his ear as he passed, which at once 
 turned his suspicions into the right channel, and 
 stimulated him to know more. We have already 
 said that it was a maxim with the statesman, that 
 in politics nothing is mean ; and he would have felt 
 not the slightest hesitation in listening to the con- 
 versation of Cinq Mars, could he have done so 
 without being observed. To eflfect this, it was 
 necessary to take a large round in order to approach 
 the alley in which the two conspirators walked 
 Vfilhout drawing their attention to himself; but as 
 he turned to do so, he observed the master of the 
 horse separate from his companion and come to- 
 wards the spot where he stood, and not wishing to 
 put Cinq Mars on his guard, by showin? that he 
 was watched, he turned away and directed his steps 
 towards the chateau. 
 
 " Must carry the treaty — " thought Chavigni. — 
 " Who .must c^rry the tr.eaty ? If I could hut
 
 174 RICHELIEU- 
 
 have heard that name, I should then have had the 
 clew in my hands. However, Monsieur de Cinq 
 Mars, you shall be well looked to. at least — take 
 care that you trip not — for if you do, you fall." 
 Thus thinking, he passed on to the stnbles. where 
 his horses stood, intending, notwithstanding the 
 lateness of the hour, and the failing light, to ride 
 over to Tarascon and communicate with Richelieu, 
 even should he be obliged to become a borrower 
 of the night for a dark hour or twain. His grooms, 
 hov/ever, taking, advantage of his absence, had dis- 
 persed themselves in various directions in search of 
 amusement to pass the hours in the dull town of 
 Narbonne 5 and consequently Chavigni could find 
 no one to saddle his horses for the proposed jour- 
 ney. 
 
 Irritated at this impediment, he was about to 
 quit the stable in search of some of the truant 
 grooms, when he again perceived Cinq Mars ap- 
 proaching, accompanied by the Italian Vjjla Grande. 
 They were in earnest conversation, and Chavigni, 
 knowing that Cinq Mars had horses lodged nest to 
 his own, drew back, and searching for a crevice in 
 the wooden partition, which was as old and decay- 
 ed as he could desire, he applied himself to listen 
 to all that passed as soon as the master of the horse 
 and his companion entered the adjoining stable. 
 The first words he heard were from the Italian. 
 ''You know, monsiejneur," said he, '•' that the ut- 
 most a man can do, is to die in defence of his 
 charge ; and that will I do, sooner than yield to 
 any man that which vou intrust to my hands." 
 
 '' Well, well,' replied Cinq Mars, ''there is no 
 need of so many professions, good sir. To-morrow 
 morning then, at day-break, you set out. That is. 
 the horse — mind you use him well, but spare not 
 his ?peed. Salute the noble duke on my part with 
 all kindness and love. At nine you come for the 
 treaty : but mark that you keep your time, for at 
 ten I must be with the king."' 
 
 "But Monseigneurj monseigneur !" cried Villa
 
 aicHELiEiy. 1t4^ 
 
 Graad^, as Cinq Mars turned to leave him } ♦' per- 
 haps your lackeys will not let me have the horse," 
 
 " Well then, when you come to night/' replied 
 the grand ecuyer, " you shall have an order for 
 him." 
 
 " Now then, your secret is in ray power," thought 
 Chavigni, as Cinq Mars and his companion left the 
 spot. " Monsieur de Villa Grande, I will instantly 
 make out an order for your arrest to-morrow morn- 
 ing, and save you the trouble of your journey. Sa- 
 lute the noble duke !" he continued, meditating on 
 the words of Cinq Mara—-' What duke ?— It must 
 be Gaston of Orleans— But he is a royal duke— But 
 we shall see," And as he walked on towards the 
 chateau he bent his eyes upon the ground, revolv- 
 ing in his mind the various plans which suggested 
 themselves for withdrawing his patron and himself 
 from the brink of that political precipice on wbigb 
 they stood 
 
 His thoughts, however, which for a moment wan- 
 dered to every different circumstance of his situa- 
 tion, seeking among the many dangers that sur- 
 rounded some favorable point on which to found a 
 hope, were all suddenly recalled to one objecf, by 
 the approach of Cardinal Mazarin, who by his hur- 
 ried step and anxious countenance appeared to be 
 troubled by some unforeseen event. 
 
 Notwithstanding their being linked in one cause, 
 notwithstanding their present interests drawing to- 
 gether, notwithstanding all the apparent friendship 
 that existed between them, Chavigni looked upon 
 the cardinal as one who with less zeal had rivalled 
 him in the favor of Richelieu, and who with lesf 
 talent had inainuated himself as much into the af- 
 fairs of government ; and Mazarin, although oblig- 
 ed to coalesce with Richel'eu's favorite, looked for- 
 ward to the day when the struggle for pre-eminence 
 between them would come to a climax, and 009 
 would rise upon the ruin of the other : and he saw 
 clearly that when that day did arrive, all his subtlety 
 would hardly qualify him to compete with the bold
 
 176 RICIIKLILU. 
 
 mind and vigarous talents cf Chavigni, unless he 
 could in the first instance gradually acquire for 
 himself such a superiority of interest, as t" enable 
 him to command rather than contend for the high- 
 est station. 
 
 The natural effect of these rorfiirting interests 
 was a feeling of jealous suspicion in the mind of 
 each, which in Mazarin only appe;-;red by tlie care 
 he took to strengthen his influence wherever it was 
 most opposite to that of Ciiavigni ; while at the 
 same time, he showed hif? fcllow-statesm^.n an out- 
 ward respect rmd deference almost amounting to 
 servility. But on the other part, Ciiavigni's hasty 
 disposition made his dislike more apparent, though 
 he took no means of injuring liis ri\al. 
 
 As they approached each other, the cardinal 
 made a sign to the page who attended him to remain 
 behind, and folding the train of hjs robe over his 
 arm, he advanced quickly to Chavigni, embracing 
 him with the greatest Eemblance of attachment. 
 " My excellent friend," he exclaimed, " I have 
 sought YOU every where : let me Leg you to fly in- 
 stantly to Tarascon, or all cur hopes arc ruined.*' 
 
 '■ Jn truth,"' replied Charigni. not atlov.ing Maza- 
 rin to explain the motives of his request ; " your 
 eminence requires what I rr.n hardly comply with^ 
 as I have but now got business on my hands which 
 nred.ssi'me lime to manage. But may I crave ihe 
 object which would be pained by my going to Ta- 
 rascoji ? 1 should think that he who could fttay 
 two hostile arniies on the point of baitle, was fully 
 sufficient to any strolre of policy." 
 
 There was a'sarcasiic smile on the lip.of Chavig- 
 ni. as he alluded to the peace which Mazarin had 
 procured at Gazal, at the m"mcnt wlirn the Frtnch 
 and Spanish armies were about to engace ; but the 
 cardinal Nvould see only ihe compliment. " You 
 are too kind," replied he; "but in this instance, 
 you only can succeed ; you only, I fee! assured — 
 and that not without the exertion of all your influ-
 
 RICHELIEU. .177 
 
 ence — can prevent the cardinal prime minister from 
 
 sending his resignation to the king." 
 
 '• His resignation !'" exclaimed ChaV.igni, starting 
 back will) vnfeigntd astonishment, "in ib.e name 
 of He-aven. wiiat do you mean V 
 i "1 mean this, Chavigni, ' replied Mazarin. "(hat 
 unless you -reach Taraecon before daylight to- 
 morrow morning, and use every argument in your 
 power to produce, the courier, wlio bears the offi- 
 cial resigr.ition of his Eminence of Richelieu, wiH 
 have set out for this place. I saw the paper sign- 
 ed to-day, with my own eyes, before I came away j 
 and all that my utmost entreaties could j/ain was, 
 that it should be delayed till to morrow m( rjiiiig, in 
 hopes of your arrival before that time. His emi- 
 nence feels convinced that the king's fav^r and liis 
 own power are lost forever ; and in truth I begin to 
 think so too." 
 
 " Madness and folly '."exclaimed Chavigni, strik- 
 ing his hand against his lorehead with vexation. 
 '' Madness an'! tblly ! — Rasc.il, saddle me a horse," 
 he continued to a groom, who now loitered into the 
 court with that sort of slow indifferent air which 
 would put an angel in a passion. " Where, in the 
 name of all the devils, have you been lingering ? 
 Pardon me, your eminence — but I am vexed. 1 did 
 not think his great mind was so overthrown.. — Sad- 
 dle me a horse, I say. Slave, nmst you stand 
 eaves-dropping ? Better you had been born deaf 
 than overhear my cimversation. There are such 
 things as oubliettes to cure listeners. Saddle me a 
 horse, I say.'* 
 
 " Will you not take so'ne of my servants with 
 you ?" said iJ/azarin ; " thpy are all in readiness." 
 
 " No. no," replied Chavigni, •' I go alone. Do 
 not let it get abroad that i am gone, I will be back 
 betimes to-morrow." 
 
 " You had better take one servant, at least," said 
 the cardinal. " The roads are not safe. It is dan- 
 gerous." 
 
 " Dangerous !" exclaimed Chavigni. " Who
 
 17S- RICHELIEU. 
 
 thinks of danger when his all is at stake ? Your 
 eminence has a great regard for human lives, I 
 know — for mine more especially. But depend up- 
 on it, I shall come home safe to-mor ovv, though I 
 go alone to-night. Now, sir,'' he continued to the 
 groom, who led forth a strong black hunter for hia 
 service, " girt up the saddle a little tighter : ua- 
 buckle that cross from his poitral ; I am neither go- 
 ing on a pilgrimage nor a procession." 
 
 And now, walking twice round the horse to see 
 that all the caparisons were in right order, he 
 sprang into the saddle, and dashins his rowels into 
 the hunter's flank, galloped out of the court-yard, 
 bowing with a smile as he passed by Mazarin,who 
 started back a step, as the horse's feet, in the rapidi- 
 ty of its course, struck fire with the stones of the 
 pavement. 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 Which shows how a king made reparation, and what came of if. 
 
 While, as we have seen, Chavigni galloped off 
 towards Tarascon, forgetting in the agitation pro- 
 duced by the tidings of Mazarin, to take those 
 measures which he had proposed in regard to Villa 
 Grande, Cinq Mars returned direcllv towards the 
 palace, or rather the house which had been convert- 
 ed into a palace for the king's use. It was one of 
 those old buildings whic'i at that time were com- 
 mon in France, and which even now are often to 
 be met with in cities where the remains of ancier.t 
 splendor, left alone to the less destructive power of 
 time, have not been demolished by the violence of 
 turbulent times, or the still more inveterate enmity
 
 RICnKL[EW 179 
 
 of modern improvement. The whole front, vvith 
 the two octagonal towers at the sides, and the long 
 corridors on the right and left hand of the court, 
 were ornamented with a multitude of beautiful 
 arabesques and bas reliefs. These last, the bas re- 
 liefs, entirely covered the principal fa9ade of the 
 building, and offered a number of pictures in stone, 
 representing in some parts battles and triumphs, 
 and in others displayiug- the humbler and more 
 peaceful subjects of pastoral life and reliffious cere- 
 monies. Among the rest was one medallion which 
 caught the attention of Cinq Mars 3 and as the fail- 
 ing light prevented him from seeing it where he 
 stood, he approached to observe it. The chisel of 
 the sculptor usurping the place of the pencil, had 
 there portrayed a landscape with a flock of sheep 
 pasturing quietly by the side of a brook, while a 
 shepherd appeared sleeping under a hill, down 
 which a wolf was seen stealing upon the flock. 
 Underneath was written in old gotliic characters, 
 Eveillez rows, le loup s'appioche. 
 
 Cinq Mars smiled as he read it, applying the 
 warning to himself. '•' Let him come/' said he, 
 thinking of Richelieu ; "he will be caught him- 
 selt.'"' So saying, he turned, and entering the pal- 
 ace, retired to his own apartments. He had not re- 
 jnained there long, however, before he was once 
 more joined by Fontrailles. '^ Follow me quick. 
 Cinq Mars," cried the conspirator j the king asks 
 for you. Now is the moment to speak to him. 
 He thinks that his peevishness hurt you this morn- 
 ing, and he is v/illing to make atonement." 
 
 itmaybewell supposed that Cinq Mars lost na 
 time in following his companion up the great stair- 
 case to the king's apartments. It was, indeed, as 
 Fontrailles had said. Since his return, Louis had 
 enjoyed an hour of repose, which cleared from hia 
 mind the irratability induced by fatigue, and made 
 him reproach himself for the unkindness he had 
 Bhown to one so devotedly attached to him as the 
 master of the horse. The remembrance of it op-
 
 180 RICHtLIED. 
 
 pressed liim, and he sent for bis favorite, not in- 
 deed to apologize, but to wipe away the impress- 
 ion that his irratability had caused, by more than 
 usuul kindness and familiarity. The two conspira- 
 tors found Louis seated in a cabinet, which, being 
 filaced in one of the towers partook of its octangu- 
 ar form. The walls were wainscotted with dark 
 carved oak, and even the plafond was all of the 
 same gloomy-coloured material, except a massy 
 gUt cornice and projecting rose in the centre, from 
 which hung a single silver lamp, the ra^s of which, 
 falling on the figure of the king beneath, gave an 
 additional paleness to his worn but fine counte- 
 nance, and slightly touching upon his plain black 
 velvet suit, shone full on the richly illuminated 
 book in which he had been reading. 
 
 Louis raised his eyes as Fontrailles entered, and 
 then turning them full on the noble countenance of 
 Cinq Mars who followed, a pleased smile beamed 
 for a moment on his lip, and he exclaimed, " Well, 
 Cinq Mnrs. art thou Nimrcd enough to hunt ag;un 
 to-morrow after our misfortu; es of to-day ? Conoe 
 in, Monsieur.de Fontrailles," he continued, seeing 
 that Fontrailles remained near the door, hesitating 
 whether he should retire or not, now that he had 
 done the king's bidding in summoning the grand 
 ecuyer. ** Come in, I pray — Sit you down, gentle- 
 men — it is the king's request j you. Cinq Mars, 
 here — Monsieur de Fontrailles, there is a seat. 
 Now," he continued, glancing his eye round as the 
 light of the lamp gleamed faintly on their several 
 countenancos-r-" now we look like some secret 
 triumvira'e met to decide the fate of nations." 
 
 " And that might be too," replied Cinq Mars ; 
 "your majesty to command and we to execute." 
 
 The king took no notice, but went on with what 
 he had himself been saying : " There js Cinq Mars 
 looks like a noble prince, and Fontrailles like a 
 wily minister, and I — 1 believe," he continued 
 laughing, " I have left myself no place but that of 
 secretary."
 
 RlCHELIEa 181 
 
 " Alas '' said Cinq Mars with a deep sigh, " alas I 
 that there should be any man in your majesty's do- 
 minions more a king than yourself." 
 
 Fonlrailles and the king both started ; and the 
 conspirator internally pronounced " all is lost," 
 while Cinq Mars himself, who liad spoken without 
 thought, only felt the imprudence of his speech 
 when it was beyond recall. 
 
 " Cinq Mars/ Cinq Mars \" cried Louis, " that i* 
 a daring speech ; — but I know it proceeded from 
 your love for me. and therefore I pardon it. But I 
 will tell you that no man is more a king in Francjj 
 Chan I am."* 
 
 '^ I crave your majesty's gracious pardon," repli-- 
 ed the master of ihe horse. "If I have oHended 
 your-majesty, it was from love for you alone that I 
 spoke. My words were bolder than my thoughts, 
 and I only meant to say that I could wish to see my 
 monarch show himself that great king which be 
 naturally rs. I would fain see the staff of command 
 withdrawn from one who abuses it." 
 
 "Cinq Mars," answered the king, "that staff is 
 in my own hand. It was but lent, my friend ; and 
 it is now resumed." 
 
 The master of the horse paused for a moment, 
 not exactly certain how far he could rely upon the 
 king's good humor, which he had already tried so 
 incautiously, and turned his eyes towards Fontrail- 
 les, as if for counsel. 
 
 " Speak, Cinq iliars," said Louis, seeing his hesi» 
 tation, " !?peak boldly, and fear not; for I fully be- 
 lieve that all your wishes are for my service, and I 
 would fain hear the voice of those that regard me 
 with r.ffection, rather than for their own interest} 
 and one of these do 1 hold you to be." 
 
 "Your majesty does me justice," replied' Cinq 
 ifcfars. "Let me not offend yon then, when J say 
 that the power you lent is scarcely resumed while 
 the title under which it was enjoyed remains. The 
 Cardinal Duke of Richelieu, my liege, is s-till prime 
 minister to France. He has' still all the power
 
 i82 RiOiiiii.lti.o. 
 
 (though not exercised), the revenues, the offices, 
 Our soldiers are fighting at his 'command, our prov- 
 inces are governed by his creatures, our Jiigh posts 
 are filled by his friends. He has an army for his 
 servants, and more than the riches of a prince. Why 
 not — oh, why not, sire break tiic enchanters wand 
 Ihat gave him so much sway, and sweep away the 
 hordes that prey upon the state, like swarms of tiies 
 upon a slain deer ? Why not direct the operations 
 of your troops yourself, and let the armies of France 
 be the armies of the king, and net of Kichelieu ? 
 Why not chase from your councils a man who has so 
 often abused the generous confidence of his sover- 
 eign, and. make him disgorge tiie ill-gotten wealth 
 which he has wrung from the hearts of your peo- 
 ple V 
 
 As he spoke, Cinq .'iars grew warm with his sub- 
 ject ; liis eye sparkled, his arm was extended with 
 that wild and graceful energy for which he was con- 
 spicuous 5 his words ti.Aved uninterrupted, with all 
 the eloquence of enthusiasm, and his fine and prince- 
 ly feaiiires acquired a new and striking expression, 
 while animated in the cause of his country's liber- 
 ty, he pleaded against the tyrant who had oppressed 
 both king and people. Louis gazed on him at first 
 as on one inspired ; but as a host of consequences 
 crowded on his mind, threatening him witij a thou- 
 sand vague and unsubstaniial dangers, he placed his 
 hands before his eyes, and remained for some mo- 
 ments in deep thought. 
 
 " Jly friend," said he at len<7th, "what is it you 
 would have mc do ? This ra.an — this bad man if 
 you will — but still this great man — is like an oak 
 who?e roots are deep in the e:»rth j you mr.y hew 
 them asunder one by one, Ixit it requires a giant's 
 strength to pluck tiie tree up at once. Richelieu's 
 pov.er may We taken from him gradually ; but to at- 
 tempt wh.at you proporc, v.ouid instantly cause a 
 rebellion among my subject-!. He has so many who 
 depend upon him j he has .so many that are allied 
 to ])im — "
 
 RICHELIEU. 183 
 
 " VViiat?'' e:£clairned Cinq Mars, " shall it be said 
 that King Louis was afraid to dismiss his own min- 
 ister !" 
 
 " Not afra'd for myself, ulr," replied the king, 
 somewhat sharply 3 " but afraid of bringing the mis- 
 eries of civil war upon my people' 
 
 Perceiving that Cinq Mars was urging the king too 
 impetuoualy, Fontrailles, who had hitherto remained 
 silent, now joined in the conversation in a soil insin- 
 uating tone, calculating to remove any newly raised 
 irritation from Louis's mind. " All danger, sire/' 
 said he, still laboring to quiet the king's fears without 
 opposing his opinion, '' all danger, which mijit other- 
 wise be imminent, could easily be cbviated, by com- 
 manding the noble Duke of Bouillon — " 
 
 At the name of the Duke of Bauillon, Louis made 
 an impatient mot-on with his band. " He is Spanish 
 at his' heart," said he j" that Duke oif Bouillon is 
 Spanish, rank Spanish. But what of him, iJionsieur 
 Fontrailles V ' ♦ 
 
 " Believe me, my liege," replied Fontrailles, the 
 Duke of Bouillon, whom I know well, is not so much 
 a friend to Spain as he is an enemy to Richelieu, 
 Remember, sire, how he is linked with the Prince of 
 Orange, the sworn adversary of Spain." 
 
 Louis shook his head doublingly. '• But what of 
 him, Fontrailles 7 Come to the point," 
 
 " Only this, sire," said Fontrailles. "The duke 
 commands an army in Italy devoted to your majes- 
 ty's service ; but permit me or Cinq Mars to give 
 him private orders in your name to march them in- 
 to France, and who shall dare to murmur at your 
 royal will V 
 
 " Why. that might Lc done, it is true," answered 
 Louis ', ''but 1 am afraid.7/iongrfl?3cZ," lie ccntinued, 
 applying to Cinq Mars ihc term by which -he dis- 
 tinguished him in his kindest and most familiar mo- 
 ment — " I am afraid, men grand, that thou art n 
 keen huntsman and a good soldier, thou woulds* 
 make but a sorrv minister." 
 
 " I ministPr!" cxchuimrd the grand ecoyer j "God
 
 184 niCHELIEC, 
 
 forbid ! jXo. no, my lord ! never did such athought 
 cross my imagination. Believe, sire, I had no view 
 of personal aggrandizement in the proposal I sub- 
 mitted to your mfijesty.'^ 
 
 " But if you take from Richelieu his office, whom 
 do you wish to substitute in his place ? ' demanded 
 Louis; "someone must be minister.'' 
 
 '• True, my heie 3 but are there not thousands 
 well fitted for the post V said Cinq Mars—'- Politi- 
 cians as deep, but more humane than Richelieu — 
 Men who can govern, and yet not tyrannize ? I will 
 undertake to find such a one for your majesty, and 
 yet remain myself fully satisfied with being the 
 humble friend of my royal master, and the sincere 
 well-wisher of my native counfry. But let me or- 
 der, in y ur, name, the Duke of Bouillon to march 
 into France 5 and then, provided with sufficient for- 
 ces to disarm this usurping minister, and overawe 
 rebellion, your own royal will|phall be your only 
 guide." 
 
 " At present," said Fontrailles, " the king's love 
 for his people operates in two opposing directions, 
 making him anxious to relieve them from the bur- 
 den under which they groan, yet fearful of throwing 
 a portion of them into rebellion. But by the pres- 
 ence of the duke's army, the minister might be re- 
 moved without endangering the tranquillity of the 
 realm." 
 
