“Heavens! no, Sire; I often go there with one of my friends—­a gentleman of Touraine, named Rene Descartes.”

“Descartes!  I know that name!  Yes, he is an officer who distinguished himself at the siege of Rochelle, and who dabbles in writing; he has a good reputation for piety, but he is connected with Desbarreaux, who is a free-thinker.  I am sure that you must mix with many persons who are not fit company for you, many young men without family, without birth.  Come, tell me whom saw you last there?”

“Truly, I can scarcely remember their names,” said Cinq-Mars, looking at the ceiling; “sometimes I do not even ask them.  There was, in the first place, a certain Monsieur—­Monsieur Groot, or Grotius, a Hollander.”

“I know him, a friend of Barnevelt; I pay him a pension.  I liked him well enough; but the Card—­but I was told that he was a high Calvinist.”

“I also saw an Englishman, named John Milton; he is a young man just come from Italy, and is returning to London.  He scarcely speaks at all.”

“I don’t know him—­not at all; but I’m sure he’s some other Calvinist.  And the Frenchmen, who were they?”

“The young man who wrote Cinna, and who has been thrice rejected at the Academie Francaise; he was angry that Du Royer occupied his place there.  He is called Corneille.”

“Well,” said the King, folding his arms, and looking at him with an air of triumph and reproach, “I ask you who are these people?  Is it in such a circle that you ought to be seen?”

Cinq-Mars was confounded at this observation, which hurt his self-pride, and, approaching the King, he said: 

“You are right, Sire; but there can be no harm in passing an hour or two in listening to good conversation.  Besides, many courtiers go there, such as the Duc de Bouillon, Monsieur d’Aubijoux, the Comte de Brion, the Cardinal de la Vallette, Messieurs de Montresor, Fontrailles; men illustrious in the sciences, as Mairet, Colletet, Desmarets, author of Araine; Faret, Doujat, Charpentier, who wrote the Cyropedie; Giry, Besons, and Baro, the continuer of Astree—­all academicians.”

“Ah! now, indeed, here are men of real merit,” said Louis; “there is nothing to be said against them.  One can not but gain from their society.  Theirs are settled reputations; they’re men of weight.  Come, let us make up; shake hands, child.  I permit you to go there sometimes, but do not deceive me any more; you see I know all.  Look at this.”

So saying, the King took from a great iron chest set against the wall enormous packets of paper scribbled over with very fine writing.  Upon one was written, Baradas, upon another, D’Hautefort, upon a third, La Fayette, and finally, Cinq-Mars.  He stopped at the latter, and continued: 

“See how many times you have deceived me!  These are the continual faults of which I have myself kept a register during the two years I have known you; I have written out our conversations day by day.  Sit down.”