“What new chagrin moves thee?” he said.  “Come, let me again attempt to read that chilled heart which thinks it needs something.”

He entered the narrow cabinet.

Clothed in black, half reclining on a couch, his elbows resting upon pillows, the Prince was languidly touching the chords of his guitar; he ceased this when he saw the grand ecuyer enter, and, raising his large eyes to him with an air of reproach, swayed his head to and fro for a long time without speaking.  Then in a plaintive but emphatic tone, he said: 

“What do I hear, Cinq-Mars?  What do I hear of your conduct?  How much you do pain me by forgetting all my counsels!  You have formed a guilty intrigue; was it from you I was to expect such things—­you whom I so loved for your piety and virtue?”

Full of his political projects, Cinq-Mars thought himself discovered, and could not help a momentary anxiety; but, perfectly master of himself, he answered without hesitation: 

“Yes, Sire; and I was about to declare it to you, for I am accustomed to open my soul to you.”

“Declare it to me!” exclaimed the King, turning red and white, as under the shivering of a fever; “and you dare to contaminate my ears with these horrible avowals, Monsieur, and to speak so calmly of your disorder!  Go! you deserve to be condemned to the galley, like Rondin; it is a crime of high treason you have committed in your want of faith toward me.  I had rather you were a coiner, like the Marquis de Coucy, or at the head of the Croquants, than do as you have done; you dishonor your family, and the memory of the marechal your father.”

Cinq-Mars, deeming himself wholly lost, put the best face he could upon the matter, and said with an air of resignation: 

“Well, then, Sire, send me to be judged and put to death; but spare me your reproaches.”

“Do you insult me, you petty country-squire?” answered Louis.  “I know very well that you have not incurred the penalty of death in the eyes of men; but it is at the tribunal of God, Monsieur, that you will be judged.”

“Heavens, Sire!” replied the impetuous young man, whom the insulting phrase of the King had offended, “why do you not allow me to return to the province you so much despise, as I have sought to do a hundred times?  I will go there.  I can not support the life I lead with you; an angel could not bear it.  Once more, let me be judged if I am guilty, or allow me to return to Touraine.  It is you who have ruined me in attaching me to your person.  If you have caused me to conceive lofty hopes, which you afterward overthrew, is that my fault?  Wherefore have you made me grand ecuyer, if I was not to rise higher?  In a word, am I your friend or not? and, if I am, why may I not be duke, peer, or even constable, as well as Monsieur de Luynes, whom you loved so much because he trained falcons for you?  Why am I not admitted to the council?  I could speak as well as any of the old ruffs there; I have new ideas, and a better arm to serve you.  It is your Cardinal who has prevented you from summoning me there.  And it is because he keeps you from me that I detest him,” continued Cinq-Mars, clinching his fist, as if Richelieu stood before him; “yes, I would kill him with my own hand, if need were.”