 "True,'" said Louis ; '"'true. Monsieur de Fon- 
 trailles, you say right ;" and placing his hand before 
 his eyes, the king thought for a moment, stru;:gling 
 inwardly to exert the powers of liis mind, and call 
 up sufficient resolution to deliver hims^f from t!>e 
 tliraldom in vvhi.f;h he had so long been held. But 
 danger?, and doubts, and difficulties swam before 
 his mental vision, like motes dancing in the su"beam; 
 and never destined in lit'c to overcome his long-en- 
 couraged inaclivi-y, ho strove to cast the resjKinsi- 
 bility troin himself. '• Well, well,', exclaimed he, 
 "Cinq iTiars, you shall decide it; 1 will leave the 
 conduct of it all to you. Bat beware that you do
 
 RICHELIEU. 185 
 
 do not bring the miseries of civil war upon my king- 
 dom j for be assured that if you do, I will require 
 it of you deeply — It is your own seeking, and the 
 consequences be upon your own head." 
 
 " Let it be so, then, my liege," cried Cinq Ma.ra, 
 kissing the emaciated hand of the feeble monarch } 
 " it shall not be my fault if France and my sove- 
 reign are not soon freed from the cloud that has so 
 long overshadowed them both." 
 
 " Well, well,'' said Louis, " we will trust in God 
 for the event. But heware of Bouillon} Cinq Mars, 
 he is rank Spanish at his heart. And now, gentle- 
 men, to bed, for we must rise in time for our sport. 
 But, in truth, I fear I shall not hunt much longer— 
 the body fails me, Cinq Jiars, though I was once a 
 thing of strength, as thou art." 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 How Chavig-ni rode fifty miles to riile back again. 
 
 While these schemes for the downfall of his pa- 
 tron were iroing forward at Narbonne,Chavigni spur- 
 red on rapidly towards Tarascon, where the falling 
 minister lay sick, both in body and in mind. Besides 
 the personal attacliment of the statesman to Riche- 
 lieu, who had formed his fortunes, and led him in 
 the way to greatness, every consideration of his 
 own interest bade him oppose the resignation of the 
 cardinal, which he clearly saw would bring inevita- 
 ble destruction upon all persons connected with the 
 existing ministry. 
 
 |@He had long perceived that a powerful party was 
 forming against Richelieu, especially since his ab- 
 sence and illness gave facility to their operations. 
 All Chavigni'a talents and influence had been exert- 
 
 vor.. u. 13
 
 l^S RICHELIEU- 
 
 ed to oppose them ; but that the cardinal would re- 
 sign his high office he had never suspected for a mo- 
 ment, and therefore the tidings brought by Mazarin 
 came upon him like a thunder-stroke, taking from 
 him all faculty of thought, but on that one thing. 
 He was well aware too, that it was no easy task to 
 turn Richelieu from his purpnse3 and as he rode on 
 his mind was solely occupied by a thousand tumul- 
 tuous and ill-digested plan.-., for preventing the eie- 
 cution of what the cardinal designed. 
 
 Daylight set in the west, and night fell heavily 
 over the earth without exciting a thought in the bo- 
 som of Chavigni} for the irritation of his feelings 
 took away all sensation of bodily fatigue.and almost 
 all attention to external objects, till at length the 
 failing pace of his horse showed him that he at 
 least must have rest ; and accordin;ily he paused for 
 a short space at a little village, a few leagues from 
 Tarascon, in order to refresh his beast. But even 
 here the agitation of his mind p-evented him fom 
 Becking any repose himself, and he continued walk- 
 ing up and down before the little auberge, for the 
 time that he was thus compelled to remain. 
 
 It was considerably past miduiglit when Chavigni 
 arrived at the residence of the minister, On enter- 
 ing the court-yard, all was in darkness, except 
 where, in one spot, a light was seen burning in the 
 chamber of the invalid, and throwin;:? dark across 
 the window the bent shadow of a sleeping atten- 
 dant. The statesmanjfastened his horse to one of the 
 iron hooks in the cojrr-yard, and advanced, intend- 
 ing to make himself heard by some one within, but 
 he found the grooms, grown negligent during tiieir 
 lord's sickness, had Jefl the door unfastened, and 
 pushing it with his hand, it readily gave way. •'■ It 
 is like his fate," thought Chavigni ; " while he is 
 ill and sleeping, the gate is left open, and any one 
 may enter."' 
 
 Passini" onward through the hall, he now monnt- 
 ed the grand staircase, lighted by a lamp that had
 
 RIOHELIEUf 157 
 
 been l«ft to die out as it miglit, and approached the 
 room where the cardinal lay. 
 
 The door of the antechamber opened stiffly, but 
 still the drowsy attendant did not awake ; and Cha- 
 vigni passed on into the bed-chamber of the cardi 
 nal, without any one being aware of his presence. 
 " Were this but known," thought the statesman, 
 " how many assassins' hands would now be arrned 
 for this pne man's destruction [" 
 
 It was Richelieu alone, who.lyingin feverish rest- 
 lessness, caught the sound of approaching steps ; 
 and there was a sort of intensity in the glance which 
 he fixed on the door communicating with the ante 
 room, which seemed to say that his judgment of the 
 visiter's purpose was not very favorable. However 
 that might be, whether from the recklessness of ill- 
 ness, or from the torpor of one who regards the fu- 
 ture as a blank, he took no farther notice of the 
 sound he heard, than by fixing his eyes sternly on 
 the door. But the next moment, as the light fell 
 strongly on the face of his friend, the countenance 
 of Richelieu brightened with a smile 3 and perceiv- 
 ing that ChavignL, who did not see he was awake, 
 approached silently towards the attendant to rouse 
 him, the cardinal pronounced his name in an under 
 tone, and beckoned him towards his bedside. 
 
 " It is grateful," said Richelieu, as the statesman 
 drew near, " to find that even declining fortunes 
 cannot alienate some hearts. You have seen Maz- 
 arin I suppose ?" 
 
 Chavigni was about to answer, but the sound of 
 the cardinal's voice had awakened the attendant, 
 who was now gazing about in no small alarm, on 
 perceiving a stranger standing by the minister's bed- 
 side. Richelieu, however, without showing any 
 anger at his negligence, calmly commanded him to, 
 leave them ; and as soon as they were alone, ChJ- 
 vigni proceeded. "1 have seen Cardinal Mazarin, 
 my lord, and from him I havCjilearned a piece of 
 news which grieves me most deeply. I cannot be- 
 lieve that illness can have so far depressed the spir-
 
 188 RICHELIEU. 
 
 its of your eminence, as to make you entertain the 
 thought of casting from you all those high honors 
 which you have so long enjoyed, and of leaving 
 France, in a moment of her greatest peril, to be 
 governed by the hands of the weak and the design- 
 ing." 
 
 " It is not illness, Chavigni,"^ replied the cardinal^ 
 with a melancholy shake of the head. "No! but 
 my day is over. The power has passed from my 
 hands, and it only remains for me to yield the name 
 of it, before that too is taken from me by my ene- 
 mies." 
 
 "Pardon me, your eminence," said Chavigni : 
 "but indeed the power is not gone from you. Un- 
 der whose orders are our armies fighting ? Under 
 whose command is every city and fortress in France! 
 Is it the character of a brave man, to yield all with- 
 out a struggle ? — to cast away the sword he has so 
 long wielded, and to give himself bound into the 
 hands of his adversaries V 
 
 " Mark me, Chavigni," said Richelieu, raising^ 
 himself upon his elbow, •' Louis is now within the 
 distance of a few leagues. He knows that I am iil 
 — perhaps that I anv dying; and yet, by no sign of 
 common courtesy does he show that he remembers 
 me. But that was not the beginning. 1 saw that 
 my power was gone, when he dared, in the face of 
 all the council, to annul the sentence I passed on 
 that arrogant, stiff-necked Count De Blenau, who 
 had the hardihood to defy the utmost extent of my 
 power." And the minister's eyes flashed with, the 
 memory of his anger. 
 
 "' Had your eminence followed ray advice," re- 
 plied Chavigni, ," that business would never have 
 occurred. There is that sort of gallant magnanim- 
 ity about Claude de Blenau which carri'Ds all before 
 It; and 1 felt assured that neither fear nor interest 
 would ever induce him to disclose any thing intrust- 
 ed to his honor. Depend upon it, monseigneur, 
 that it is better not to meddle with|such men, when 
 we ran avoid it." 
 
 1
 
 TRICHELIETT. 189 
 
 •' Well, well, sir/' exclaimed the cardinal, impa- 
 tiently, " without doubt you were quite right and I 
 was quite wrong. But do not teach me to believe 
 that you too, Chavigni lose your respect for my per- 
 son when my power is failing." 
 
 " Pardon me, your eminence," replied Chavigni, 
 in a tone of deep feeling, ''you wrong me much. 
 Your eminence has been more than a father to me. 
 During the continuance of your power you have al- 
 ways exerted it in my favor; and whether it re- 
 mains with you or not, my respect and my affection 
 will never fail to follow you in every situation Be- 
 lieve me, monseigneur, that it is that respect and 
 affection which brings me here even now, to peti- 
 tion that you will waive your intention of — " 
 
 " Chavigni, it is useless, ' interposed the cardinal, 
 " I have only the choice left, to yield it of my own 
 free will, or to have it wrenched from my unwilling 
 hand Judge which is the wisest — ^judge which is 
 the best." 
 
 •' Were that certainly the case," said Chavigni, 
 thoughtfully. 
 
 " It is certainly the case," replied the minister. 
 " there are many, many combined against me : — 
 singly, they are but reeds, and one by one I would 
 .break them like reeds; but united together,and with 
 the king at their head," — ^and he shook his head de- 
 spairingly, — " they are far too strong either for you 
 or me !" 
 
 " But could no means be found to separate them 1 
 Bethink you, monseigneur, — avarice, revenge, am- 
 bition, might sow the seeds of discord among them, 
 und give them like sheep into our hands." 
 
 " It is too late, my friend !" replied the cardinal : 
 " it is too late ! Had 1 foreseen it, I might have pre- 
 vented their combining. 1 might have crushed 
 «ome, and bribed others; destroyed the powerful, 
 and overawed the timid. But it is now too" la^e !" 
 
 '' But whom does your eminence think particu- 
 larly implicated ?" demanded Chavigni. 
 
 " Oh, there are many — many — many !" replied
 
 190 RIOHifLXEy. 
 
 Richelieu, withdrawing the thin pale hand he had 
 stretched over his face as he finished the last de- 
 sponding words " too late," probably desirous of hi- 
 ding the motion produced by the conviction that 
 his power was irretrievably gone. However, when 
 that hand was removed, his countenance showed no 
 traces of any remaining agitation* " There are many 
 Chavigni," he said : "there are ¥'endome,and Bouil- 
 lon, and noisy Beaufort, and turbulent Gaston of 
 Orleans, and witty Marsillac, and cool, moralizing 
 De Thou, who has so often dared to pry into my ac- 
 tions and condemn them ; then there is, above all, 
 sly Fontrailles, and Cinq Mars, whom I — " 
 
 '" Ha!" exclaimed Chavigni,as the cardinal's words 
 recalled to his mind the conversation between Cinq 
 Mars and Fontrailles — " I had forgot — like an idiot, 
 I had forgot !'" and he struck his clenched hand vio- 
 lently against his brow, as if he sought to punish 
 his own folly. '• But it is not yet too late," he cri- 
 ed, "it is not yet too late." 
 
 " Forgot what, Chavigni ? ' demanded the cardi- 
 nal, seeing with astonishment the emotion which 
 was called up in his friend by the remembrance of 
 so great an oversight. " Forgot what ? Too late 
 for what ? What is it moves you so deeply ?" 
 
 " Pardon me, your eminence,'"' replied Chavigni, 
 " I have not time to explain ; only 1 have to ask two 
 favors. The first is, that you will let me take a 
 stout ho'se from your stables ; mine will go no far- 
 ther. The next,^'" he added, in a tone of greater 
 composure, but still one of earnest entreaty — 'the 
 next is, if you had ever a regard for me — if ever I 
 served you well and faithfully, that you will promise 
 me to take no step in the business we have spoken , 
 of, till my return ; which shall be before lo-morrowj 
 evening." 
 
 " It can make but little difference waiting tillj 
 that time,'" answered the cardinal. '' But what \% 
 the matter, Chavigni? What is it agitates you thus?' 
 
 " Have I your promise; monseigneur 1" .^skec 
 Chavigni, quickly.
 
 RICHELIEU. 1^1 
 
 *• You have/' said Richelieu. " Out of regard for 
 you, and solely because you ask it, I will suspend 
 my resolution till your return.'' 
 
 " Well, then, God protect your eminence till we 
 meet again !'' exclaimed the statesman. " I go up* 
 on your service ; and it" I do notsucceed, 1 care not 
 how soon my head may be brought to the block, as 
 a just punishment for my mad forge ifulness." Thus 
 saying, he quitted the room, and descending to the 
 stables, called up the grooms, whose sleepy move- 
 ments ill accorded with the rapid emotions of his 
 bosom. Pso'.v the stirrups were net long ennugh, 
 then ths girths had to be buckled tighter, then the 
 bit was mish.id, and then the crupper could not be 
 found. At length, however, the horse vvas fully pre- 
 pared, and calling for a cup of wine, Chavigni 
 drained it to the bottom, and galloping out of the 
 court, was soi>n once more on the road to iS'arbonne. 
 But it was in vain tliat he used whip and spur to 
 arrive at that town before the hour appointed for the 
 Italian's departure. Ere he had measured half the 
 way, the day rose briirht over the hills before him, 
 and clenching his liands.he exclaimed in the bitter- 
 ness of disappointment, " Too late ! I am too late!" 
 Still, however, he went on at full speed, hoping that 
 by sending out couriers in every dltferent direction 
 he might yet overtake the messenger. 
 
 Every one who has ridden from Tarascon to Nar- 
 bonne must remember the picturesque beauties of 
 that part of the country. At the spot where Cha- 
 vigni had now arrived, high rocks breaking forth 
 from a thick covering of wood skirted his way on 
 each side, and having ascended to the top of the 
 hill, an immense valley lay before him, scattered 
 with forests and broken into a thousand inferior rid- 
 ges, some of which bore upon their summits 
 the steeple of a village church, some of the ruins of 
 those ancient to.vers which had been erected in 
 days gone by to delend the|passes from the neigh- 
 boring Moors of Spain. At his feet thin waves of 
 white mist floating in the morning light, partially
 
 192 ^aOHELIEO. 
 
 obscured the road he was going, till, rising out of 
 the trees, it was seen winding along the mountains 
 on the other side. Chavigni paused for a moment 
 to trace its direction 3 and as he did so his eye fell 
 upon the figure of a single horseman, descending 
 into the valley from the opposite hill. 
 
 " Whom have we here V thought the statesman, 
 not without a faint hope that it might be the person 
 he sought. Spurring on his horse, however, he rode 
 forward to meet him ; but on reaching the bottom 
 of the^descent, the figure he had seen from above 
 became hidden by the windings of the road among 
 the trees, and Chavigni's heart fluttered lest the 
 horseman, whoever he was, might have taken the 
 other road which turned through the valley to the 
 left. 
 
 At length, however, the sound of a horse's feet 
 was heard approaching quickly towards him, and, 
 certain that he must now pass that way, the states- 
 man drew in his rein, and stood with his eyes in- 
 tently fixed npon the spot where the road verged 
 iato the forest. As there was still a considerable 
 descent from the spot where Chavigni paused to the 
 bottom of the valley, the sound was heard for a long 
 time coming nearer and nearer before any one ap- 
 peared. At length, however, the horseman came 
 in sight, presenting to the glad eyes of the states- 
 man the identical figure of the Italian,Villa Grande, 
 with his long sword, extensive mustachios, and a 
 pair of heavy pistols at his saddle bow. 
 
 Chavigni doubted not that to possess himself of 
 the papers which the Italian carried, would require 
 a desperate struggle, but without a moment's hesi- 
 tation he drew his sword, and galloped on to attack 
 him. No sooner had Villa Grande perceived a stran- 
 
 fer on the road before him, than he reined in his 
 orse 5 but now, as Chavigni rode on full speed to- 
 wards him with a menacing attitude and drawn 
 sword, the Italian, in his terror, conceived at once 
 that it wag a robber, and throwing himself to the 
 ground in mortal fear,' he fell on his knees,exclaim-
 
 O UICIIELIEU. 193 
 
 ing, *' I will give it you all — every ducat, only spare 
 my life !" 
 
 " Rise, rise / cowardly villain !" cried Chavigni, 
 catching the bridle of the Italian's horse, which 
 was starting away with a wild toss of the head, as 
 the statesman rode up 5 " rise, Sir Poltroon ! do you 
 not know me V 
 
 " Know you ! know you \" exclaimed Villa Grande 
 gazing- wildly at Chavigni. " Oh, monseigneur, is 
 it you ? How you frightened me \" But Villa Grande 
 who had trembled sufficiently when he thought it 
 was a robber, trembled ten times more than ever as 
 he recognised the statesman j and he could scarce- 
 ly find strength in his knees to raise himself from 
 the ground. 
 
 " Rise, sir !" exclaimed Chavigni, impatiently ; 
 " and instantly give me the treaty." 
 
 " Treaty !" cried Villa Grande, still trembling,but 
 endeavoring to put on a look of astonishment. — 
 " What treaty does monseigneur mean 1 1 know of 
 no treaty." 
 
 " Lying slave !'' exclaimed Chavigni, striking him 
 with the flat side of his sword 5 " if you do not pro- 
 duce it within ten seconds of time,by heaven I will 
 cut it out of your base cowardly heart !" 
 
 " But if I do — " said the Italian,seeing there was 
 no escape left. 
 
 i' Come, sir," cried the statesman 5 " no buts for 
 me. If you stand shuffling one minute more. 1 will 
 run my sword through you ,and search for it on your 
 carcass myself." 
 
 " Well, well ! monseigneur, I see you know it 
 all, and therefore it will be no stain on my honor if 
 1 give it to you." 
 
 " Honor 1" cried Chavigni, with a scoff. " Come, 
 sir, the treaty." , 
 
 Villa Grande approached his horse, and raising 
 the flap of the saddle, with shaking hands, drew 
 forth, from a pocket concealed in the padding, a 
 large paper sealed in an envelope. Chavigni caught 
 it eagerly from his grasp, and running his eye over
 
 194 RlCHIILIKi; 
 
 the address, he read. — ' ''To Monseigneur the Duke 
 de Bouillon, commander-in-chief of all the armies 
 of France, warring in Italy.' Ha !" continued the 
 statesman, '• this is not the road to Italy. What 
 brings you here?" and he turned towards Villa 
 Grande. But while the statesman's eyes were ii.\ed 
 upon tlie paper, the wily Italian had begun to creep 
 towards the wood ; Chavigni, however, perceiving 
 his design, caught one of the pistols frcm the hor- 
 se's saddle-bow, and pointing it towards the fugi- 
 tive, soon brought him back again. "Stand you 
 there, sir,'" said he. "Now tell lue what makes you 
 here, when this packet was intended for Italy ?" 
 
 " Why, monseigneur — why — why — to tell the 
 truth, there was another little despatch to be de- 
 livered on the frontiers of Spain ; 1 ere it is 5" and 
 diving inio a deep pocket in his doublet, he produ- 
 ced a packet smaller than the other, and gave it 
 into Chavigni's hand. *•' And now, monseigneur. I 
 have freely discovered all I know," continued Villa 
 Grande, " 1 hope t.^atyou. nir>nseigneur, will prom- 
 ise me your protection 5 f»)r if the other party get 
 hold of me, they will murder me to a certainty." 
 
 Chavigni made no answer; but without any "cere- 
 mony broke the seals of the two packets, and pas- 
 sing bis horse's bridle over Ms arm while he read 
 them, he opened the treaty, and turned to the list 
 of names by which it was signed. In the mean 
 while, Villa Grande kept his eyes fixed upon him, 
 watching for a favorable moment to escape, if the 
 statesman's attention should be sufficiently engaged 
 to allow him so to do. 
 
 *' Ah 1 here I have them fairly written,'' proceed- 
 ed Chavigni, speaking to himself. "Philip the-jnost 
 Catholic — OlivarezI — then follow Gaston of Or- 
 leans ; Cinq Mars, grand ecuyer ; Fontraillcs 3 — and 
 a space — for Bouillon of course. Now let us see 
 the letter to the noble duke 3'" and he opened the 
 one which he found in the same packet with the 
 treaty. But as he read, his eye fixed with painful 
 earnestness upon the paper, and the color fled from
 
 RICHELIE«. 195 
 
 his eheek. "God of heaven! what is this?" said 
 he, reading. " * Though I doubt not, my noble 
 friend, that after all which has so lately passed, you 
 would put your forces in motion at my siirple de- 
 sire, the king's command is yet higher authority; 
 and tl)at 1 now send you, to march with all speed to 
 the frontier, embarking five thousand foot at Porto 
 Longone, to land at Marselles. All this in case the 
 friends and adherents of Richelieu should attempt 
 to make head against the royal authority.' — 
 
 " All is iost!' muttered Chavigni. "But let U3 
 see the whole, at least, to provide for our own safe- 
 ty ;" and he again turned to the paper, which pro- 
 ceeded — •■ I send you the treaty with Spain for your 
 signature, which is especially necessary to the arti- 
 cle relative to your principality of Sedan. The 
 troops of his Ca'holic majesty are on the frontier, 
 ready to march at our command ; but I have been 
 obliged to conceal from the king our Spanish con- 
 nexion, as his hatred to that country is as great as 
 ever*" 
 
 *' I have you / I have you! Monsieur Cinq Mars," 
 exclaimed Chavigni, clasping his hands with joy. 
 " This treaty is your death-warrant, or I know not 
 King Louis. — Italian scoundrel !" he continued,turn- 
 ing to look for Villa Grande — "Ha! the slave has 
 escapr-d — that must not be 3 he were the best wit- 
 ness in the world agaiostthem j" and springing from 
 his horse, he lied him to a tree together with that 
 of the Italian. 
 
 While Chavigni had been reading, with all his at- 
 tention fixed upon the paper, and all his passion ex- 
 cited by its contents, Villa Grande, watching^ his 
 mt-ment, had crept gradually to the edge of the 
 wood, and darted into a narrow path, half covered 
 with branches. But though the way he had taken 
 was thus, in a degree concealed; it did not escape 
 the quick eye of the statesman ; and as the motions 
 of the Italian^ till he had got into the wood, had 
 been necessarily cautious, in order not to call his 
 attention 3 Chavigni, following as fast as lightning,
 
 196 RieHELiEU. 
 
 soon caught the sound of his retreating footsteps, 
 reverberated from the rocks around. As he advan- 
 ced, he called loudly to the Italian to stop, and that 
 he should have a free pardon; but Villa Grande, 
 trusting to the distance that was still between them, 
 and hoping, if he could elude immediate pursuit, to 
 be able to escape into Spain, continued running on 
 while Chavigni as perseveringly followed, threate- 
 ning and promising by turns, but alike without any 
 effect. 
 
 At length the strength of the Italian, already di- 
 minished by fear, began to fail entirely ; and Cha- 
 vigni found that the distance between them was rap- 
 idly lessening, when in a moment the sound of foot- 
 steps, which had hitherto guided him, ceased en- 
 tirely — a cry of agony reached his ear ; and running 
 still more quickly forward, he, too, hod nearly been 
 precipitated over the edge of a steep crag, which, 
 in the hurry of his flight, the unhappy Italian had 
 not noticed. The statesman's first impulse was to 
 start back, for he was on the very brink of the pre- 
 cipice before he was aware ; but soon recovering 
 himself, he approached the edge, and looking over, 
 beheld the mangled form of Villa Grande lying on 
 some rough stony ground at the bottom of the rock. 
 
 " God of Heaven !" cried Chavigni, " what a fall I 
 The poor wretch must surely be dead. However, 
 be must not lie there, for the wolves will soon be at 
 him ;" and looking round, he sought for some way 
 to descend the rock. It was a considerable time 
 before he could accomplish his object.but at length 
 he succeeded, and on arriving at the spot where \'il- 
 la Grande lay he found that the Italian, in his flight 
 had taken a diagonal path through the forest, which 
 cut off a large bend in ,the main road, and joined it 
 again by a zigzag path down the rock at some dis- 
 tance. Thus the spot where "N'illa Grande wr^s then 
 lying, was then about half a mile from the place at 
 which he had first been encountered by Chavigni, if 
 the high road was followed 3 but by the path through 
 the wood the distance could not be more than a few
 
 RICHELIEU. 197 
 
 hundred yards. Chavigni's first care was to exam- 
 ine the body of the Italian, who was so entirely de- 
 prived of sense, that at first the statesman believed 
 him to be dead : but in a moment or two some signs 
 appeared which led him to conclude that life was 
 not completely extinct ; and taking him in his arms 
 he carried him to the spot w^here the horses stood. 
 Here he placed him on the stout black hunter which 
 Cinq Mars had lent, and led him slowly to a small 
 town about a mile farther on the road. 
 
 It has been already stated, that hardly was there 
 a village so small in the whole extent of France as 
 not to be furnished wiih one or more of those agents 
 of Richelieu's minute policy, whose principal duty 
 consisted in communicating every thing that passed 
 around them to another class of superior agents, and 
 also to facilitate all the ^secret operations of gov- 
 ernment in the sphere ascribed to them. The actu- 
 al pay received by these men was but small j but 
 the favor shown to them on all occasions, and the 
 facilities afforded to them in their more ordinary em- 
 ployments, put them above comjjetetion with others 
 in the same class, and amply rewarded their private 
 services ; for it must always be remembered that 
 their connexion with the government was iicld as a 
 profound secret, and consequently they always were 
 seen to exercise some open trade, which, in snost 
 cases, prevented their less ostensible employment 
 from being even suspected by their neighbors. 
 
 It was to the house of one of these inferior agents 
 that Ciiavigni led the iiorse charged with the sense- 
 less body of Villa Grande ; and having commanded 
 that he should be taken in and placed in bed, he 
 himself aided in endeavoring to recall him to life, 
 partly from the natural humanity of his disposition, 
 partly from those political considerations which 
 were^ ever paramount in his mind. Villa Grande, if 
 he could be restored, would prove, Chavigni knew, 
 too excellent a witness against the conspirators 
 whom he had served, to permit of his life being 
 lightly cast away ; especially as it was evident, that
 
 198 KICHELIEU. 
 
 either fear or bribery would induce him to confesa 
 any thing; but even had it not been for this reflec- 
 tion, the statesman's natural disposition would pr b- 
 ably have led him to succour the unhappy man, in 
 whose misfortune he had been so greatly instru- 
 mental. 
 
 After many efforts, Villa Grande once more began 
 to evince that the vital spark was not yet extinguish- 
 ed •, and having so far succeeded, Chavigni, upon 
 whose mind a thousand subjects of deep import 
 were pressing every moment for attention, gave di- 
 rections to the agent we have already mentioned, 
 to show every attention to the wounded man, and 
 to keep him, for that day, at his own house, which 
 was situated a quarter of a league out of Limoux j 
 but as soon as night came, to have him privately re- 
 moved to Corneille, at which place a surgeon could 
 be more easily procured from Carcassonne ; and 
 having reiterated the most strict injunctions to keep 
 the whole business profoundly secret, lest the con- 
 spirators should learn the fate of their envoy, and 
 take their measures accordingly, Chavigni once 
 more turned his steps towards Tarascon, to recount 
 to Richelieu the events of the dav. 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 Which w.s wiiilen expressly to prove that there is many a Slip 
 between ihe Cup and the Lip, 
 
 It was the sinrvll clianel of St. Catherine, other- 
 wise called the queen's chapel, attached to the pal- 
 ace church of. St. Germain de Laye, to which Po- 
 tier, Bishop of Beauvais, proceeded with slow steps 
 fjom the door of a private communication with the
 
 RlCHELiEU. 199 
 
 chateau, on a niglit in October, one thousand six 
 hundred and forty-lwo. He was preceded by two 
 young abbes, carrying lightted lapers, and followed 
 by a group, whose wliite garments spoke that they 
 came on some occasion ot joy. The first of these 
 was Anne of Austria, with her eyes animated, and 
 he" countenance glowing with the interest she took 
 in every thing which bore the least appearance of 
 secrecy or romance. Her right arm was passed 
 through that of the Marchioness de Beaumor.t,who 
 moved on with a calm, rather grave countenance ; 
 while on the ((Ueen's left, walked a young lady in 
 the first gay spring of life, ever and anon turning a 
 smiling, playful glance behind to Pauline de Beau- 
 mont, who, leaning on the arm of Claude de Ble- 
 nau, followed, agitated, blusiiing,and happy, towards 
 the altar at which they were to be united for ever. 
 Seguin, the queen's physician, and Henri de La 
 Mothe, the count's page were admitted as witnesses 
 to the ceremony ; and attendant was stationed at 
 the door, to guard ngainst any troublesome devotee 
 entering the church during the time it was thus oc- 
 cupied. 
 
 The idea of marrying Pauline de Beaumont pri- 
 vately with the Count de Blenau, had entirely orig- 
 inated with the queen, whose passion for any thing 
 romantic often threw both herself and her friends 
 into situations of great danger. In the present in- 
 stance, she represented to Madame de Beaumont 
 that a thousand circumstances might occur m those 
 unhappy times, to tear De Blenau .igain from her 
 he loved ; or that ihc cardinal might postively pro- 
 hibit their marriage, and then, she asked, who would 
 dare to oppose him ? vvhereas their private union 
 wftuld obviate all dilficulties, and incur no danger. 
 
 Madame do Bcaiimout made many objections, 
 and her dauglUer hesitated} but the wishes of the 
 queen overcame all the marchioness's scruples } 
 and the entreaties of De Blenau were not less pow- 
 erful with Pauline. 
 
 The appoinled^night being arrived, and all the
 
 200 ,RICHELIEU. 
 
 arrangements having been made as privately as pos 
 sible, Pauline, as we have said, followed her mother 
 and the queen into the chapel of St. Catherine. 
 But as she did so, there was a sort of despondency 
 fell upon her that she could not accouot for. As 
 she leaned upon De Blenau, she felt that she was 
 mosijiappy in being united to him. She was agitat- 
 ed, it' was true, but still it was natural that she 
 should be so, she thought. All her duties, all her 
 ideas, were, b_v one single word, about to suffer an 
 entire change, yet that did not take from her hap- 
 piness. But still there was an undefined fear, a 
 sort of melancholy presentiment, which weighed 
 upon her spirits, she knew not why. She asked 
 herself, was De Blenau less kind ? Oh, no .' And 
 as the thought passed through her mind, she raised 
 her eyes for a moment from the ground, on which 
 they had been beat, and turned them on her lover. 
 In so doing, they met the lull, soft, affectionate 
 gaze, with wrich De Blenau was at that moment re- 
 garding her, and a deep blush rose in her cheek, but 
 soon faded away, and left her again pale and 
 thougiitful. She had not, however, much time to 
 analyze her feelings ; for, by this time, the bishop 
 had reached the altar, and waited their approach. 
 
 Potier, Bishop of Beauvais, had little of that gen- 
 tleness of disposition, or suavity of manner, calcu- 
 lated to reassure Pauline. He had undertaken the 
 oflBce which he came there to fulfil, merely at the 
 desire of the queen, and that not without making 
 considerable opposition. But, though Potier was ob- 
 stinate, Anne of Austria was still more so. She had 
 resolved that the ceremony should be performed, 
 and that he should perform'it, and she carried her 
 point ; but yet he made his dislike to the task very 
 apparent, and regarded the innocent Pauline with 
 no friendly looks. 
 
 " Come, mademoiselle," said he, as Pauline 
 seemed to linger for a moment, '' you and Mon- 
 sieur le Compte will have enough of each other's
 
 EICHELIEU. 201 
 
 society after my office is over. Let us proceed with 
 ttie ceremony," 
 
 The group arranged tliem?eves round the altar, 
 and the bishop opening tiie boolt began to read. 
 The proiuise, wliich was to bind iier to De Blenau 
 for ever, trembled on Pauline's lips, when a confus- 
 ed noise at the private door leading to the palace 
 caught her ear, and she paused. 
 
 De Blenau, who had not heard it, turned towards 
 her in surprise 3 but immediately the voice of the 
 attendant, who had been stationed there as port- 
 greve, was heard exclaiming to some one, wlio ap- 
 parently endeavored to make his way into the 
 church, " Stand back, 1 say. You do not enter 
 here ! What is yoyr authority V 
 
 "My authority," replied another voice, " is a 
 warrant of council. Oppose it if you dare. Strike 
 liim down, if he docs not let you pass." And im- 
 mediately the door bursting open, an officer of the 
 cardinal's guard, with a file of soldiers, entered the 
 church. 
 
 '• Guard the doors," cried the officer, " and let no 
 one quit the place." And giving his partisan to 
 one of the soldiers, be advanced towards the high 
 Gothic arch, forming the boundary between the 
 main aisle and the chapel of St. Catherine. 
 
 P.iuline clung to De Blenau. " Oh, Claude 1" 
 cried she, "they are going to tear you from me 
 again. My heart misgave me. — I was sure that 
 somefching dreadful would interpose between us." 
 
 De Blenau whispered a few words of comfort to 
 her, and Fotier himself was moved by her agita- 
 tion. "Do not be afraid, young lady." said he j 
 "we are on sacred ground, — Stop, sir," he con- 
 tinued, advancing to the steps of the chapel, which 
 the officer had just reached : " what seek you here ? 
 And how do you presume to bring armed men in- 
 to this church 1" 
 
 " I come, sir," answered the officer, " with a 
 warrant from his majesty's council, to arrest Claude 
 
 roL. n 14
 
 202 
 
 RIOHELTKU. 
 
 Count de Blenau y' and be made a step towards 
 the chapel. 
 
 •■' Hold !'■' exclaimed the bishop, '< You arrest 
 him not here. This ground is sanctuary ; and I 
 command you, in the name of God and our holy re- 
 ligion, to withdraw your men, and instantly to quit 
 this church.'-' And he waved his hand with an air 
 ef dignified authority. 
 
 The officer paused. '•' But, monseigneur," he 
 replied, " the count is charged with high trea- 
 son.'' 
 
 "With high treason!" exclaimed the qaeen. 
 " With high treason I'' echoed Pauline, clinging 
 still closer to De Blenau's arm, which she held 
 encirled by both her own. 
 
 " He is charged with high treason," repeated the 
 officer; "and 1 musiiultil my duty. " 
 
 ''Were he charged with all the crimes which 
 disgrace humanity,'" replied the bishop, " here he 
 is sanctuarized ; and 1 command you, on pain of 
 excommunication — you, Sir Officer, and your sol- 
 diers, to quit the church, i stand not here to see 
 this altar violated, whatever be your authority." 
 
 The officer paused a moment, uncertain how to 
 act. " Well, holy father," replied he at lenj^th, •' I 
 obey 3 but I shall lake especial care to guard every 
 door of the cliurch ; so that if there be any biamc. it 
 does not fall on me. '•■ .\nd muttering between his 
 teeth the discontent he did not dare to vent aloud, 
 he slowly withdrew his men. 
 
 The eye of Anne of Austria watched them intent- 
 ly till the last soldier had passed through the door 
 which communicated vvith the palace. Then turn- 
 ing quickly to the count, sJic exclaimed, '■ Kly 
 quick, De Blenau, up that staircase, cross the jvbe, 
 through the monks' gulery round the choir. Vou 
 will find a door on the rigii't ibat leads into the kings 
 cabinet. Wait there itll 1 .send— Quick, fly— 1 de- 
 sire — I command ynii.' 
 
 "Oh fly, Ciautie. tis-'-- fciteratod Patilinf.-- they
 
 RICHELIEU. 203 
 
 -will murder 70U surely this time, if you do not 
 fly." 
 
 " Pardon me, your majesty — pardon me, dear 
 Pauline,'' replied De Blenau 3 " it cannot be. There 
 is no man ia France more innocent, in deed, word, 
 or even thought, of treason against his king and 
 country than 1 am 3 and Claude de Blenau flies from 
 no one, so long as his honor and integrity remain 
 by him : when these fail, then he may become a 
 coward. But to these will I now trust, and in- 
 stantly surrender myself to his majesty's warrant. 
 i did not interfere wjiile monseigneur defended the 
 rights of the sanctuary, for he did but th-e duties of 
 his high office 5 nor indeed was I willing to yield 
 my sword to a servant of Cardinal Richelieu. Take 
 it, Henry," he continued, unbuckling it frnm his 
 ■side, and gi'ving it to the page 5 " take it, and keep 
 it for vour master." 
 
 ** De Blenau, you are an obstinat* man," said 
 the queen. *' I w ill urge nothing 3 but look at this 
 pale cheek, and fiincy what the feelings of that 
 sweet girl must be." And siie pointed to Pauline 
 who stood by with the tears chasing each other 
 down her lace. 
 
 ^Notwithstanding Ike firmness with which he 
 -epoke, there had been many a bitter pang strugg- 
 ling in Dc Blenau's breast, The appeal of the 
 queen, and the sight of Pauline's distress, over- 
 came his calmness ; and starting forward, he caught 
 her in his armies and pressed an ardent kiss upon 
 her lips. " Dear, dear Pauline," he exclaimed, 
 "all will go well, be assured. My innocence will 
 protect me." 
 
 Pauline shook her hea-d mournfully, but her heart 
 was too full to reply. 
 
 " Theu you will not fly ?" demanded the queen, 
 with some degree of impatience. 
 
 " He is in the right, madam," said the bishop. 
 "As a good subject, h^ is bound to obey the laws 
 of hi9 country; and in duty to himself, he ought
 
 204 RICHELIEU 
 
 r.ot to give weight to the charge against him bv 
 seeming afraid to meet it." 
 
 Anne of Austria turned away with a look of an- 
 gry disappointment. " VV^ell, at ail events,' said 
 she, " let us conclude the ceremory which has been 
 thus interrupted, and afterward the coont- can act 
 as he pleases. 
 
 De Blenau hesitated. He felt that what the 
 queen proposed, if carried into effect, would bs 
 the only consolation he could receive under the 
 new misfortune that bad befallen him ; but he fell 
 also that it was a selfishness to wish it, and he look- 
 ed towards the bishop who had so well supp>orted 
 his fir&t resolution. But Potrer bent his eyes grave*- 
 ly on the ground, disapproving the proposal, yet an- 
 willing farther to oppose the queen. 
 
 " It shall be as Pauline decides," said De Blenau, 
 taking her hand and raising it gently to his lips. — 
 " Pauline," he continued, "you know how deeply 
 1 love you} you know how I have lonjed for the 
 hour that should give me your hand. But I fear 
 that I should be cruelly selfisli, were 1 to ask you 
 to become the bride of one whose fate is so un- 
 certain — Speak, dear Pauline." 
 
 Mademoiselle de Beaumont spoke not. but she 
 raised her eyes to De Blenau with an expression 
 which toid that every feeling of her heart was given 
 to him. — The marchioness, however, interposed.. 
 '•'No!'' said she : '•' ('laude,you are right 5 it is bet- 
 ter to wait. — The time will come, I feel sure, when 
 you will be able to claim Pauline in the midst of 
 smiles and happiness, instead of tears and danger. 
 Does not your majesty think this delay advisible V' 
 
 '• My opinion has been expressed alreadv," re- 
 plied Anne of Austria, peevishly. " But it is not 
 my affair — act as you think fit.' But were I Pau- 
 line, and my lover gave me up so calmly, I would 
 seek another in his absence to console me." 
 
 De Blenau, deeply hurt, bit his lip. and by a 
 strong effort forced himself to silence : but Pauline 
 jlaced her hand in his, and raising her eyes to his
 
 TtlOHEUEU, 205 
 
 face : — Fear not, Claude," she said ; "■ in life and in 
 -death I am yours. None other shall ever possess 
 the hand of Pauline de Beaumont." 
 
 "You are a noble girl, Pauline," exclaimed the 
 queen. '' De Blenau, I was wrong ; but it vexes 
 me to see that you will always be more in the 
 right than I am. Do not look so sad, Pauline. 
 The more I think of it, the more I feel sure that 
 De Blenau's innocence will stand him in good 
 stead yet, in spite of the meager cardinal : and I 
 begin to reckon also somewhat oa my own influ- 
 ence with Louis ; he is far kinder than in former 
 days : and I will make it a point of earnest prayer, 
 that De Blenau be fairly used. Besides, they have 
 now no plea against him. There are no secret let- 
 ters to be discovered — no correspondence with the 
 public enemy." 
 
 Pauline shook her head mournfully. A cloud 
 had come over the sun of her days, and she fanci- 
 ed that he would never beam brightly again. 
 
 '' If we could ascertain the reason of this arrest, 
 said Madame de Beaumont,/' it might in some de- 
 gree satisfy our minds." 
 
 " That may be easily done," replied the bishop, 
 " as Monsieur de Blenau is resolved lo surrender 
 feimself. We can question the officer, in regard 
 to what occurred at the place from whence he 
 comes J and by that means discover what circum- 
 stances have arisen to cast suspicion on the 
 tjount." 
 
 What the bishop proposed was instantly agreed 
 to; and De Blenau sent forward his page to inform 
 the officer of his determination. 
 
 Anne of Austria then took a few steps along the 
 nave, and turned to see if he still held his resolu- 
 tion. De Blenau bowed. " 1 follow your majes- 
 ty," he said, " I feel that , I have nothing to fear." 
 And they passed on slowly and sadly to the other 
 -«nd of the church. 
 
 As they went Pauline still clang to the arm of her 
 lover, as if she feared that every moment they
 
 fc^Ti RICHELIED. 
 
 would tear him from her 5 and tear after tear rolled' 
 silently down her clieeks. The heart of De Ble^ 
 nau also was loo full for words, so that silence hung 
 upon the whole party. 
 
 At the door which communicated with the pal- 
 ace, stood the cardinal's officer, with too or three 
 of his men ; and as she approached, the queen de-- 
 sired him to follow her to the saloon. Tiie officer 
 bowed low, and replied, that he would obey her 
 commands ; but immediately advancing to De Ble- 
 nau, he laid his hand upon the count's arm. " In 
 the king's name, Monsieur le Comte de Blenau," 
 said he, '•' i arrest you for high treason. Behold 
 my warrant^' 
 
 Pauline recoiled with a look of fear; and De Ble- 
 !iiu calmly put the man's hand from off his sleeve. 
 — " Pass on, sir," he said. •' 1 am your prisoner." 
 The officer hesitated ; " Pass on, sir," repeated the 
 count 3 " you have ray word. I am your prison- 
 er." 
 
 The man passed on, but not before he had made 
 a sign to the soldiers who were with him, who suf- 
 fered the count and Pauline to pass, and then clos- 
 ing in, followed at a few paces distance. 
 
 On reaching the saloon, the queen took her seat ; 
 and beckoning to Pauline, who, faint and terrified, 
 was hardly able to support herself, she made her 
 sit down on the footstool at her feet. "JNow, Sir 
 Officer," said Anne of Austria, '< what news bring 
 you from Narbonne ? How fares his majesty the. 
 king ?" 
 
 "May it please you, madame," he replied,"! 
 come not from Narbonne, as your majesty supposes, 
 but from Tarascon, where the king had just arrived 
 when I departed." 
 
 " The king at Tarascon !" exclaimed Anne of 
 Austria. " In the name of Heaven, what does he 
 at Tarascon ?" 
 
 " That is beyond my knowledge," answered the 
 officer. " All I can tell your majesty is, that for the 
 last week there has been strange flying of courlots
 
 RlCIlKLIt: 207 
 
 Troui one place to another. Monsieur de Chavigni 
 has almost killed himself with riding between Tar- 
 ascon and Narbonnc. Every thing is altered, evi- 
 dently, but no one knows how or why ; and just as 
 Aleron, Monsieur de Brezes inaitre d'hotel, was 
 about to give me the whole history, i received aa 
 order to set off for Paris instantly, and when I ar- 
 rived there, to take twenty troopers from the ca- 
 seme, and come on hither on the errand which I 
 have the honor to perform." 
 
 " But did you hear nothing ?" demanded the 
 queen, earnestly. '' Did- this Aleron tell you noth- 
 ing ?" 
 
 " Nothing, roadarae," replied the officer. " He 
 had just made me promise inviolable secrecy, and 
 Nve were interrupted before he began his tale 3 or I 
 would have told your majestyvvith pleasure." 
 
 " But from report T" said the queen. " Did you 
 gain no knowledge from rumour 1" 
 
 •' Oh, there were rumours enough, truly/\answer- 
 ed the man.j, " butas fast as one came, it was con- 
 tradicted by another. Some said that the troops at 
 Perpignan had revolted, and some that Jlfonsieur 
 le Grand had killed Cardinal Mazarin. Others 
 brought word that Monsieur de Noyers had tried to 
 poison the king j and others, that the king had 
 kicked Fbatraitles for hunting in short boots." 
 
 " Nofisense .'" said the queen j " all nonsense. — 
 It is unfortunate," she continued, musing, " that 
 we can get no information. But tell me, where 
 are you ordered to conduct itfonsieur de Blenau ? 
 —To the Bastille V 
 
 At the name of a place where both De Blenau 
 and herself had suffered so much, and which was 
 associated in her mind with every horrible idea, 
 Pauline clasped her hands over her eyes, as if to 
 shut out the frightful visions it recalled. 
 
 " No, madame," replied the officer, " I am com- 
 manded to conduct Moasieur de Blenau, as quickly 
 as possible, to Tarascon : and allow me to remind 
 your, majesty that the time is pasting fast."
 
 20S RKHIELIEET 
 
 De Blenau made a sign to the ofBcer. tfKlicatiHg 
 ihat he wss reidy. He saw that Pauliae's hand 
 stiU covered her eves, and, wishing to spare her 
 tlie p;iin ofsucii a p.irtinsr, he bowed prifuundly to 
 the queen, and moved in f-ilence to tiie door. The 
 queen and Madame de Beaumont saw his inten- 
 tion, and remained silent ^ but as he reached the 
 door, he cluU no* resist the desire to turn and look 
 once more upon her whom he was leaving perhaps 
 forever — whnhal so nearly been his bride^vriiom 
 he had loved so long — .vho hr.d undergone bo much 
 for him. It was excucable, but the delay df fented 
 bis purpose. The sudden silence alarmed Pauline 
 — she raised her eyes — she saw De Blenaii in the 
 act of departing, and the last fixed painful glance 
 with which he regarded her. All but her love was 
 at til at moment forgotten ; and starling wildly for- 
 ward,, she threw herself into his arms, and wept 
 bitterly on his bosom. But Madame de Beaumont 
 advancing, gently disengaged her from his em- 
 brace . Pauline hid her eyes upon her mother's 
 shoulder; and De Blenau^ with a heart ready to 
 break, fled quickly from a scene 4iiat hb fortitude 
 could support no longer. 
 
 CHAPTER XII 
 
 Which shows (hat a man vihn fms eWmbed a raountaiw n»ajr 
 ilnmble at a Pebble; or (Ire consequence* , of one orei"- 
 si§h(. 
 
 We mast once more go back to Narbonne, in 
 order to explain the events which had ihere taken 
 plac€; since the day on ^hicll Cbavigni posrossed
 
 mCHELIED. 20^ 
 
 himself of the treaty with Spain. Cinq Mars, heaf- 
 ing nothing of his agent, of course concluded that 
 he was qiiietiy pursuing his way ; and willing to 
 take every precaution lo insure the success of his 
 plans, he spent the next day in riding over to the 
 camp at Perpignan. and enrfe^'.voring to ingratiate 
 himself with the officers and soldiers of tiiat part of 
 the army. The splendor of his train and equippa- 
 ges, the manly beauty of his person, his dexterity 
 m all warlike exercises, and the courteous familiar- 
 ity of his mJinners, attracted all eyes, and won all 
 hearts ; and Cinq Mars, well contented with the 
 day's success, did not return to Narbcnne till very 
 late at ni^ht. 
 
 The next morning had been appointed for hunt- 
 ing ; but that day the king was rather later than 
 usual, and Cinq Mars, as he waited in the saloon till 
 Louis should be ready, took up a romance which 
 some of the pages had left behind, and stretching 
 his tall elegant form at length in the window-seat, 
 he began reading, to pass the time. 
 
 The book was The true History of Don Cleofas 
 of Castile, and as Cinq Mars read on, he became 
 interested in the fate of the hero. He had opened 
 the volume at that part where the knight rescues 
 Matilda from the power of the Moors. He was in 
 the act of persuading her to descend the staircase 
 in the tower, at the foot of which the repentant 
 renegade waited with their horses ; and Cinq Mars, 
 •whose whole heart was full of roma.ice, at one 
 moment entered entirely into the vehement and 
 almost angry arguments of Don Cleofas, and then 
 again felt for the alarm ami doubt of the timid Ma- 
 tilda. 
 
 So much, indeed, was he occupied, that as some 
 one passed to and from the king's chamber, he 
 scarcely raised his eyes to noticatswho it was ; and 
 when at last ho did so, he found w i only a page. 
 
 The tale went on, and his eye ran .from sentence 
 to sentence, to see if the fears of Matilda had 
 ^proved &tal to their hop6d|Of escape ; and his heart
 
 210 ' R10HEI.IEU. 
 
 beot with anxiety and alarm as the wind blew the 
 door to behind them, and they listened to hear 
 whether the Moors had been awakened by the 
 sound. It was at that moment that another step 
 met his ear, whose firm, decided pace plainly told 
 that it was not that of a domestic. Cinq Mars rais- 
 ed his eyes, and as he did so, they eiypountered 
 those of Chavigni, who was passing on to the apart- 
 ments of the king. Chavigni bowed, with a pecu- 
 liar smile. Cinq Mars returned his salutation, and 
 again began reading his book. " It is all over with 
 your power, Monsieur de Chavignj," thought the 
 master of the horse ; "' I will but read out this ad- 
 venture of the two lovers, and then 1 will come to 
 disturb your tete-a-tete with his majesty.'' 
 
 Cinq Mars read on. ''Don Cleofas and his fair- 
 ilfatilda descended the staircase in the city walls j 
 but before they reached the gate, the alarm was 
 given, and by the time they had mounted their 
 horses, all the garrison was armed for their pursuit. 
 Flights of arrows followed them from the ramparts 
 as they fled, and a body of the horse kept close up- 
 on their track. But still Don Cleofas pursued his 
 way, the bridle of J/atilda's horse thrown over his 
 arm, and his right hand ready to grasp his sword, 
 should the moors overtake them. It was up the 
 ascent of a steep hill that he took bis way, and at 
 the top he reined in his horse, on the edge of the 
 cr?g which looked down into a peaceful valley be- 
 low. Don Cleofas sprang to the ground, gave one 
 look to the 31ooT3 who were following fast behind, 
 and, as a last resource, catching Matilda in his 
 arms, he leaped from the brink, bounding from rock 
 to rock in the descent, with the agility of an izzard, 
 till at length he reached the deepest part of the 
 valley below." — All this was told at full length in 
 the romance. The terrors of Matilda, the daring 
 of the knight, the angry gestures of the Moors, the 
 steepness of the descent, and-the.oalm beauty of 
 the valley, were all dilated upon and described 
 with the utaaost minuteness and accuracy ; which
 
 RICHELIEU Qll 
 
 very much delighted Cinq Mars, but took him a 
 long time to read ; so that just at the moment he 
 had got them safely to near the end of their jour- 
 ney, the door of the king's apartments again open- 
 ed, and Chavigni passed through the room on his 
 return. Perceiving this to be the case Cinq iUars 
 thought that he might as well go on with his 
 book j which he had just begun to do, when Fon- 
 trailles entered the saloon and interrupted iiim. " In 
 the name of Heaven, Cinq Mars," exclaimed he, 
 " what are you about ?" 
 
 '^ I am waiting till the king is ready,'^ answered 
 the master of the horse composedly, scarcely tak 
 ing his eyes from the romance. 
 
 '' And is it possible," asked Fontrailles, in a tone 
 of angry astonishment, " that you have lain here 
 reading that drivelling book, and suffered Chavigni 
 to be again so long with the king VI 
 
 " Again \" said Cinq Mars, becoming more at- 
 tentive ; " he only passed once that I saw." 
 
 " And ought he to have been there once, if that 
 were all V asked Fontrailles. " But let me tell 
 you. Cinq il/ars, he was there last night for more 
 than an hour. Oh, Cinq Mars ! Cinq Mars ! is this a 
 time, when our lives, our fortunes, and our coun- 
 try's weal are at stake, to sit thene dozing over a 
 romance, and see our bitterest enemy have access 
 to the king's ear, but too easy to be abused ? De- 
 pend on it, something more will rome of this," 
 
 " But why did you not let me know," demanded 
 the master of the horse, " that he had seen the 
 king last night?" 
 
 " I learned it but this moment," replied Fontrail- 
 les. " But here comes a page from the king's 
 apartments. A message to you, Cinq Mars, on my 
 life." 
 
 The page approached. ' I ?m commanded by 
 the king's majesty to acquaint you, monseigneur," 
 said he, addressing the grand ecuyer, " that he 
 feels himself too unwell to enjoy the pleasures of 
 the chase to-day. But he desires that his indispo-
 
 212 RTCnELTTSTT. 
 
 sitionmaynot prevent you, and the other gentle- 
 men invited; from following your sport." And hav- 
 ing delivered this message, the attendant withdrew, 
 without waiting for any reply. 
 
 "Well, now you see, Fontrailles," exclaimed 
 Cinq Mars, ••there is nothing wrong here. Noth- 
 ing can be more kind and considerate than, when 
 ill himself, to wish us to follow the sport without 
 him.' 
 
 An expression of heavy, deep-seated thought sat 
 upon the brow of the clear sighted, suspicious Fon- 
 trailles. He took two or three steps up and dovi^n 
 the apartment, and then, turning to Cinq Mars with 
 a countenance in which painful anxiety and bitter 
 irony were strangely mingled, he considered hia 
 companion with an attentive glance, which ran rap- 
 ioly over his tall elegant figure. " Cinq Mars," 
 said he, "you are more than six feet high, and 
 could spare a few inches of your height upon an oc- 
 casion — even were they to make ^ou shorter by the 
 head, you would still be a tall man. As for me, I 
 am short already, and cannot afford to be cut down. 
 A word to the wise— I go to shelter myself from 
 pruning-knives. Do as yon please. We shall meet 
 in this world or the next. Adieu!" And turning 
 on his heel, he quitted the saloon. 
 
 " The man is mad !" said Cinq Mars, aloud as 
 Fontrailles left him—'' irretrievably cracked '." 
 And jumping up from the window-seat, he descend- 
 ed to the courtyard, called the huntsmen together, 
 mounted his h«rse, and led the chase as merrily as 
 if nothing had happened but the ordinary trifles of 
 a day. 
 
 Had he known all, very different would have 
 been his feelings. The visit of Chavigni to the 
 king- was one on which the fate of France depend- 
 ed ; and the wily statesman had entered the apart- 
 ments of the monarch, prepared equally to guard 
 every word he uttered himself, and to watch every 
 turn of Lotiis's irritaMe and unsteady mind. 
 
 The king was leaning on a table in hia cabiaet,
 
 MC1!Et!EB. 213 
 
 dresffcd for the hunting expedition we have men- 
 tioned, and more than an unusual degree of peev- 
 ishness was expressed in his countenance. '• Well, 
 sir," exclaimed Louis, as Chavigni entered, '' what 
 other bad news have you the pleasure of bringing 
 me 1 What other friends have turned traitors 1 
 What other power is about to invade my dominions? 
 By the Holy Trinity ! I never see your face but it 
 makes me melancholy." 
 
 Chavigni was not sorry to perceive the king's 
 irritability. The night before he had conveyed to 
 him-, in general terms, tiie news of a private treaty 
 existing between Spain and some that Louis sup- 
 posed his friends, and had promised to bring him 
 that morning the names of the different parties en- 
 gaged. He now came to fulfil that promise, and he 
 saw that the former information had been working 
 upon Louis's mind, and raised in it a degree of im- 
 patience and anger that would fall "heavily on the 
 first object presented to iiis resentnnent. Nor did 
 Chavigni doubt that he would easily be able to turn 
 it in the direction that ho wished. 
 
 "My liege," replied he, " when I find your maj- 
 esty's conHdence betrayed, your dominions threat- 
 ened, and even your person in danger, it is my duty 
 to give your majesty timely warning, although the 
 news be as unpleasant for me to bear as for you to 
 hear. To conceal treason is the part of a traitor, 
 and as one of your majesty's council—*" 
 
 '^ Well, well, sir," cried Louis, interrupting him. 
 " spare your exculpation. The executioner is 
 doubtless guiltless of the blood he sheds, but it is not 
 a right honorable trade." 
 
 An angry flush came over C'havigni's counte- 
 nance, but it quickly subsided; and he replied calm- 
 ly, " I came here, as your majesty knows, to give 
 you more minute particulars of tlie information-! 
 rendered you yesterday ; and to prove to you that 
 some whom you esteem your dearest friends, and 
 some who are your nearest relations, arc the veriest 
 traitors in France. The affair for no one can bo
 
 214 RlCHELIfiO- 
 
 more unpleasant than for myself, for there are some 
 to whom 1 wish well, thnt have in this merited their 
 death : therefore, sire, if you find it too painful to 
 hear, in the name of Heaven, let it rest in silence. 
 I will high me home and burn the papers I have 
 brought here ; and satistied with having done my 
 duty^only hold myself ready, when the misfortunes 
 which must follow, do arrive, to serve your majesty 
 with my hand and heart." And bowing profoundly, 
 Chavigni took a step back, as if about to quit the 
 presence. 
 
 " Hold, Monsieur de Chavigni, said the king, 
 "you have done your duty, we do not doubt. But 
 unpleasant tidings, sir, are not to be received pleas- 
 antly. Were it nurself alone that they aimed at, 
 perhaps we might leave treason to overreach itself } 
 but as the welfare of our kingdom is at stake, we 
 must look tl>e frowning truth in the face, and pre- 
 pare to punish the guilty, be they who they may, 
 that we may insure the safety of ti^e innocent.'' 
 
 ■' Louis the Just."' said Chavigni, advancing and 
 using a term which had been bestowed upon the 
 kingbyllie astrologers of the day from his having 
 been born under the sign Libra, '" Louis the Just 
 will not act otherwise thanjustly, and iff prove not 
 to your majesty's satisfaction that a most dangerous 
 conspiracy is on foot, let your royal indignation fall 
 upon me." 
 
 •• I know cet whatyoTi call a conspiratiy, sir," an- 
 swered Louis, his mind reverting to the plans oi 
 Cinq Mars, to which, as we have seen, he had given 
 his own sanction only a few nights before, and for 
 the discovery of which he felt as much alarm as if 
 Richelieu possessed the power of punishing him 
 also. 
 
 '• The conspiracy I speak of, sire," rejoined the 
 statesman, " is formed not only to oblige your maj- 
 esty to change your ministers but— -'' 
 
 " I can conceive no plan for obliging me to change 
 my ministers," interrupted t!ie king. '• You must 
 have mistaken, Monsieur de Chavigni ; perhaps tlie
 
 RlCHELlEtr. fl5 
 
 persona whom yoo style conspirators, have only in 
 view to make me dutiful petition and remonstrance, 
 iu which case I should give their arguments ail 
 due weight and consideration. Therefore, if this 
 be the information you bring, 1 wish to hear no 
 more. 
 
 Long accustomed to observe every particular 
 point of \veakness in the king's mind, Chavigni at 
 once convinced the whole train of Louis's thoughts, 
 and judged from the very alarrrj which he saw in 
 the monarch's countenance, that if the cardinal's 
 power could once be re-established, it would be 
 jnore unbounded than ever 3 and as these ideas pass- 
 ed through his mind, they called a transient smile 
 uponjhis lip. 
 
 •' \Vhy do you smile, sir I'' demanded the king', 
 sharply.' 
 
 " Pardon me, sire ?" nnswered Chavigni. * But it 
 was, that you should thir.k me so weak as to trou- 
 ble you upon such a subject. If leaguing with the 
 enemies you have fought and conquered be humble 
 petition; if bringing foreign troops to invade your 
 dominions be dutiful remonstrance ; if promising to 
 deliver the strong places of France into the hands 
 of Spain be loyalty and iaith, — then have I unneces- 
 sarily disturbed your repose." 
 
 Chavigni's speech worked upon the king as he 
 expected. '' How say you '■'' exclaimed Louis, his 
 eyes flasliing fire. *' Who h.is dared to conceive 
 f-uch a thought ? Who has had the hardihood to 
 unite liimself to Spain — our sworn enemy — our mor- 
 tal foe ? — frove you*- assertion, sir — Prove that 
 suc!i a traitor exists in our dominions ; and were he 
 our own brother, we would doom him to death.'' 
 
 Chavigni instantly caught at the idea. " Sorry I 
 am to say, sire," he replied, " that your majesty has 
 but too truly divincvi the person. The Duke of Or- 
 leans, unhappily, is the chief of this dangerous con- 
 spiracy. Behold, my liege, his name to this treaty 
 with Spain ;'' and ail fully contriving to conceal the 
 greater part of t!ie names with his hand in holding
 
 216 ftlCHELitU. 
 
 it before the king, he pointed out the great sprawl- 
 ing " Gaston,^^ which stood the first on the list of 
 signatures. 
 
 Louis instantly recognised his brother's hand- 
 writing. ■' Gaston of Orleans ! Gaston of OrleaasI'' 
 he e.t-clainisd, '-will nothing satisfy you? Must 
 you beiray your country to her enemies, as well as 
 to plot against your brother's life magicians and as- 
 trologers ?" 
 
 We have already had occasion to remark, that 
 Louis, deeply inAued with all the superstitions of 
 the age. put full faith in every part of astrology, and 
 dreaded nothing more than the eflects ©f enchant- 
 ment. Nor could any thing free his mind from the 
 idea, that his brother had, in former times, conspir- 
 ed against his lifei with certain mai^icians who were 
 actually executed for the crime ; one among others 
 being the famous Pere Le Rouge, wliom we have 
 more than once noticed in this sn^e history. The- 
 Duke of Orleans himself escaped with a temporary 
 banishment, but the circumstance still rankled in 
 the king's mind ; and at present the anzer which 
 might perhaps have turned aside from Cinq Mars, 
 had Chavigni at first sutFevedthe favourite's name to 
 appear, now burst with full force upon the Jess 
 favored Gaston. 
 
 " Issu ! a warrant for his instant arrest," exclaimed 
 the king. "By Heaven, he shall not escape more 
 than another man." 
 
 ': May it piease your majesty !"' answered Cha- 
 vigni, '-to sign the warrant yourself. Tlds is a 
 case of no simple conspiracy, where the kinj^'s broth- 
 er is at its head, and many of the Ursl in the king- 
 dom its supporters} and tlie warrants ought not to 
 be simi)le lettres de catchet of council, but ought to 
 bear the royal signature." 
 
 " Well, sir,"' replied the king, " have the warrants 
 prepared, and 1 will sign them. I am going now to 
 hunt, and at my return we v\'ill examine these pa- 
 ers and speak farther." 
 
 '•I have the wnrranls draw* QUt iicre/' said the 
 
 I
 
 illCilELIEU. 21 1^* 
 
 statesman, not choosing to let the first impression 
 subside. " It will not detain your majesty a mo- 
 ment; I felt convinced that you would not allow 
 justice to slumber,and therefore had them prepared. 
 This is against the body of Gaston of France, Duke 
 of Orlctins/' he continued, looking at one of the 
 papers. 
 
 '• Well, gfive it to me !" exclaimed the king, tak- 
 ing up a pen ; '•' it shall be done at once." 
 
 Chavigni put the warrant in Louis's hand, and 
 looked at him with intense feeling,and a triumphant 
 smile,as he hastily wrote his signature to it. ''Now/* 
 thought Chavigni, " I have you, one and all. Now, 
 proud Cinq Mars, and calculating Bouillon, you are 
 in my power ! He s gns the warrant against hiaown 
 brother, and he dare not let you escape 3" and, 
 countersigning the warrant, he put a second into 
 the king's hand, — "That is against the Duke of 
 Bouillon, sire '." and he calmy took up the first, and 
 placed it in his portfolio. 
 
 " The Duke of Bouillon.'" exclaimed Louis, with 
 a sudden start, remembering the orders he had sent 
 him, and terrified lest Richelieu sliould have discov- 
 ered them. " Is his name to that paper ?" 
 
 " No, sire I" answered the statesman ; " it is not. 
 But in the treaty itself, there is abundant proof of 
 concurrence 3 and it was on its way to him in Italy 
 when it was discovered. The same messenger bore 
 it that conveyed to him your orders to march his 
 troops into France :" and Chavigni fixed his keen 
 penetrating glance upon the king's countenance. 
 Louis turned away his liead, and signed the warrant; 
 while Chavigni proceeded to place before him that 
 against Fontrailles, and subsequently one which au- 
 thorised the arrest of Cinq Mars. 
 
 '•' How .'■' exclaimed the king, '•' here are the first 
 and most loyal men in my kingdom. Monsieur dc 
 Chavigni, this is going ^too far^.'' 
 
 "Their names, my liege,",]" answered Chavigni, 
 "are afiixed to the treasonable treaty in my hand." 
 
 VOL. II. 15
 
 218 RICHELIEU. 
 
 " It cannot be !" cried Louis, an expression of 
 painful apprehension comiiig over his countenance : 
 " It cannot be ! My faitliful, loyal Cinq Mars is no 
 traitor. I will never believe it I" And he threw 
 himself into a seat, and covered his eyes with his 
 hands. 
 
 Cbavigni opened the treaty calmly, and briefly re- 
 capitulated the principal articles. '' The first item 
 is, my liege,'"' he proceeded, " that Spain sliall in- 
 stantly furnish ten thousand men to enter France 
 by the way of Flanders; and for a security to his 
 Catholic inajesty, a second item provides, that the 
 Duke of Bouillon shall place in his hands, for the 
 time being, the Principality of Sedan. A tljird goes 
 on to arrange, that five principal fortified towns of 
 France shall be given into the hands of Spain; and 
 the whole concludes, with a solemn alliance, oft'en- 
 sive and defensive, between the conspirati.rs and 
 the Spanish king. — And to this treaty," added he, 
 in a firm, deep tone of voice, "stand the names oi 
 Cinq Mars and Fontrailles." 
 
 '•Cinq Mars has been deceived, misled, abused !" 
 cried the king, with a dejree of agitation almost 
 amounting to agony. 
 
 " That will appear on his trial, my li€ge," rejoin- 
 ed Chavigni ; and then wishing rather to sof?en the 
 hard task he called upon Louis to perform, he added 
 in a gentler manner, •'• Your majesty was^born vu- 
 der the sign JL?6ro, and have alwajs merited the 
 name of Just. If any thing in extenuation of his 
 fault appear in tl.e case of Monsieur le Grand Ecuy- 
 er, it can be taken into your merciful rcnsideration 
 after his arrest; but havinr calmly given an order f 
 for the imprisonment of )oui- own "royal brother, 
 your majesty cannot, will not, show the mai.ifest 
 partiality of letting a person equally culf>able es- 
 cape. May I once more request jour majesty to 
 BJi^n the warrant V 
 
 ' Well, well !'"' cried Louis,snatching up the pen. 
 '' But remember. Cinq Mars must be pardoned. He 
 hag been deceived by that treacherous Duke of
 
 RICHTiLIEU. 219 
 
 Bouillon and the oily Fonlrailles. Oh, he is vM 
 honor and loyaltyj have I not experienced a thousaiid 
 instances of his affection ? It is false 1 it is false V 
 And he dashed down the pen without using it. 
 
 Chavigni gazed on him for a moment with a feel 
 ing very nearly allied to contempt. " Well then, 
 your majesty." he said at length, " is it your pleas- 
 ure that I cause the arrest of the Dukes of Orleans 
 and Bouillon, with Monsieur de Fontrailles, and 
 others concerned in this conspiracy, and let Mon- 
 sieur de Cinq Mars know that Louis the Just makes 
 a distinction between him and other men ?" 
 
 " No, no, Chavigni," replied Louis, mournfully j 
 "give rne the paper — I will sign it — But Cinq Mars 
 must be saved. He has been deceived — I will sign 
 it ;" and turning away his head, he wrote his name 
 with a trembling hand. But still he continued to 
 hold the warrant, as if unwilling to part with it, re- 
 peating more than once in a tone rather of entrea- 
 ty than command, " Indeed, [indeed, Chavigni, he 
 must be saved !" 
 
 " Will your majesty look at this pa'-t of the trea- 
 ty to see that i have stated it correctly ?" said the 
 statesman, offering the papers to the king. Louis 
 laid down the warrant to receive them ; and Cha- 
 vigni instantly raising the order for tiie arrest of 
 Cinq Mars from the table, placed it in his portfolio 
 with the rest. Louis saw it was gone beyond his 
 recall ; and Jropping the treaty from his hands, hid 
 his face in his cloak with feelings near akin to de- 
 spair. 
 
 Chavii^ni's object was gained, and the power of 
 Richelieu re-established. Not only all the conspira- 
 tors were delivered bound 'into his hands, but the 
 king himself was virtually in his power. Too weak, 
 as the statesman well knew, to stand alone, or to 
 choose new ministers for himself, Louis had no re- 
 source but to yield himself once nmrc blindly to the 
 guidance of the cardinal ; and from the moment he 
 had signed the warrant against Cinq Mars, Chavig- 
 ni looked upon him but as^a royal tool to work out
 
 220 RICHELIEU. 
 
 the designs of that great unshrinking politician^ 
 ■who had already so long used him for his own pur- 
 poses. 
 
 The unfortunate monarch, also, was but too well 
 aware of his own want of energy, and of the un- 
 supported situation in which he had left himself 5 
 and yielding to his ancient dread of Richelieu, he 
 charged Chavigni with a multitude of exculpatory 
 messages to the minister, calling hini his hcstfrienc^ 
 and his cousin, and adding various civil speeches 
 and professions, which both Chavigni and the cardi- 
 nal knew how to estimate. 
 
 " There are many other persons, sire," said the 
 statesman, as he was about to depart, " who are 
 rmplicaled more or less in this unhappy conspiracyj 
 but as their guilt is either in a m nor degree, or 
 their rank less elevated, I will not trouble your ma- 
 jesty to put your personal signature to ihe warrants^ 
 against them. In the mean time, allo.v me to hint 
 that the king ought not to be seen hunting with trai- 
 tors when they are known to be so." 
 
 " ]Xo, no," replied Louisr •mournfully; "lam in 
 no mood for hunting no-R\ But %vhere gcyou, Mon- 
 sieur Cliavigni T You will not leave me for long," 
 added the king, feeling that he must have some one 
 to lean on, and little caring who. so tiiat they yield- 
 ed him support. '• You will not leave m- for Jong 
 in this case of danger." 
 
 " I am about to proceed to Corneille," replied 
 Chavigni. •' to order up a body of the cardinal's 
 guard. At present, I have no escort but a few ser- 
 vants. We are surrounded by- the retainers of the 
 different conspirators, and, were 1 to attempt the 
 execution of your majesty s warrant s.Ave might meet 
 with opposition. But 1 will coon set that at rest, 
 and before to-morrow morning there shall be a thou- 
 sand men in INTarbonne, truly devoted to your ma- 
 jesty's service. "'■ 
 
 The king gave an involuntary shudder ; aid Cha- 
 vigni, with a mockery of profound respect, which f 
 he felt but little, took leave and quitted the presence. .
 
 RICHELIEU, ^21 
 
 Bill 
 
 ■The moment he was gone, Louis called to one of 
 ^he attendants, and carefully shutting the door when 
 he had entered, " Francois," said he, " your are a 
 -silent, cautious man — 1 can trust you : go to Mon- 
 sieur le Grand Ecuyer, and if he is alone, tell him 
 that France is a climate dangerous for his health, to 
 betake himself elsewhere, and that speedily. But 
 if there is any one with him, merely say that the 
 king feels himself too unwell to enjoy the pleasures 
 of the chase to day 3 but tliat he desires that his in- 
 disposition may not prevent the gentlsmen invited 
 from following their sport. But, Fran9ois, watch 
 well Cinq Mar's return 5 find him -out alone, and 
 give him the first message. Only beware, that in it 
 the king's name is never mentioned. Do you un- 
 derstand 1" 
 
 The page bowed profoundly, but still maintained 
 the same unbroken silence, and retired to fulfil the 
 king's commands. The presence of Fontrailles., 
 however, prevented him from delivering the warn- 
 ing, until the master of the horse returned from 
 hunting, when he found an opportnnity of speaking 
 to him alone. Such a caution, delivered by the 
 king's own page, alarmed the favorite ; and though 
 it was by this time fate, he sent a servant to see if 
 the city gates were shut. The servant scarcely gave 
 himself the trouble to inquire, but returning imme- 
 diately, informed his master that they were. Cinq 
 Mars stayed — and before the next morning, every 
 avenue from JNarbonne was occupied by the cardi- . 
 nal's guard. 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 Containing a journey, a discovery, and a strange sigiit. 
 
 I HAVE known some persons in the world who, 
 gliding quietly through life, have floated ojti upon
 
 222 RICHELIEB, 
 
 the sti^am of time like a boat on the waters of a 
 broad and tranquil river, carried on bj the unruffled 
 tide of prosperity, and lighted to their journey's end 
 by the cloudless'sun of happiness. And 1 have met 
 v?ith others, whose star seemed to rise in clouds, to 
 hold its course through storms, and to set in blacker 
 darkness than that which gave it birth. But long 
 continued joy loses its first zest, and uninterrupted 
 sorrow its tirst poignancy ; habit rebs even misery 
 of its acuteness; and care that i« long endured, 
 brings along with it the power of longer endurance. 
 It is the sudden transition from joy to sorrow, that 
 is tile acme of human suffering, addinpr the bitter- 
 ness of regret for past enjoyment to all the pangs 
 of present distress. 
 
 It was thus with Claude de Blenau. All his wish- 
 es had been nearly fulfilled ; hope had almost grown 
 into certainty 5 Pauline was almost his own j when 
 he was snatched from the bosom of joy and securi- 
 ty to new scenes of misery and danger. The few 
 last hours came back to h's memory like one of 
 those bright visions that sometimes visit our slum- 
 ber, with every part so truly told, so faithfully drawn 
 that they become too like reality, and then when 
 our hearts are full of scenes that we have loved, and 
 pleasures that we have lost, the pageant fades, and 
 we find it but a dream. 
 
 When once he had torn himself from Pauline, the 
 objects round him called forth little of De Blenau's 
 attention. 5 and the carriage in which be was placed 
 rolled on for many leagues before he had sufficient- 
 ly recovered his tranquility even to think of the mi- 
 nor points of his situation. The moon, which at 
 their departure shone bright and clear on the broad 
 masses of the forest, had by this time sunk below 
 the horizon ; the darkness which had followed her 
 decline had also passed away ; the gray streaks of 
 dawn had warmed into the bright blushes of the 
 early morning, and the new-risen sun began to look 
 over a dewy world, that awoke sparkling and smil- 
 lAi;, as if for joy at his approach. But the scene
 
 RICHELIEU. 22S 
 
 which, at any other time, would have called up a 
 thousand remembrances of the happy days and hun- 
 ter sports of his youth, scarcely now roused hira 
 from the revery in which he was plunged ; and if 
 he looked round, or spoke to the person who con- 
 ducted htin,it was merely to ascertain in what dirce- 
 ti^n tliey were going, or what was the ultimate des- 
 tination of their journey. Never before had he so 
 completely abandoned himself to despondency ; but 
 a^a second and third day passed, he began to recov- 
 er from the first bitterness of his feelings, and en- 
 deavored to draw from the officer the precise crime 
 with which be was charged, and what circumstances 
 of suspicion had arisen against him. But no farther 
 information tvas to be procured. The officer con- 
 tinued firm in the same story he had told the q'leen 
 —that his orders were to conduct him to Tarascon, 
 and that he was quite ignorant of the circumstan- 
 atances which led to his arrest. A.ud with this De 
 Blenau was obliged to be satisfied. 
 
 During the journey the officer showed much ci- 
 vility and attention to the prisoner, though he took 
 good care to place a guard at the door of his cham- 
 ber when they stopped for the night, which was al- 
 ways at the house of one of those private agents 
 of the government already mentioned, with whose 
 dwellings the officers of the cardinal's guard were 
 generally acquainted. After proceeding, however, 
 for several days, he plainly perceived that nothing 
 could be farther from De Blenau's thoughts than 
 any plai: for making his escape,and, in consequence 
 the watc'ii he kept over his prisoner became far less 
 strict, which afforded the count many opportunities 
 of communicating freely with the persons at the 
 various places where they stopped for horses or re- 
 freshment. 
 
 The arrest of Cinq Mars and several others, with 
 the full restoration of the cardinal's power, was at 
 that moment, in France. one of those topics of weir- 
 der and' interest, which seem necessary from time to 
 time to keep up the sp rits of the gossipping classes of
 
 224 RICHELIEU. 
 
 society ; andthough the good folks at inns and else- 
 where found the appearance of a prisoner, escorted 
 by a body of the cardinal's guard, to act as a great 
 check upon their natural loquacitv3 yet, as the offi- 
 cer was somewhat of a bon vivant, and rather at- 
 tached to his bottle, the awe inspired by his func- 
 tions was not so strong as to prevent the news of 
 the grand ecuyer"s misfortune from reaching the 
 ears of De Blenau, who easily concluded that, from 
 their well-known intimacy, suspicion had fallen up- 
 on himself. 
 
 The prisoner and his conductors at length began 
 to approach that part of the country where the re- 
 established minister held his court, to which all his 
 own retainers and friends were now flocking,togeth- 
 er with many others, who, led by hope or impelled 
 by fear, hastened to offer their servile adulation to 
 a man they in general detested. The roads were 
 thus thronged with people, and many a gay caval- 
 cade passed by the carriage in which De Blenau was 
 borne along, the horsemen looking for a moment in- 
 to the vehicle out of curiosity, but quickly turning 
 away their eyes again, lest they should be obliged 
 to acknowledge some acquaintance with a person 
 who had fallen under the cardinal's displeasure. 
 
 It was night when they arrived at Montolieu, and 
 De Blenau asked his conductor if he intended to 
 stop there till morning. 
 
 ^ No, Monsieur le Comte," replied the officer 5 
 " we must proceed as speedily as possible to Mire- 
 poix, where I expect orders for my farther conduct." 
 
 " Then you go to Tarascon, in the Pyrenees," said 
 De Blenau. " 1 thought his eminence was at the 
 city of that name by the banks of tlie Rhone, op- 
 posite Beaucaire." 
 
 " He was there some time ago," replied the offi- 
 cer j "but he has since gone to the mountains, 
 where, doctors say, there are waters which have 
 great virtues in sickness like his. For my part, I 
 always thought the springs there very bad, and nei- ^
 
 RICHELIEU. 225 
 
 iher Mt for man nor beast. But, nevertheless, we 
 must hasten on, sir." 
 
 The next place they stopped at was Corneille ; 
 and, according to his custom, the officer remained 
 with De Blenau in the carriage, while the troopers 
 arranged every thing that was necessary for pro- 
 ceeding on their journey. There seemed, howev- 
 er, to be a considerable bustle among the men ; and 
 after waiting patiently for a few minutes, the officer 
 drew back the curtain, and thrusting his head from 
 the window, inquired the cause of delay ? The an- 
 swer he received, imported that no fresh horses 
 could be procured, and those which had drawn 
 them so far were incapable of proceeding even to 
 the next town. " How happens it that there are no 
 horses ?" demanded he impatiently 5 •' there ought 
 always to be horses reserved for the use of the gov- 
 ernment." To this it was ireplied, that so many peo- 
 ple had passed to the court at Tarascon, that every 
 horse which could be hired, even at an exhorbitant 
 price, had been carried away. 
 
 The officer paused, as if doubting what course to 
 pursue ; but there being no remedy, he vvas obliged 
 to alight, in order to pass the night at Corneille; 
 taking care, however, to despatch one of the troop- 
 ers to Mirepoix, to bring any orders which might 
 be waiting for him in that town. 
 
 The moon was up, and as De Blenau descended 
 from the carriage, he perceived a little stream dash- 
 ing and glistening over the wheel of a mill, that 
 stood dark and defined against the moonlight sky. 
 It was to this they were apparently proceeding ; and 
 as they approached nearer, there was seen an irreg- 
 ular part of the building projecting from the rest, 
 which seemed appropriatad to the particular use of 
 the miller. At the same lime, on a wooden stair- 
 case, which wound up the outside of the house, 
 appeared a man, holding a light, and habited in one 
 of those dusty jackets, which have been the insig- 
 nia of flour-grinders from all generations. At the 
 moment I speak of, he was holding a conversation
 
 226 RICHELIEU, 
 
 with one'of the troopers, and, by his quick articula- 
 tion and busy gestures, seemad engaged in making 
 remonstrances, without any great effect. 
 
 '• What does he say ?" exclaimed the officer, who 
 caught a few words of their conversation as he got 
 out of the carriage. '' That we cannot stop here the 
 night? Give him a cuff of the head. Joly, to teach 
 him better manners to the eardinal^s guard. By 
 heavens ! he shall find me horses to-night, or he shall 
 lodge me till to-morrow !" 
 
 '' Stay, if you will. Sir Officer," rejoined the mil- 
 ler, raising his voice — "but I tell you that you ougbi 
 not to stay ; and as for laying a finger on me — you 
 know I serve the cardinal as well as you. and you 
 dare not !" 
 
 " Dare not " cried the officer, who was by this 
 time mounting the stairs, catching the miller by the 
 collar, and striking him a slight blow — ' You are a 
 refractory rascal, sir \ Open the door of your house, 
 or 1 vvill throw you over the staircase. Come, Mon- 
 sieur de Blenau, follow me." 
 
 The miller offered no resistance, but threw wide 
 the door, and let the officer pass in. De Blenau 
 came next, having taken little notice of the alterca- 
 tion 5 but as He went by the miller, who held the 
 door open, he heard him mutter to himself in an 
 under voice, " He shall pay for it with his blood." 
 in a deep bitter tone of determined hatred,that made 
 the count turn round, expecting to see the ferocious 
 countenance of an assassin. ISothing, however, 
 could be m ore different from the appearance of the 
 speaker, who was a smoolli, pale-faced man, whose 
 look expressed little besides peaceful tranquility 
 and patient resignation. 
 
 The room into which they entered was a large un- 
 couth chamber, filled with vnrious articles of house- 
 hold furniture, the unusual assemblage of which 
 showed that it was used for most of the different 
 purposes of life. There was a bed in one corner, 
 with a large screen, or paravent, half drawn before 
 it^ Beside the tire hung a row of copper saucepans
 
 RICHELIEU. 227 
 
 and cooking utensils ; round about were several 
 saddles, and other pieces of horse furniture ; and in 
 the centre was a large table, with two or three half 
 emptied bottles and some glasses, which bore marks 
 of having been recently used } and at the same time 
 a long bench was placed at one side ot the table, 
 with three single seals on the other. 
 
 On the opposite side of the apartment was a wood- 
 en partition, evidently new, which seemed to sepa- 
 rate what had once been one large chamber into 
 two, with a door of communication between them. 
 
 '• Oh, ho ! JMousieur Godefroy !" exclaimad the 
 officer, looking at the table, and then turning a sig- 
 nificant glance to the miller. " So, you have been 
 carousing, and did not like to let us share in your 
 good cheer. — But come, we will not be sent away 
 like a dog without his dinner. Let us taste your 
 Burgundy j and if you were to lay three of those 
 plump boudins upon the fire, they might savour th& 
 wine.'' 
 
 " You are very welcome. Sir Officer, to any thing 
 the house affords," replied the miller, neither civil- 
 ly nor sulkily. " Help yourself to the boudins, yih'\l& 
 1 go down for the wine." 
 
 '• They say in my province. Monsieur de Blenau," 
 said the officer, placing a seat for the prisoner near 
 the fire, " Qui dort dine, c' qui fait V amour soupe. 
 Now, as we have neither slept nor dined, and have 
 no one to make love to, let us sup at least." 
 
 De Blenau's only reply was, that he had no appe- 
 tite ; which seemed considerably to surprise the of- 
 ficer, who, as soon as the miller had brought in the 
 wine, and his supper was ready, fell to with no small 
 eagerness, and did not leave off till he had transfer- 
 red the greater part of the trencher's contents to 
 his stomach. The miller seemed more inclined to 
 follow the officer'r ^ vample than De Blenau ; and 
 his anger having apparently subsided, he pressed his 
 guest to continue the mealjin so sociable and friend- 
 ly a manner, that De Blenau could scarcely con- 
 ceivQ that the words he had heard as he entered,
 
 22S 
 
 RICHELIEU. 
 
 had been any thing but the effect of momentary ir- 
 ritation. But sliortly after he had again cause to 
 alter his opifiion ; the eagerness with which the mil- 
 ler invited his companion to drink, producing bot- 
 tle after bottle of different wines, generally denied 
 by their price to persons in his station of life ; and 
 the subdued glance of triumph with which he view- 
 ed the various stages of intoxication at which tJie 
 officer gradually arrived; caught De Blenau's atten- 
 tion, and excited his suspicion. However, the ven- 
 geante vihich the miller meditated, was of a very 
 different nature from that which the count imag- 
 ined. ]>\othing which could, by any chance, recoil 
 upon himself ever entered his thoughts, and his 
 plan reached no farther than to render the man \\ho 
 had oflended him deeply culpable in the eyes of 
 Richelieu, thus calling upon his head that Veleat- 
 less anger which would be much more effectual 
 vengeance than any punishment he could himself 
 inflict. 
 
 Two or three hours had passed in this manner, 
 durincr which time the officer had made various ef- 
 forts to resist the fascination of the bottle, often 
 pushing it away from him, as if resolved not to taste 
 another drop, and then again, as he became heated 
 in conversation, drawing it back and filling his glass 
 with an almost unconscious hand, when the sound 
 of a horse's feet was heard without.and starting up, 
 he declared that it was news from Mirepoix, and 
 staggered towards the door. 
 
 The moment he had quitted the room, the miller 
 approached De Blenau. glanced his eyes rou; d the 
 chamber, and then addressed him in a whisper. 
 " What a moment," he said, "for a prisoner to 
 make his escape, while that drunkard's senses are 
 confused with wine V 
 
 De Blenau started at the suddenness of the pro- 
 posal, and eyed his companion willi an inquiring 
 glance. " if you allude to me," he replied at length, 
 " I thank you, but I have no thought of escaping." 
 
 •■' You have not " said th? jniller, apparently sur.
 
 mCHELlKli P229 
 
 prised. He thought for a moment, and then added 
 — '•' Oh, you reckon on your innocence. But let me 
 tell you, Sir Count, that thsre is both danger and 
 uncomfort in a long imprisonment." 
 
 " I know it," answered De Blenau ; " but 1 would 
 rather submit to both, than cast a suspicion on my 
 honor and my innocence, by attempting to fly.'' 
 
 This was a sort of reasoning the other did not 
 understand; and his lip curled with a slight expres- 
 sion of contempt, wjiich would have showed itself 
 more visibly, had not De Blenau's rank, though a 
 prisoner, kept the bourgeois in awe. He turned 
 away, however,seemingly with the intention ofquit- 
 ting the room ; but when he got to the other side, 
 he paused, laid his hand upon his brow, and after 
 thinking for a moment, again came back to De Ble- 
 nau. " 1 advised you for your own good, J/onsieur 
 le Comte," he said ; " and though you will not es- 
 cape from the dangers of accusation,! will give you 
 the means of provingyour innocence. In that room," 
 and ho pointed to the small door in the partition, 
 "you will discover two packets of papers exactly 
 similar; take either of them, and in that you will 
 find enough to disprove all that your enemies v ill 
 say against you." 
 
 " But," said De Bienau/'what riglit have I to pos- 
 sess nivself of papers belonging nrobabjy to anotii- 
 er ?" ' 
 
 *•' Pshaw 1" cried the miller, "one would think 
 that your neck itched for the r.::c ! Are you nf)t in 
 my hoasc ? Do not J bid you lake them ? Of course, 
 you will not betray me to the government 3 but take 
 the papers, for I give them^to you." And making 
 a sign to De Blenau to use all speed, lie went to the 
 door which opened on the road. Before ho passed 
 it, however, he tnnied to the piisoncr once more 
 and cautioned him to make no noif^e. nor regard any 
 thing else in the room, but after taking c no of the 
 packets from the tabic on which they were placed, 
 to quit it as speedily as possible. The precaution, 
 however, was ul;c1c£s 3 for before De Blenau had
 
 280 RICHELIEU. 
 
 even time to determine upon any line of condtict, 
 the officer again entered the room, and, balancing 
 himself as well as he could, contrived to arrive at 
 the table after many a zigzag and many a halt. He 
 had precisely reached that pitch of intoxication, 
 when a man, having for some time suspected that 
 he is tipsy, finds out that such a supposition was en- 
 tirely a mistake, and that he never was more sober, 
 or more in his senses in his life ; consequently, he 
 had not the slightest objection to drink a bottle of 
 the vin de Samt Perct, which the miller set before 
 him ; although the Burgundy he had already imbi- 
 bed had very considerably dulled his perception.and 
 detracted from his locomotive power. The wine, 
 as it creamed and sparkled in his glass, was raised 
 to his head with in increased difficulty at every re- 
 newed draught ; and at last, feeling something the 
 matter with him he knew not what, he started from 
 the table, made an efTort to reach a chair by the fire, 
 but receiving instantly internal conviction of the 
 impossibility of the attempt, he cast himself upon 
 the bed behind the screen, which happened to be 
 nearer at hand, and in a few minutes all his senses 
 wersi steeped in oblivion. Immediately the miller 
 raised his hand^ pointed to the door iathe partition 
 and left the apartment as if unwilling to witness 
 what was to follow. 
 
 De Blenau paused for z moment to reflect on this 
 man's conduct; but however extraordinary it mi^ht 
 be, lie could see nothing to prevent his possessing 
 himself of papers which, he was assured, would 
 prove his innocence of the crimes with which he 
 was charged — a thing not always easy to the most 
 goiltless. Accordingly, rising from h's seat, he pas- 
 sed by the bed where the officer lay snoring in tiie 
 fulness of ebriety, and opened the door in the par- 
 tition to which he had been directed. Tiie mom 
 wiih which it communicafcd was small, and dimly 
 lighted by a lamp that stood flickering on the table, 
 as if it scarcely knew whether to go out or not. 
 Near the lamp lay various implements for writing,
 
 RICHELIEC; ' 231 
 
 together with two papers, one folded up and mark- 
 ed, the other open, and seemingly hardly finished. 
 Around were scatered various basnets and vials, 
 which'appeared tojcontain the raedicanents for a sick 
 mpn ; and on one of the chairs was thrown a long 
 sword, together with a poniard and a brace of 
 pistols. 
 
 De Blenau advanced to the table, and taking up 
 the open paper, ran his eye hastily over its con- 
 tents. In so doin?, his own name met his sight ; 
 and forgetting the caution he had received, to make 
 speed and quit tlie apartment as soon as he had 
 possessed himself of it, he could not refrain from 
 reading on : — " Witn regard to Monsieur the Count 
 de Blenau," tlie paper proceeded, "the prisoner 
 feels perfectly convinced that he was always igno- 
 rant of the treaty and the designs of the conspira- 
 tors. For, Monsieur de Cinq Mars particularly 
 warned him (the prisoner) never to mention the 
 circumstance before the count, because that he was 
 not to be made acquainted therewith 5 and more- 
 over — " 
 
 As De Blenau read, a deep groan came upon his 
 car, evidently proceeding from some one in the 
 same room witli himself, and. holding up the lamp, 
 he endeavored to discover who it was tliat had ut- 
 tered it J but in lifting it suddenly, the feeble light 
 was at once extinguished, and tiic whole chamber 
 remained in rlarkness, except wiier.e a gleam came 
 through tlie door way of t!ie other room. 
 
 " Godefroy !" Godefroy !'' exclaimed a faint 
 voice, "'do not put out the light — why have you left 
 me so long? — 1 am dying, I am sure I am dying." 
 
 " 1 will bring another light," said the count, " and 
 bo with you instantly." And forgetting, in the hur- 
 ry of the moment, his peculiar situation, and the 
 caution which ought to have accompanied it, he 
 hastened into the other apartment, where the offi- 
 cer still lay undisturbed in his diunken slumbers, 
 and taking one of the rosia candles from the table,
 
 232 " RICHELILD 
 
 returned to give what succour he could to the per- 
 son whose faint voice he had heard. 
 
 On re-entering the cliamber with the ^tr.niger 
 light which he now brought, his eyes fell upon the 
 drawn curtains of an alcove bed at the farther ex- 
 tremity; and approaching quickly, he pulled them 
 back, shading the candle as well as he could, to 
 prevent its glare from offending the eyes of the sick 
 person. 
 
 But his precaution was in vain. Light and dark- 
 ness had become the same to the pale inanimate 
 form before him. De Blenau saw that, during the 
 moment of his absence, being had passed away ; 
 and holding the light nearer to the bed, he thought 
 he could trace, in the disfigured countenance that 
 lay in ashy paleness upon the pillow, the features 
 of the grand ecuyer's Italian lute-player, Villa 
 Grande. 
 
 He vv'as engaged in examining them more atten 
 tively, when some one silently laid their hand upon 
 liis arm, and turning quickly tound, he beheld Cha- 
 vigni, while the counlenance of the miller appeared 
 in the doorway, very littie less pale than th^t of the 
 dead man. De Blenau's first impulse was to point 
 to the dead man, while his eyes rested on the 
 c untenance ofChavigni, in which a slight degree of 
 agitation showed itself for a moment, and then dis- 
 appeared. 
 
 ■' So !" said the statesman, regarding the lifeless 
 body of V'illa Grande, " he is dead, poor wretch? — 
 Gone on that uncertain journey which lie*^ before 
 us all, like a land covered with a thick mist, v.hose 
 paths, or whose termination, none of us can discov- 
 er. But, to matters of life and moment," he con- 
 tinund, '-'What do vou here, Monsieur do Ble- 
 nau V 
 
 '■ I should suppose, f;ir, liiat you are better ac- 
 (luainted with the object of my "journey than I am 
 myself,'' replied the count. " You must be well 
 aware that il was undertaken against my will." 
 
 '• You have mistaken mo, sir," said Chavigui.
 
 racuELiEy, 233 
 
 " The end of your journey hither I am well aware 
 of. But how came you in this chanaber ? What 
 do you with that paper which was in your hand ? 
 1. expect a stiaightforward answer." 
 
 " Did I give you any, sir/' replied De Elenau, 
 "my answer should be straightfom'ard. But you 
 ©ught to have known me better than so proudly to 
 demand a reply, when you are unentitled to inter- 
 rogate me. Being a prisoner, I must be guarded as 
 such, though I tell you at once 1 have no intention 
 of trying to escape 3 and being defenceless, you 
 may take these papers f om me, though they are 
 material proofs of my innocence. However, I will 
 rely upon your justice, — upon your honor, — that 
 whatever charges be brought against me, the con- 
 lession of this rnan may be opposed to them in my 
 justification. ' 
 
 " Monsieur de Blenau," I wish you would some- 
 times give n>e an excuse for doubting your sinceri- 
 ty ; foE then I could see the fate which is like to be- 
 tide you, without regret. V/lien you were liberat- 
 ed from the Bastile, i told you. that the eye of an 
 angry man was upon you, and warned you as a friend 
 to avoid all cause of suspicion. The minister has 
 never forgotten you. You were the first who 
 brought a shadow over hisdominion — I hope, there- 
 fore, that your innocence can be proved beyond a 
 doubt ; for mercy and tend.rness between you and 
 the cardinal are out of the question. Neverthe- 
 less, I cannot let you keep this paper, which be- 
 longs to the council ; but I will take care that any 
 thing which it contains in your .favor shall not be 
 lost. In the mean while I shall be obliged to send 
 you to Lyons ; and Heaven speed you as safely out 
 of this scrape as out of tiie last." 
 
 " If perfect innocence of any crime towards the 
 state can save me,'' said De Blenau, following 
 Chavigni into the outer room, "I have nothing to 
 fear." 
 
 " I hope it is so," replied the statesman. " And 
 
 roL. 11. 16
 
 234 RICHELIEU. 
 
 aow," he continued, turning to the miller, "let me 
 tell you, Master Godefroy, that you are highly cul- 
 pable yourself, for leaving a state prisoner wholly 
 without guard when you saw the officer, in whose 
 custody he was, in such a state as this, Make no 
 excuses, sir — it shall be remembered." 
 
 Chavigni now approached the drunken man, and 
 tried to rouse him ; but finding it in vain, he called 
 in the sergeant, and writing- a few words for his 
 warranty, ordered him to conduct the officer, next 
 morning, to Tarascon under arrest. 
 
 " Monsieur de Blenau/'" he continued, turning to 
 the count, " you will do me the f&vor of accompa- 
 nying me to Montolieu. The horses attached to 
 my carriage are fresher than those which drew 
 you." 
 
 The promptitude with which Chavigni's orders 
 were given, brought all the preparations to a rapid 
 conclusion. A few minutes sufficed him to issue 
 the necessary commands for transferring the bag- 
 gage which had been brought with De Blenau lo 
 the other carriage ; and adding a few clear rapid 
 directions to the miller concerning the body of Vil- 
 la Grande, the statesman was ready to accompai.y 
 De Blenau before he had been a quarter of an 
 hour in the house. 
 
 At Montolieu, De Blenau was pe mitted to rest a 
 day, and was then sent forward under a fresh es- 
 cort to Lyons. The prisoner was now hurried rap- 
 idly on his journey, travelling the whole of the 
 first night, and at last only stopping for a few hours 
 to give him some repose at a village about eight 
 leagues from the city to w!:ich he was proceeding. 
 As soon as daylight dawned, they again began their 
 journey ; and taking the lower road by the banks of 
 the Rhone, gradually approached the ancient tov/n 
 of Lyons. 
 
 The first pause they made was a compelled one, 
 upon the wouden bridge, situated on the river just 
 below the town. This entrance had been chosen 
 to avoid the more populous suburbs : but the ri.ji-
 
 UIOHELIEU. 235 
 
 tluctor of the escort had been mistaken in his caU 
 tJulatioHj for owing to some circumstances of gen- 
 eral interest, which drew all the idle and the curi- 
 ous to that spot, tbe bridge nnd the alleys to it 
 were entirely covered with dense masses of hu- 
 man beings, which completely obstructed the way. 
 With difficulty the carriage was dragged half over 
 the bridge ; and then,notwilhstanding the exertions 
 of the guard, it was obliged to stop. De Blenau 
 drew back the leather curtain which obstructed his 
 view, and turning his eyes towards the river, a scene 
 burst upon his sight which at once explained to 
 him the cause ot such an assemblage. 
 
 There was a small but magnificent galley making 
 its way slowly to the landing-place. The rigging 
 -was adorned with streamers ; the deck glittered 
 with all the splendid apparal of a court, the rowers 
 were clothed in rich uniform, scarcely different 
 from that of the guards which flanked each bank of 
 oars ; gold, and jewels, and blazonry shown around 
 But the spot on which all eyes rested was a small 
 canopy of rich embroidery, upheld above the deck 
 on silver poles by four officers of ihe guard, in such 
 a manner as to keep off the rays of the sun, but not 
 impede the breeze of the river from playing round 
 a pile of rich velvet cushions, on which, amid the 
 pomp and display of a sovereign prince, lay the ema- 
 ciated form of the Cardinal de Richelieu. His 
 tjountenanre was calm and unmoved 5 indeed, he 
 seemed hardly to regard the scene around, listening 
 to the conversation of an abbe, who stood beside 
 him for the sole purpose of amusing him by various 
 tales and anecdotes during the voyage. Sometimes, 
 however, he would raise his eyes, and appear to 
 speak to some of those who stood by 5 and then his 
 glance would rapidly turn towards a smaller boat, 
 which attached by ;wo long ropes, was towed on 
 at the stern of his own galley. In that boat, seated 
 between two of the cardinal's guard, sat the im- 
 prudent and unfortunate Cinq Mars, and his com- 
 panion in misfortune; Do Thou. All the gay gal-
 
 236 aiCHELlEy. 
 
 lanl spirit of the master of the horse, which once 
 taught him to scoff at the very idea of adve-sity as 
 at a bugbear of the imagination, was now quelled 
 and lost, and with a bending head, and eyes cast 
 down, he sat perfectly motionless, like a lifeless but 
 elegant statue. De Thou, on the contrary, calmly 
 surveyed the passing scene. He seemed to have 
 forgot that he was there as a prisoner, borne, a 
 part of that barbarous triumph which his enemy wa3~ 
 enjoying ; and, even w hen his glance met that of 
 the cardinal, his countenance remained undisturb- 
 ed by any emotion of anger, or any expression of 
 reproach. 
 
 I have said^that Richelieu wculd sometimes turn-- 
 his look towards the boat in which his cnptivtS 
 were borne along ; and still when he did so, a mo- 
 mentary gleam would lighten in his ejes, and he 
 would hastily glance them round the muUitude that 
 lined the shores and the bridge. But there was no- 
 Bound of gratulation met his ear, no acclamation for 
 his regained ascendancy. The busy whisper of 
 curiosity would stir among the people, or perhaps 
 the murmur of compassion, as they gazed upon the 
 victims about to be sacrificed to his vengeance. 
 But there was no love to express 5 and fear chang- 
 ed their curses into the bitterness of silence. 
 
 Such was the scene in the midst of which De 
 Blenau found himself, when the carriage slopped. 
 He had just time to become aware of all its most 
 painful circumstances, when the guards again open- 
 ed a way through the people, and the vehicle pass- 
 ed on. The high round tower of Pierre-en-S>.ize,. 
 raising its dark mass above the rest of the prison, 
 was the next thing that met his view, and he doubt- 
 ed not that the place of his imprisonment was be- 
 fore him ; but the carriage rolled on into the great 
 Place Terreau.i, where it suddenly drew up. 
 
 " Then 1 am not to be taken to Pierre-en-Scize ?" 
 said De Blenau to the officer who had accompani- 
 ed him from Montolieu. 
 
 " No, Monsieur le Corale," replied. he, " Pierre-
 
 aiOHELIKU. 237 
 
 "cn-Scize will be sufficiently occupied with Messi- 
 eurs Cinq Mars, De Thou, and others; and when 
 Monsieur de Bouillon, and the Duke of Orleans — " 
 
 •• Good God !" exclaimed De Blenau, ^' is the 
 Duke of Origans implicated in this unfortunate 
 business !" 
 
 The officer smiled. " Why, they do say, sir, that 
 the king himself is in the conspiracy. But as to 
 the duke, you know more of his share in it than 
 -any one else — at least so we are told. But 1 must 
 now beg you to descend." 
 
 " You are under a mistake, sir," replied De Ble- 
 nau. " I know notiiing of the duke, and as little of 
 the conspiracy.'' And following the officer, he en- 
 tered a house in the Place Terreaux, which had 
 been changed for the time from one of the public 
 offices of the city into a place of confinement, and 
 oft'ered all the security without the horrors of a 
 prison. The windows were grated, it is true, but 
 they looked out into the free world below, and the 
 captive might sit there and forget that he was de- 
 .Bied the power of joining the gay throng that pass- 
 ed along beiore his eyes in all the pride of liber- 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 Oiving a good receipt for proving a man guiKy when he is in- 
 nocent. 
 
 De Blenau had not been long in his new abode, 
 before he learned that the express orders of Cha- 
 vigni had caused him to be carried thither, rather 
 than to Pierre-en-Scize, where his confinement 
 would have been more strict; and he felt grateful
 
 23S .aicrfEUEir: 
 
 for this mark of the statesman's consideration. For 
 the first few days, too, he experienced every kind 
 of attention, and was permitted to enjoy all sort of 
 liberty consistent with his safe custody. 
 
 But this was not de.stined to endure long ; and 
 his imprisonment gradually became] more rigorouB 
 than that which he had undergone in the Bastille. 
 The use of books and writing materials was denied 
 kim, and every means of employing his thoughts 
 seemed studiously withheld. This mode of weak- 
 ening the mind by leaving it to prey upon itself, 
 had its effect even on De Blenau. He became irri- 
 table and desponding; and as he received no inti- 
 mation in regard to the charge against him, he be- 
 f\n to conjure up a thousand vague unreal images, 
 aiil to destroy them as soon as raised. 
 
 After this had continued for some days, he was 
 surprised by the door of his apartment opening one 
 night, at the moment he was about to retire to rest^ 
 giving admittance to the corrupt Judge Lafemas, 
 and a person habited as one of the grefficrs of the 
 court. There are some who are cruel from fear, 
 and some from, motives of interest : but few, 1 
 trust, who from natural propensity rejoice in the 
 sufferings of a fellow-creature. Such, however, 
 was the character of Lafemas — at least if we may 
 believe the histories of the time ; and in the pres- 
 ent instance he entered the chamber of De Blenau 
 with a countenance which certainly expressed no 
 great unwillingness in the performance of what is 
 always painful when it is a duty. 
 
 In this place we shall but give a small part of the 
 conversation between De Blenau and the judge , 
 for the course of examination which the latter pur- 
 sued towards the prisoner was so precisely similar 
 in its nature to that which he followed on a former 
 ©ccasion in the Bastille, that its repetition is un- 
 necessary, especially as our history is now hurrying- 
 rapidly to its awful and inevitable conclusion. A 
 part of it, however, may serve to illustrate the
 
 RICHELIEU. 
 
 289 
 
 charges brought against De Blenau, and the cir- 
 sumstances on which they were founded. 
 
 " Good night, Monsieur de Blenau," said Lafe- 
 tnas, approaching the table at which he sat. " I 
 did not think to meet yoi^ again in prison : 1 had 
 hoped that when last you escaped so well, you 
 would have been careful to keep yourself free from 
 any thing of this kind." 
 
 •' Good night. Monsieur le Judge," replied De 
 Blenau ; " do me the favour of sitting down — for I 
 suppose I may do the honors of my chamber, though 
 it be but a prison. I am glad to see you, sir; for I 
 trust you can inform me why I am here confined." 
 
 •' Monsieur de Blenau," said the judge, seating 
 himself, " we will be frank with one another. You 
 are very well aware how deeply you are implicated 
 in this conspiracy : and I will tell ^ou that we have 
 ample proofs of every thing. But at the same time 
 I know of a way by which you can save yourself ; 
 a way which one or two highly honorable men have 
 embraced, having been misled at first by designing 
 persons, but having returned to a sense of duty and 
 honor, and confessed all they knew, together with 
 the names of those they supposed to be among the 
 guilty." 
 
 '•' I have no doubt, sir," replied the count, "that 
 all and every thing you say is correct and right. 
 But there is one point, on which 1 am in the dark. 
 I am not aware of what conspiracy you mean. — I 
 have, it is true, conspired — " Lafemas turned an 
 attentive ear, and De Blenau perceived that the 
 greffier who had followed the judge was making a 
 note of all that passed. '' Stop, gentleman," said 
 he, nodding to the officer ; " take the whole of my 
 sentence, I beg. You shall have it in plain lan- 
 guage — I have, it is true, conspired on more than 
 one occasion, with sundry of his majesty's lieges, 
 to kill a fat buck or a lusty boar, in various of the 
 royal forests in this kingdom. But this is the only 
 conspiracy of which I have been guilty; and for
 
 240 RiCtiiLIEU- 
 
 that 1 can plead his majesty's free permission and 
 pardon." 
 
 •' 'Mi this ia verv jrood, Monsieur le Comte," said 
 Laren»as, his bruws dnrkening; '"'but I must tell 
 3o;j that it will not ser\'« the parposo you propose. 
 I came liere to you as a friend — " 
 
 " And as a friend," interrupted De Blenau, " you 
 brought with you that gentleman in black to take 
 down my words, in case I should be at a loss to re- 
 member what 1 had said." 
 
 " I must once more tcl! you, sir," said the judge, 
 " that this will ncit ansnf"^ your purpose, for a full 
 confession has been made by Monsieur ue Cinq 
 Mars since his condemniition." 
 
 •• Since his conderfinatioa !' exelaiiped De Ble- 
 nau. " Good God ! is it possible that he is con- 
 demned ?'•'' 
 
 Lafemas was little capable of understanding any 
 of those finer feelings which brighten the dull void 
 of human existence.^ He read from the black page 
 of his own mind, and fancied that every other was 
 ■written in the same dark character. All that he 
 saw in the exclamrttion of De Bicnau was fear for 
 himself, not feeling for hi? friend : and he replied, 
 " Yes, Monsieur le Compte, he is condemned to 
 lose his head for the crimes of which he has been 
 guilty : the question also formed part of his sen- 
 tence, but this he has avoided by making- a full con- 
 fession, in which, as you may easily suppose, your 
 name is very fully comprised.'' 
 
 " You may as well ceass, sir," replied the count 
 '' ic may indeed be true that my unhappy 'riend is 
 guilty and has con" ssed h;3 guilt j but no language 
 jou can use will jver p-^rsuade me that, knowing 
 my innocence, as he well does, he would say any 
 thing that could implicate me. — I will farther an- 
 swer every thij.g that can possibly be asked o; me 
 in very few words. As to myself, I have not: i-g 
 to confess, for I am perfectly 'guiltless towards the 
 Btate : and as to others, I can give no information.
 
 RICHEHEU. \241 
 
 for I am wholly ignorant of any plot, conspiracy, or 
 
 •treason whatsoever." 
 
 " I am sorry for your obstinacy, Monsieur de 
 Blenau,-' said Lafiemas, rising: " for the cardinal 
 has resolved that you shall confess, and we have 
 the means of making the most stubborn answer. 1 
 am, in fact, commanded this very nijht to use meas- 
 ures which might not be very agreeable to you. 
 But i give you till to-morrow to consider, and so 
 bid you farewell." 
 
 The plans of Cinq Mars had run into various 
 ramifications, involving a mnltitnde of persons in a 
 greater or less degree ; but all fell equally under 
 the hatred of the cardinal, and he spared no means, 
 legal or illegal, to discover the most remote wind- 
 mgs of the conspiracy, and to force or induce the 
 various parties to it to make confessions, which 
 were afterward used as evidence against them- 
 selves, as well as others. As the proofs against 
 De Blenau were, of course, very defective, the 
 last command of Richelieu to Lafemas, before leav- 
 ing Lyons, was to .spare no power of intimidation, 
 in order to make the prisoner criminate himself, be- 
 fore even g^ranting him the form of a trial, in pur- 
 suance of these directions, Lafemas ceased not for 
 some days to torment De Blenau with continual in- 
 terrogatories, mingled with menaces and irritation, 
 ingeniously calculated either to frighten his victim 
 into some confession of guilt, or to throw him off 
 his guard by rousing his anger. More than once he 
 was carried into the chamber of the question, a»id 
 once was even bound to the rack. But though, in 
 the secret halls of the Bastille, Lafemas would not 
 have scrupled to proceed to any act of cruelty, yet 
 at Lyons, amir' i-r-^ple upon whose silence he 
 could not rely, he dared not put the prisoner to the 
 question, without seme appearance of legal authori- 
 ty. At len.'];th, therefore, the day for his trial was 
 fixed; but yet Lafemas prepared to make him pre- 
 viously undergo a species of refined torturQ, which 
 none but a demon could have devised.
 
 242 RlOHELiEU. 
 
 Denied all privileges usually conceded to pria 
 oners, unacquainted with the precise charges to be 
 brought against him, refus-ed all legal assistance, 
 and debarred' the use of pen and ink, De Bienait 
 clearly saw that Richelieu had resolved on bis de- 
 struction, aod merely granted him the form of a 
 trial to gloss over his tyranny in the eyes of the 
 people ; nevertheless, he prepared to defend him- 
 self as far as possible, and at all events to establish 
 his innocence 5 for the honor of his good name, 
 though It might not even tend to save him from the 
 iujustice with which he was threatened. For this 
 purpose he accurately examined his conduct since 
 his liberation from the Bastille, and noted carefully 
 every circumstance, that he might be enabled to 
 prove the nature of all his occnpations so correctly, 
 that the impossibility ofhisjoiniag in any conspira- 
 cy would be made evident. He found, however, 
 that to do this effectually, some aid besides that of 
 mere memory would be necessary, and possessing 
 no other means of committing his thoughts to wri- 
 ting, he had recourse to the expedient of pointing 
 some pieces of wood, which he procured from the 
 jailer, and then by charring them in the lamp, he 
 was enabled to make notes upon some torn linen, 
 preparatory to his trial. Being thus occupied the 
 greater part of the night, his usual time of rest was 
 from day break to midday ; but one night, a few days 
 previous to the time appointed for his trial, he was 
 disturbed in his occupation by the dull heavy clang 
 of hammers in the great square before the prison, 
 and proceeding to the window, he endeavored to 
 ascertain the cause. Through fhe bars he could 
 perceive various lights, and people moving about in 
 different directions, but could not discern in what 
 they were employed ; and quitting the casement, he 
 returned to the slow and laborious operation of 
 writing his notes, In the manner we have described. 
 At length, wearied out, he threw himself upon his 
 bed, without taking off his clothes, and soon fell in- 
 to a profound sleep, which remained unbrokea till
 
 RICHELIED 24g 
 
 late the next day. It is probable that he might have 
 slept still longer, had he not been uroused by his 
 tormentor, Lafemas, who, standing by his bedside, 
 with two of his inferior demons, reused him out of 
 the happy forgetfulness into which he had fallen. 
 "Rise, Monsieur de Blenau,rise 1" said the judge, 
 his eyes gleaming with malicious pleasure : '■ rise, 
 here is something in the place which it is necessa- 
 ry you should behold." 
 
 De Blenau awoke suddenly from his sleep, suf- 
 fered himself to be conducted to the window, where 
 the judge and his two followers placed themselves 
 behind him, so as to obstruct his retreat, and in a 
 manner to force upon him the sight of what was 
 passing in the place. 
 
 The square of Terreaux was filled with an im- 
 mense multitude, and there was a deep awful si- 
 lence reigned among them. All eyes were turned 
 towards a spot exactly opposite the window at 
 which De Blenau stood, where there appeared a 
 high raised scaffold, covered with a black cloth, 
 and Furrounded by a strong body of troops, who 
 kept the multitude at a distance, without impeding 
 their view of the dreadful scene which was acting 
 before them. A large log of timber lay across the 
 front of the scaffold, and beside it stood a tall braw- 
 ny man, leaning on an immense axe, which seem- 
 ed as if a gianfs force would hardly wield it, so 
 ponderous was its form. The Prevost of Lyons, 
 dressed in black, and bearing his staff of office, stood 
 on the other side with several of the civil officers 
 of the city 3 and a file of pikemen closed each flank 
 erf the scaffold, leaving the front open, as we have 
 said, to the view of the spectators. 
 
 But it was the form of his unhappy friend. Cinq 
 Mars, that first rivetted De Blenau's attentio'i ; 
 and he continued to gaze upon him with painful 
 interest, while, standing beside the block on which 
 he was to suffer, he calmly unloosed his collar and 
 made the executioner cut away the glossy curls of 
 his hair, which otherwise, falling down hia neck,
 
 244 ftlOHELlElK 
 
 n.ight have impeded the blow of the axe. When 
 this was over Cinq Mars rnised the instrunvent of 
 his death, and running his finger over the edge, 
 seemed to ascertain that it was sharp ; and then 
 laying it down, he turned to the good De TJiou, 
 v.ho stood beside him, a sharer in bis punishment, 
 though not a sharer in his fault. Cinq Mars ap- 
 peared to entreat his pardon icr some otfence 3 and 
 it is probable that having implicated him at all in 
 the conspiracy was the only circumstances that 
 then v.eighed upen the mind of the grand ecuyer. 
 The only" reply of De Thou was a warm affection- 
 ate embrace ; and then with the easy digrity of a 
 mind at rest, Cinq Mars withdrew himself from his 
 arms, and knelt down before the block — De Blenau 
 turned away his head. 
 
 "' You had- better observe, Monsieur de Blenau," 
 said Lafemas, " the fate which those two traitors 
 undergo ; for such will be your own, if yon refuse 
 the hand of mercy held cut to you, and persist in 
 obstinate silence. — Ah ! — so much !" continued he, 
 looking from the window, " so much for Monsieur 
 de Cinq Mars ! That new fellow is expert — he has 
 the head off at one blow !" 
 
 " Wretch !" exclaimed De Blenau, forcibly pass- 
 ing him, and proceeding from the window, '• un- 
 feeling wretch I — Monsieur Lafemas,"' he added, 
 after pausing a moment, "you were perhaps right 
 in supposing that this torture was superior to any 
 other you could inflict. But I have once more to 
 tell you, sir, that by this or by any other means you 
 will wring from me nothing that can betray my in- 
 nocence or my honor.'' 
 
 'Then die as you deserve !'" replied Lafemas j 
 and after once more looking from the window, and 
 muttering to himself a few words, whose import 
 De E' aau did not catch, he left the apartment with 
 his two followers. De Blenau cast himself on the 
 bed, and hiding his face in tiie clothes, endeavored 
 to drive from his memory the dreadful scene he had 
 just beheld ; but it still continued for Biaoj a half-
 
 RICHELIEU. 245 
 
 hour to' hover before his eyes, and deprive him of 
 
 all rest or peace. 
 
 The hours of a prison are always elow, and they 
 were now doubly slow to De Blenau, having no oth- 
 er pastime than painful reflections, and anticipa- 
 tions equally bitter. 
 
 At length, however, the day of his trial arrived, 
 and he was conveyed in a carriage to Pierre-en- 
 Scize, where, in the hall of audience, sate three of 
 the devoted creatures of Richelieu, presiding over 
 a body equally governed by themselves, and all 
 prepared to pronounce a sentence already dictated 
 by the minister. Although the president of the 
 parliament of Grenoble nominally directed the busi- 
 ness of the court, Lafemas was not absent, and in 
 his eyes De Blenau instantly discerned his fate. 
 
 The charge against the prisoner was read by one 
 of the clerks, declaring him to stand in Manger of 
 high treason, in having conspired with the Sieurs 
 einq Mars, Fontrailles, De Thou, and others, to 
 bring foreign troops into France, and for having 
 treated and combined with a power at open war 
 with the kingdom for various treasonable and dip- 
 loyal purposes. 
 
 The evidence brouglit forward to establish this , 
 was as frivolous as the accusation was unfounded. 
 Even the very semblance of justice was nearly 
 abandoned ; the judges seeming to go through the 
 trial as a useless and tiresome ceremony, which 
 might very well be dispensed with. 
 
 It was proved, indeed, that the prisoner had of- 
 ten been seen in private v/ith the unfortunate Cinq 
 Mars 5 and it was also given in evidence by a ser- 
 vant of the Duke of Orleans, that he had carried a 
 letter from that prince to De Blenau at Moulins ; 
 and that iu consequence of tliat letter, as he con- 
 ceived, the duke had gone, with a great air of se- 
 crecy, to a particular spot, where he was unaccus- 
 tomed to ride upon ordinary occasions, and that lie 
 was met by De Blenau. What conversation took 
 place between them, he could not tell 5 but after 
 they had 8e[>arated, the duke, he said, gave particu-
 
 246 RICHELIKfJ. 
 
 lar orders that their meeting should be mentioned 
 to no man. 
 
 The next witness brought forward was the mes- 
 senger who carried to De Blenau the king's per- 
 mission to return to court, and who proved that, 
 instead of linding the count at Moulins, to which, 
 according to the king's command, ^he was bound 
 to confine himself, he had been conducted by the 
 count's page to Troyes in Champagne, where he 
 found INlonsieurde Blenau himself ready to set off 
 for some other place. This witness also added, 
 that he had learned in the town of Troyes, that 
 Monsieur de Blenau had been absent one whole 
 day, during which time he had visited the old cattle 
 of Mesnil St. Loup, and that at his return he did 
 not go to the same hotel from which he had pro- 
 ceeded in the morning. 
 
 When the evidence was gone through, the presi- 
 dent cf Grenoble signified to the prisoner that he 
 might speak in his own defence 5 and though well 
 assured that on his judges he could m.ake no im- 
 pression, De Blenau resolved not to allow the ac- 
 cusation to remain unrepelled, and replied at some 
 length to what had been urged against him. He 
 showed the impossibility of preparing any defence, 
 when the nature of the charge had never reached 
 his ears till that day. He pointed out that, though 
 he had known and 'loved the unhappy Cinq Mars, 
 their friendship was no proof that he was at all ac- 
 quainicd with the conspiracy for which the other 
 had suffered ; and that though he had met the 
 Duke of Orleans, and received a letter from him, 
 that was not sufficient to show him concerned in 
 any plot against the state. He acknowledged that 
 he' had left the Bourbonnois without the king's 
 permission ; but he stated the powerful motives 
 which had induced him to do so, and gave a correct 
 account, from the notes he had prepared, of every 
 moment of his time since he had been liberated 
 from the Bastille. He farther declared his inno- 
 cence : he proved that he had been absent from all
 
 RICHELIEO, 247 
 
 the principal scenes of the conspiracy ; and ended 
 by demanding that the confession of the Italian Vil- 
 la Grande should be produced. 
 
 The president of Grenoble turned his eyes upon 
 Lafemas ; but that worthy judge assumed an air of 
 perfect unconsciousness, and demanded, what Ital- 
 ian the prisoner meant ? 
 
 De Blenau now clearly and distinctly stated ail 
 he knew concerning him, and again demanded that 
 his confession should be brought forward. But still 
 Lafemas appeared in doubt. " Monsieur de Ble- 
 nau," said he, '"although this seems to me but a 
 manoeuvre to gain time, I have no objection that 
 the papers of this court should be searched, if you 
 can give us the baptismal name of this Italian, of 
 whom at present we know nothing ; and even this 
 is a mere matter of grace and favor." 
 
 De Blenau declared his incapacity to do so, but 
 protested against the unjust proceedings of the 
 court, and showed that, if lime and opportunity had 
 been allowed for preparing his defence, he would 
 have been enabled, by appiic.ition to the Count de 
 Chavigni, to bring forward the paper he mentioned, 
 and to prove the truth of every thing he had as- 
 serted, by the evidence of persons now at a distance. 
 He v/as still speaking when Lafemas rose and in- 
 T.errupted him. " Perceiving," said the judge, with 
 uiiblusliing effrontery, '"that tlie p isoner has con- 
 ' eluded his defence, I will now occupy the court for 
 a few moments, in order to explain the reasoning 
 on which niv own opinion is Ibuuded, although I 
 see but one conclusion to wl)->h any one can come 
 upon the merits of the case before us. It has been 
 shown that the prisoner was tlie sworn — the bosom 
 friend of the traitor who has already suffered for 
 his crimes ; that he was in constant communication 
 with almost all the conspirators ; and that the royal 
 duke, who has unfortunately died his name with so 
 black a spot, at the very same time that he was en- 
 gaged in plotting the ruin of his country, was in 
 se;ret correspondence with the individual before
 
 24S RICHELIEU. 
 
 us. It has farther been proved, that the prisoner, 
 after having been relcgue in Bourbon, quilted the 
 place to which he was bound to confiii': lair.self, 
 and went, upon what he cannot but own liimsclf to 
 be a wild romantic chase, into Champagne. Tiiis 
 part of his story is a very strange one, according to 
 his own showing ; but when we come tocomi'.arc it 
 with the confession of the traitor Cinq Mars, the 
 matter becomes more clear. It was in the old 
 Castle of St. Loup, near the city of Troyes, says 
 the confession, that the principal meeting of the 
 conspirators was held ; and it was to this v-try Cas- 
 iLe of St. Loup that the prisoner directed his course 
 from Moulins. Evidently for l))e purpose of con- 
 cealment also, the prisoner, on his return to Troves, 
 instead of directing his course to the inn where he 
 had formerly alighted, proceeccd '.o another, at 
 which, unfortunateiy for himself, he was overtaken 
 by the king's messenger. I think it is urnccessary 
 to say more upon these points. To my mind they 
 are convincing. It is trnie, indeed. Monsieur de 
 Bleneriu has shrewdly kept his handwriting frsmi any 
 paper which could prove him an acti-. e member of 
 this conspiracy. But what man in his senses can 
 doubt that he was criminally aware of iis existence ? 
 This, then, is his crime : and I pronounce the con- 
 cealment of treason to be as great a crime as treas- 
 on itself.. But if there were wanting a care in 
 point to prove tliat the law considers it as such, I 
 would cite tlie condemnation of De Thou, v. ho, but, 
 two days ago, suffered wiilj the traitor, Cinq iMars. 
 Let us now, my bretiiren, he added, retire to consid- 
 er of our sentence; for I have only spoken thus 
 much, not to bias your opinion, but simply that the 
 prisoner himself, before he leaves the court, may 
 know, at least, my sentiments." 
 
 The judges now withdrew to the cabinet appoint- 
 ed for their deliberations, and De Bienau was remov- 
 ed from the court to a smail apartment hard by. He 
 had not been here a moment when his page, Henri de 
 La Mothel^burst into the room. " ?.fy dear, dear.
 
 UIGHELiEV. 249 
 
 maater !" exclaimed the boy, throwing himself at 
 his feet, " they tell me that you certainly will 
 not be condemned, for that you have not been ta- 
 ken to what is called the dead man^s dwelling: 
 so the sentinel let me in to see you." 
 
 " Henry 1 how came you hither !" exclaimed 
 De Blenau, hurriedly — " But we have no time to 
 think of that — My fate is sealed — 1 have read it in 
 the triumphant glance of that demon, Lafemas. 
 Mark me, my boy,and if ever you loved me.obeyme 
 well. When 1 am dead — do you hear ?— When I 
 am dead, near my heart you will find a portrait. 
 Take it, with this ring, to Mademoiselle de Beau- 
 mont. Tell her, that the one was the likeness of 
 all I loved on earth ; and the other, the ring that 
 was to have bound her to me forever. Say that De 
 Blenau sends them to her in death, and that his last 
 thought was of Pauline de Beaumont." 
 
 " Alas .' Mademoiselle de Beaumont !" said the 
 page. But as he spoke, the door opened and aa 
 officer of the court entered, followed by a priest. 
 " Begone, boy !" said the officer, leading Henry to 
 the door. '' How came you in here ? We have 
 more serious matter in hand now." 
 
 " Remember!" said De Blenau, holding up his 
 hand impressively, " remember !" And Henry, 
 bursting into tears, was hurried from the apartment. 
 " Now, father,-continued De Blenau, turning to the 
 priest, " let us to your business." 
 
 " It is a sad one, my son," he replied ; " it is but 
 to tell you, that you must prepare to leave a world 
 of sorrow !" 
 
 ''God's will be done !" said De Blenau. 
 
 roL. II. 17
 
 250 RICHELIEJJ- 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 Which, if the Reader can get through it, will bring him to 
 the Eud of the Histoiy. 
 
 All delay in the execution of a sentence where 
 there exists no hope of mercy, is but needless cru- 
 elty 5 yet De Blenau was suffered to linger four- 
 teen weary nights and days between the day of Ids 
 condemnation and "that appointed for his deatl . !t 
 approached, however, at length. We are told, by 
 those who have had the best opportunities of judg- 
 ing, that the last night of a condemned prisoner's 
 existe;ice is generally passed in s!umt er. It was so 
 with "pe Blenau. Hope and fear were equally 
 things gone by to him. The bitter sentence of 
 death had runcr in hi?: ear, He had traced the last 
 lines of aliectin;! to hex he loved. He had paid the 
 last duties of religion : and fatigued with the strong 
 excitement which his mind had undergone, he threw 
 himself on his couch, and fell into that profound 
 sleep which only despair can give, and which ap- 
 proaches near to annihilation. 
 
 He was yet buried in forgetful nc?s when the jail- 
 er came to announce that tlse fatal hour was come, 
 ajid for a moment, even after his spirit had resum- 
 ed her powers, memory still wandered far from the 
 realitv. He had not dreamed, but ail thought of 
 the last fevy months had been obliterated, and re- 
 mf^m^rance, escaping from the painful present, lin- 
 gcr<,d fondly over all he had left behind. 
 
 It lasted jiot long, and as all the truth came rush- 
 ing on his mind, he thought ahino of his approach- 
 ing faie, ana to meet it as became Inm. His heirt, 
 indeed, was sick of all the instability of ihis worl I's 
 things, aiid for an instant there was'a feeling almost 
 atnouiiting to satisfactiou, when he thought that the 
 eieruul balancing between hope and fear, between 
 joy and disappointment, was soon to be over, and
 
 RICHELIEU. 251 
 
 that his soul, wearied of change and doubt, would 
 quickly have peace and certainty. But then again 
 the lingering tiesof earth, the fond warm fellow- 
 ships of human existence came strongly upon him, 
 with all the throng of kindly sympathies that bind 
 us to this world, and made him shrink from the 
 thought of breaking them all at once. 
 
 This also lasted but a moment — his fate was seal- 
 ed, and hurrying oyer all that might in any degree 
 undermine his fortitude, he followed into the court- 
 yard, where the Prevost of Lyons and several of the 
 authorities of the town, with a file of soldiers, 
 waited his coming. 
 
 The distance was so short from the place of his 
 confinement to the scaffold where he had beheld for 
 the last time his unhappy friend Cinq Mars, that the 
 use of a carriage was dispensed with ; and the 
 guard having formed an avenue through the prowd, 
 the gates were thrown open to give him exit for 
 the last time. 
 
 " Monsieur de Blenau, will you take my arm," 
 said the Prevost of Lyons : *• mine is a sad office, 
 sir, but the arm is not an unfriendly one." 
 
 De Blenau, however, declined it with thanks, 
 saying that he needed no support, and with a priest 
 on one hand and the prevost on the other, he pro- 
 ceeded calmly towards the scaffold, and ascended 
 the steps with a firm unshaken footstep. The block, 
 and the axe, and the masked executioner were noth- 
 ing in De Blenau's eyes but''the mere weak precur- 
 sors of the ene awful event on which all his thoughts 
 were bent, and for which his mind was now fully 
 prepared. There was but one thought which could 
 at all shake his fortitude — there was but one tie to 
 be broken which wrung his heart to break. He 
 thought of Pauline de Beaumont — but he thought 
 also that he had merited a better fate ; and proudly 
 spurning the weakness that strove to grow upon 
 his heart, he resolved to die as he had lived, wor- 
 thy of he? he loved. The very feeling gave new 
 dignity to his air, and he stood erect and firm while
 
 252. aicHEircu. 
 
 the sordiers were disposed about the scaffold, wad 
 his sentence was read aloud by the prevost. 
 
 A great multitude surrounded the place, and fix- 
 ed their eyes upon the victim of arbitrary power, as 
 he stood calm and unmoved before them, in the 
 spring of youth and the dignity of conscious inno- 
 cence. There were few who hr.d not heard of the 
 Count de Blenau, and all that they had heard was 
 good. The heart of man too, however fallen, has 
 still on&spot reserved for the dwelling of compas- 
 sion, and its very weakness makes it soften to virtue 
 in distress, and often even to forget faults in mis- 
 fortunes. However that may be, there was a glis- 
 tening in the eyes of many as they turned their 
 looks tov.'ards De Blenau, who, according to the 
 universal custom of the time, advanced to the front 
 of the scaffold to address them. " Good friends,^" 
 said he,, '■ it is the will of Heaven that here 1 should 
 give back the spirit which has been lent me ; and 
 so help me that God into whose bright presence I 
 now go, as I am innocent of any crime towards 
 my king and country !'' A murmur ran among the 
 people. " This is my last asseveration, he continu- 
 ed >" and my last counsel to you is, to keep your 
 hearts clear and guiltless, so that if misfortune 
 should follow any one as it has followed me, he may 
 be able to lay his head upon the block as fearless- 
 ly as 1 do now." And retiring a step, he unloosed 
 his collar, and knelt for the stroke of the execution- 
 er. 
 
 " A horse ! A horse ! A council messenger ! 
 Pardon for the count ! Pardon for the count !" 
 cried a thousand voices from the crowd. De Ble- 
 nau looked up. Headlong down the long narrow 
 street that then led in a straight line from the 
 square, his horse in foam, his hat left far behind, 
 and his long gray hair flying in the wind, spurring 
 as if for life, came a horseman, who ever and anon 
 held up a packet in his hand, and vociferated some- 
 thing that was lost in the distance. He wore the 
 dress of a lieutenant of the king's forests, and dash-
 
 'rich^:li£u. ^ 25S 
 
 ipg Tike lightning through the crowd, that Yeeled 
 buck on every Bide as he approached, he paused 
 not till he reached the foot ot the scaffold, — threw 
 himself Crom his horse — passed unopposed through 
 the guards, rushed up the^steps, and Philip the 
 Woodman of Mantes cast himself at De Blenau's 
 feet. " My noble, noble lord !•■' exclaimed the 
 woodman. It was all that he could utter, for his 
 breath was gone with the rapidity of his progress. 
 
 " What is all this ?" cried the Prevost of Lyons, 
 coming forward. " And why do you stop the exe- 
 cution of the prisoner, Sir Lieutenant [ What is 
 all this ?'•— 
 
 Philip started on his feet, "What is it 1'" he ex- 
 claimed, " why, that none of you blood-sucking 
 wolves dare put a fang to the count's throat: that's 
 ■what it is! There is his pardon, with the king's 
 own signature ; ay, and the cardinars to boot ! At 
 least, so Monsieur de Chavigni tells me ; for being 
 no great clerk, I have not read it myself." 
 
 The prevost unfolded the paper and read, " ' Aic- 
 jourd''hui,' &Z.C. — Ah! yes, all in form. — ^The king 
 having learned that the crimes of the Sieur Claude 
 de Bleniiu, Count de Blenau, and Seigneur de 
 Blancford, are not so heavy as at first appeared, and 
 having investiguled — &c. has ordained and does or- 
 dain — out of his great grace, (Sec. — that the sentence 
 of death be changed and commuted to perpetual 
 banishment, ^c. — And if after sixteen days from the 
 dale hereof, he be found within the kingdoms of 
 France and Kavarre,' ^'C. — You understand, Mon- 
 eieur le Comte. — VVell, sir, 1 congratulate you. 
 Here is the king's name ; 'Louis,' et phis bets, 
 ' Richelieu' — Will you come and takesome refresh- 
 ment at my poor lodgings V 
 
 De Blenau was glad to accept the invitation, for 
 his mind was too much confused to fix upon any 
 plan of action at the moment. His resolution had 
 borne him strongly up at the time when all hope 
 seemed lost ; but now the sudden change overpow- 
 erp(l him ; and amid the acclamations of ihfi multi-
 
 254 RIClfELIEU. 
 
 tude, he suffered himself to be conducted in silence 
 to the house of the prevost 5 where he was soon 
 after discovered by his page, Henri de La Mothe. 
 
 We shall now pass quickly over the means which 
 he took to procure mopey for the expenses of the 
 journey before him, merely saying thai, through the 
 kindness of the prevost, he was soon furnished with 
 the necessary funds for proceeding ; and according- 
 ly set out from Lyons the second morning after 
 that, the events of which v:e have described. Two 
 powerful reasons induced De Blenau to turn his 
 steps towards Spa^n . in the first place, it was much 
 near«r than either Germany or Flanders, which 
 were the only other countries where he could hope 
 for perfect security ; and, in the next place, his road 
 to the frontier passed not only close to his own 
 estates, but skirted the property of Madame de 
 Beaumont, and he was not without hopes of meet- 
 ing there some that were the dearest to him of the 
 earth ; for he learned from Henri de La Mothe, 
 that the vengeance of the implacable R.ichelieu had 
 extended to Pauline and her mother, who had been 
 ordered once more to quit the court of France, as a 
 punishment for having conveyed information to him 
 in the Bastille .3 
 
 Philip the woodman was not f rgotten in De 
 Blenau's new arrangements j and under the pre- 
 tence of cnarging him with a letter back to St. 
 Germain's in case Madame de Beaumont should 
 not tbe in Languedoc, the young count seduced 
 him into a promise of accompanying him to Argent- 
 iere. His real motive, however, was, to recom- 
 pecne the woodman's services, on arriving at his 
 own property, in a manner which the scanty state 
 of his finances prevented him from doing at Ly- 
 ons. 
 
 Notwithstanding all the joy he felt at his deliv- 
 erance, there was a heaviness hung over De Blenau 
 as he rode out of Lyons, ^which he could not ac- 
 count for, and a sensation of tatigue.which hejhad 
 never felt before. To shorten the, road, he beckcm-
 
 moHELIEC. 265 
 
 ed to the woodman, who, with Henri de La Mothe, 
 had dropped a little behind, and made him relate 
 the circumstances which led to his being despatch- 
 ed with the king's pardon to Lyons. Philip's story, 
 which occupied a long while in telling, may be 
 considerably shortened without disadvantage. 
 
 It must be remembered, that at the time of De 
 Blenau's liberation from the Bastille,- Chavigni had 
 
 Kromised, as some compensation for all that Philip 
 ad suffered by his means, to have him appointed 
 sous-lieutenant of the forest of Mantes : and he 
 kept his word. 
 
 Philip was placed in the office, and exercised its 
 functions, but the actual brevet containing hie offi- 
 cial appointment had been delayed by a multitude 
 of other affairs pressing for attention, till the states- 
 man's return from Narbonne. At length, Philip 
 heard that Chavigni had returned, and that the king, 
 with all the ministers, were once more at St. Ger- 
 main's ; and he ventured to v/ait upon his patron, 
 as he had been desired, to remind him of expedit- 
 ing the brevet. There were several persons wait- 
 ing, and in his turn he was shown into the states- 
 toan's cabinet. 
 
 Chavigni had .forgotten his face, and asked the 
 simple question, " Who are you?" 
 
 Such simple questions, however, often produce 
 more important consequences. " I am the wood- 
 man," replied Philip, " who was in prison with the 
 CoiiAt de Blenau." 
 
 "The Count de Blenau !" exclaimed Chavigni, 
 while an expression of horror passed over his coun- 
 tenance. " By all the saints, I had forgot ! Yet 
 let me see, to-day is VVednesday-^there is yet time 
 —stay here a moment I" and he rushed out of the 
 room, leaving the astonished woodman not knowing 
 at all what he meant. In about a quarter of an 
 hour the statesman returned, breathless with the 
 expedition he had used — "There'" he exclaimed, 
 putting a paper into Philip's hand — "There is his 
 pardouj signed by both the king and the cardinal !
 
 2§e .RICHELIEU. 
 
 —Away !— take the swiftest horse in my stables- 
 lose not a moment, or you will be loo late ! Use 
 the king's name for fresh horses, and show that sig- 
 nature. — Tell the count, Chavigni has kept hiB 
 word." 
 
 *' And where am 1 to go ?•' demanded Philip, 
 quietly, still completely ignorant of the cause of 
 Chavigni's agitation. 
 
 " To Lyons, to Lyons ! you fool !" cried Chavig- 
 ni, " If you use not all speed, the count's head 
 will be off before you arrive with his paidon." 
 
 "The Count de Blenau ?" demanded Philip. 
 
 "Yes, yes, I tell you !■' reiterated the statesman. 
 " Your good old friend, the Count de Blenau ! So 
 lose no time, if you would save his life." 
 
 Philip lost no time, and arrived at Lyons, as we 
 have seen, just at the critical moment of De Ble- 
 nau 'a fate. 
 
 Though Philip's narrative served to interest De 
 Blenau, and the chattering of Henri de La Motbe 
 to amuse him on the way, nevertheless he could not 
 conceal from himself that there was a lassitude 
 gradually growing upon him, which seemed to an- 
 nounce the approach of some serious sickness. 
 Naturally of a strong constitution, and an ardent 
 temperament, he never yielded to indisposition till 
 unable to sustain it any longer 5 and though fatigue, 
 anxiety, and distress, bad weakened him much, 
 and his two attendants often hinted that he looked 
 unwell, and required repose, De Blenau would not 
 acknowledge that he was ill until he arrived in the 
 neighborhood of Tournon. There, however, tho 
 powers of nature failed him, and he felt that he 
 could proceed no farther. Scarcely able to sit on his 
 horse, he entered the town, and looked eagerly 
 about for some place whore he couM repose, when 
 suddenly the eyes of Henri de La Mothe rested up- 
 on the well-known sign of the SangUer Gour 
 mand, which, as, they afterward found, was still kepi 
 by no other person than the celebrated Jacques 
 Chatpilleur, who had at last been driven from th»
 
 RICHELIES. 257 
 
 neighborhood of the Bastille by the wrathful gov- 
 ernor, for one of his drunken achievements, very 
 similar to the one recounted in a preceding chap- 
 ter, and had taken refuge in his native place, Tour- 
 non. Here De Blenau alighted, and was conveyed 
 to a bed-chamber, where he was soon attacked by 
 a violent fever, which rapidly increased. Delirium 
 followed; and he quickly lost jjl remembrance of 
 surrounding objects, though the name of Pauline de 
 Beaumont would often tremble on his tongue, and 
 he fancied that he saw a thousand airy shapes hov- 
 ering round his bed, and constantly reminding him 
 of her he loved. 
 
 In about twenty days the disease had run its 
 course and passed away, leaving him in a state of 
 excessive weakness : but, in the mean time, the fe- 
 ver, which had nearly destroyed De Blenau, had 
 e;ntirely ruined the unhappy Jacques Chatpilleur. 
 The report spread through Tournon, that the auber- 
 giste had a milignant sickness raging in his house ; 
 and instead of coming thither, as usual, for the good 
 things of this life, the citizens not only passed his 
 door without entering, but even crossed over the 
 way, as they went through the street, to be far as 
 possible frora the- infected air. For some days af- 
 ter he discovered this defection, melancholy preyed 
 upon the unhappy aiibergiste ; but suddenly he seem- 
 ed to have taken a bold resolution, pulled down his 
 sign, put by his pots and pans, resumed his gayety. 
 and no sooner did De Blenau talk of once more 
 proceeding, than Jacques Chatpillieur laid before 
 him his sad condition, and prayed, as an act of jus 
 tice, that he would take him with him into Spain, 
 and suflFer him to be his lordship's cook. 
 
 De Blenau had not the heart to deny him 3 but 
 another thing came now to be considered. The 
 time which, according to the ordinance of the king, 
 had been allowed him for the purpose of quitting 
 the realm, had long expired, and he was now virtu- 
 ally an outlaw. Every one was called upon to de- 
 liver him up as an exile returned without grace,.
 
 258 Richelieu. 
 
 and by law his blood could be req^uired at the ham.' 
 of no one who shed it. These circumstances, 
 though not very agreeable in themselves, would have 
 
 fiven De Blenau but little concern, had not the 
 udge Lafemas been still in his immediate neigh- 
 borhood. Bui from his vindictive spirit he had 
 every thing to fear if discovered within the pre- 
 cincts of France after the allotted time had expired ; 
 an.': consequence he determined to travel by 
 ' 'ti <■ ... .. as his strength was sufficiently restor- 
 ed, and to effect his escape into Spain with as little 
 delay as possible. 
 
 Jacques Chatpilleur applied himself with all the 
 vigor of an ancien vivandier to re-establish his new 
 lord in his former robust health, and succeeded so 
 well as to leave but little traces of all that fever and 
 anxiety had done upon his frame. In the mean 
 time, Henri de LaMothe took care to prepare se- 
 cretly every thing for their departure ; a:nd Philip 
 the woodman, who had [^somewhat balanced be- 
 tween a wish to return to his family and love for 
 the good young count, determined to follow him to 
 the frontier, as soon as he heard that his life was at 
 the mercy of any one who chose to take it. 
 
 Under these circumstances, one clear autumn 
 night, towards twelve o'clock, De Blenau sallied 
 forth from the little town of Tournon, accompani- 
 ed by the somewhat curious escort of the mnkeep- 
 er, the woodman, and the page, and proceeding 
 silently and cautiously, arrived safely in the neigh- 
 borhood of La Vaulte, where, betaking themselves 
 to one of the large open fields of the country, the 
 party reposed themselves under the mulberry-trees,^ 
 which by this time had been long stripped both of 
 their green leaves and their silken balls, but which 
 still offered some degree of concealment, and some- 
 thing to which they could aitach their horses. 
 
 At noon Jacques Chatpilleur, as the most expert, 
 was despatched fo the town for some provisions, 
 which commission he executed with great zeal and 
 discretion, and returning, informed De Blenau that
 
 RiCHELretJ 259 
 
 he had seen a gentleman in black pass through the 
 town, accompanied by a considerable train habited 
 in the same sad cclor. 
 
 As De Blenau conjectured that this might Be 
 Lafemas, it was determined t© take additional pre- 
 cautions, and rather to live upon scanty fare than 
 send into any town again ; and setting off as soon as 
 it was dark, they passed by Privas, and reached the 
 skirts of llic thick wood that began about • >t .as, 
 and sweeping round La Gorce extei.u' a? ^U sz.--- 
 Viviers on the one side, and to L'Argentiere on the 
 other. Near to Viviers lay the estates of the Mar- 
 chioness de Beaumont, and within a league of Ar- 
 gentiere was the Chateau de Blenau ; but it was 
 towards the former that De Blenau bent his steps 
 as soon as the second night had come. Before they 
 had gone far, it began to rain hard, and though the 
 wood afforded some covering, yet the lateness of 
 the season had stripped it of all that could yield any 
 efficient shelter, except at a spo* where two ever- 
 green oaks, growing together like twin-brothers, 
 spread their still verdant branches over a considera- 
 ble space of ground. De Blenau was inclined to 
 proceed as quickly as possible ; but Jacques Chat- 
 pillieur, who now acted as body physician as well 
 as cook, so strongly cautioned his lord to avoid the 
 wet, that the whole party betook themselves to the 
 shelter of the oaks, in hopes of the rain passing 
 away. 
 
 Before them lay a considerable tract of road,upon 
 which, after about half an hour of heavy rain, the 
 moon began to shine once more ; and De Blenau 
 was about to proceed, when the sound of horses 
 was heard upon the very path which they had just 
 passed. De Blenau and his party drew back as qui- 
 etly as possible behind the trees, and though the 
 hores' feet still made some noise, the water droj)- 
 ping from the branches of the forest was enough to 
 cover the sound. Scarcely, however, were they 
 themselves concealed, when a horseman appeared 
 upon the road in a sombre colored suit, n ith some
 
 260 RKT.ELIEU. 
 
 one riding on his right-hand, whom De Blenau judg- 
 ed to be an inferior, from the bending position in 
 which he listened to what the other said. Six ser- 
 vants followed at a little distance, and a straggler 
 brought up the rear, wringing the wet from the 
 skirts of his doublet. One by o"ne they passed slow- 
 ly by; the uncertain light showing them to be well 
 armed and mounted, but still not shining sufficiently 
 to allow De Blenau the opportunity of considering 
 their features, though he thought tie first rider was 
 in some degree familiar to hinT. It was not unlike 
 that of Lafemas, yet, as far as he could judge, taller 
 and more erect. The cavalcade passed on, and were 
 seen winding down the road in the moonlight, till 
 they came opposite to a spot 'vhere some felled tim- 
 ber and blocks of stone embarrassed the ground. 
 Immediately that they arrived there there was a 
 bright flash, the report of a carbine, and one of the 
 horses fell suddenly to the ground. In a moment, 
 nine or ten horsem.en.and two or three on footjush- 
 ed forth from the v.ood ; and the clashing of steel, 
 the report of pistols, and various cries of -wrath or 
 agony came sweeping upon the gale. 
 
 •'■ Were it Lafemas himself,"' cried De Blenau, 
 '•' this must not be ! En avant pour la France I" 
 and dashing his rowels into the horse's side, he gal- 
 loped headlong down the road, followed by the 
 woodman, the page, and the redoubtable Jacques 
 Chatpilleur. 
 
 Two moments brought them to the scene of the 
 combat, and the moon shining out seemed express- 
 ly to light the fray. The one party was evidently 
 to be distinguished by their black habits, the (other 
 by their rusty cuirasses and morions. Directly in 
 the way of De Blenau was the cavalier he had nark- 
 ed, as he passed, contending with .1 man of almost 
 gigantic strength i but notv, iihstanding ihe .superior 
 force of the latter, his antagonist still foiled him by 
 his skilful defence, when suddenly one of the rob- 
 bers on foot attacked the cavalier also behind. Thus 
 beset, he turned to strike him down, when the tre-
 
 RIOHELIEIT. 261 
 
 niendous Norman (for it was no other) caught his 
 bridle rein, and urging the horse back, threw him 
 to the ground. The robber on foot shortened the 
 pike he carried to plunge it in his body. But by this 
 time De Blenau's party had come upj and the coura- 
 geous auberglsie galloping on, bore the point of his 
 long sword in a direct line forward, which catching 
 the pikeman just below the cuirass, spitted him, to 
 use Jacques Chatpilleur's awn expression, just like 
 a widgeon. 
 
 In the mean while, the Norman had turned upon 
 De Blenau, and snapped a pistol at his head, which, 
 Irowever, missed fire. Enraged at his disappoint- 
 ment, he threw the weapon from him, and spurring 
 on his horse,aimed a tremendous blow at the couct 
 which was instantly parried, and returned by a 
 straightforward lunge that cut him above the eye, 
 and deluged his face in blood. INIad with the pain, 
 and half-blinded with the gore,Marteville attempted 
 once more the feat by which he had overthrown 
 his former antagonist ; and, catching Be Blenau's 
 rein, urged his horseback with Herculean strength. 
 In vain the count spurred him forward 3 he sank up- 
 on his haunches, and was floundering in the fall, 
 when De Blenau, finding it inevitable, let go the 
 rein, fixed his knees firm in the saddle, and raising 
 his sword with both hands, discharged it wilh all his 
 force upon the head of the Norman. The true steel 
 passed clear on, hewed through the iron morion, 
 cleft through hair and scull, and sank deep into his 
 brain. He reeled in the saddle 5 his hands let go 
 their grasp, and he fell headlong to tlie ground, while 
 the horse of de Bienau, suddenly released from the 
 pressure, rose up, and plunging foward, trod him un- 
 der its feet. De Blenau lost not his presence of mind 
 fo- a moment, and while his horse was yet in the 
 spring, he aimed a blow at the Gros St. Nicolas, 
 who had been hurrying to the assistance of his cap- 
 tain, which disabled his shoulder, and threw him 
 from his horse. " Saicve qui pent ."' cried the rob-
 
 262 RiCIlKLlEU. 
 
 ber, starting up on his feet,and running for the wood, 
 " Sauve qui pent ! The captain is dead '.'' 
 
 '•' Sauve qui peut! Smtve qui pexd !' rang among 
 the robbers, and in a few minutes De Blenau and 
 his parly were left masters of the field. The count 
 drew up his horse, exclaiming " Do not follow ! Do 
 not follow ! Let us look to the wounded ;" and dis- 
 mounting, he hurried to assist the fallen cavalier, 
 who was struggling to disengage himself from his 
 horse. 
 
 '• Next to God, sir, 1 have to thank you/' said the 
 stranger, as soon as he had risen. " But — is it pos- 
 sible ! Monsieur de Blenau I" he ex.claimed as the 
 moonlight gleamed on the countenance of the 
 count. '' God of heaven,! thought you were in 
 Spain long ago ;"' 
 
 •' Monsieur de Chavigni .' or I am mistaken," said 
 De Blenau. '• ButI knov/ that I can trust to your 
 lionor, and therefore must say, that though my late 
 illness may have rendered me an outlaw, by detain- 
 ing me in France after my sentence of exile, yet I 
 will not regret it, as it has given me the opportuni- 
 ty of serving the man to whom I am indebted for 
 my life. — There, sir, is my hand." 
 
 Chavigni embraced him warmly. " Let us look 
 to the men v.ho ai-e v.ounded, Moasieur De Ble- 
 nau," said he, " and then 1 will give you a piece of 
 news which however painful to me, will be satis- 
 factory to you. Cannot some one strike a light, 
 that we may examine more carefully what has oc- 
 curred on this unhappy spot j for I see many on the 
 earth." 
 
 " It shall be done in the turning of a spit, mon- 
 seigneur,' said Jacques Chatpilleur, who had alrea- 
 dy collected some dry wood ; and who now quickly 
 produced a tire by means of the flint of a pistol. 
 
 The scene that presetted itself was a sad one. 
 On the earth lay two of Chavjgni's servants dead, 
 and one desperately wounded. To these was ad- 
 ded Henri de La Mothe, who had received a severe 
 cut on the head, and was stonned with the blow.
 
 KICHELIEU. 263 
 
 Not far from the body of the Norman lay his com- 
 panion Callol, wlio was the pikeuian Uespatchsd by 
 the bellicose mibergiste. In addition to these was 
 a robber, whose he ;d had been nearly severed from 
 his body by the cutlass which wa? borne by Philip 
 the woodman, in his capacity of lieutenant of the 
 kings forests.; and one so severely wounded by a 
 pistol-ball from the liand of Chavigni, that his com- 
 panions had been obliged to abandon him. From 
 him they learned thai the attack upon Chavigni had 
 been preconcerted; that understanding he was bend- 
 ing his steps towards Montpelier, Mirteviiie had 
 obtained exact information of his course 3 and find- 
 ing that he must pass through the forest by Viviers, 
 had laid in wait for I'im, with the expectation both 
 of revenge and plunder. 
 
 **' And now, Monsieur de Blenau,"said Chavigni, 
 as soon as their investigation ended, " whither does 
 your immediate path lay? You kn-ow you can trust 
 nie." 
 
 •■' I do," said De Blenau. " I go first towards Vi- 
 yiers, to the chateau of the late Marquis de Beau- 
 mont.' 
 
 "And I go there too," said Chavigni. '-I am 
 even how expected ; for I sent forward a servant to 
 anr ounce my coming.!' 
 
 " Indeed .'" exclaimed De Blenau, "May I ask 
 your errand V 
 
 A faint smile curled Chavigni's lip, which was 
 uncommonly pale. "You will hear on my arrival," 
 said he ; " for 1 see you are ignorant of what has 
 lately taken place, though the couriers must have 
 arrived in all the towns three days ago. But let us 
 have our wounded brought along, and we will pro- 
 ceed to the chateau. — Itcannot'be far distant." 
 
 The preparations were soon made — the chateau 
 was soon reached — and Pauline de Beaumont was 
 soon once more clasped in the arms of her lover.— 
 But let all that pass. 
 
 " Madame," said Chavigni, advancing to the mar- 
 chioness, " you doubtless wonder as much as Mon-
 
 264 RICHELIEU. 
 
 sieurde Blenau, what can have brought me hither 
 But as I came to Montpellier, I had the kingscom 
 mands to inform you, tnat the fine which was im- 
 posed upon your estates is remitted in full. And to 
 you, Monsieur de Blenau, 1 have to announce, that 
 your banishment is at an end, for his majesty has 
 given permission to all exiles to return to France, 
 with a very few exceptions, among which you, are 
 not included. — I need not tell you, from these cir- 
 cumstances, that the Cardinal de Richelieu is dead.' ' 
 •'Good God !" exclaimed De Blenau, ''so soon.'"' 
 " Even so .'"' replied Chavigni. '•' il/onsieur de 
 Blenau, doubtless you are happy — for he was your 
 enemy. — But he was to me a friend — he was nearly 
 a father, and I mourn for him." 
 
 " May he rest in peace .'" said de Blenau. " He 
 was a great man. May he rest in peace .'" 
 
 Little more remains to be said ; for this long his- 
 tory draws towards its close The borrows, the dan- 
 gers, and the difficulties, which had so loj*g sur- 
 rounded De Blenau and Pauline, had now passed 
 away, like the storms of a summer day, that over- 
 cloud the morning, but leave t^e evening calm and 
 fair. They were united in the beautiful valleys of 
 Lauguedoc, and in the fair scienes where lhey»had 
 first met, they continued to live on in happiness and 
 love, till the hand of time led them gently to the 
 grave. 
 
 That generation and its eve^its have passed away; 
 but their still remains one record of the hero of this 
 tale 3 for in a little village church, between Argen- 
 ti^re and Viviers, stands a fine marble tomb, with 
 the figure of a knight sculptured in a recumbent 
 posture. Underneath is engraven the date— one 
 thousand six hundred and eighty-five, with the sim- 
 ple inscription, 
 
 " Ci git Claude, Comte de Blenau."
 
 I
 
 UC SOUTHERN REGIONAL LIBRARY FACILITY 
 
 B 000 003 346 4