“Astonished!  France, then, does not know me?”

“No, Sire,” said D’Effiat, frankly; “no one knows you.  And I myself, with the rest of the world, at times accuse you of coldness and indifference.”

“Of coldness, when I am dying with sorrow!  Of coldness, when I have immolated myself to their interests!  Ungrateful nation!  I have sacrificed all to it, even pride, even the happiness of guiding it myself, because I feared on its account for my fluctuating life.  I have given my sceptre to be borne by a man I hate, because I believed his hand to be stronger than my own.  I have endured the ill he has done to myself, thinking that he did good to my people.  I have hidden my own tears to dry theirs; and I see that my sacrifice has been even greater than I thought it, for they have not perceived it.  They have believed me incapable because I was kind, and without power because I mistrusted my own.  But, no matter!  God sees and knows me!”

“Ah, Sire, show yourself to France such as you are; reassume your usurped power.  France will do for your love what she would never do from fear.  Return to life, and reascend the throne.”

“No, no; my life is well-nigh finished, my dear friend.  I am no longer capable of the labor of supreme command.’”

“Ah, Sire, this persuasion alone destroys your vigor.  It is time that men should cease to confound power with crime, and call this union genius.  Let your voice be heard proclaiming to the world that the reign of virtue is about to begin with your own; and hence forth those enemies whom vice has so much difficulty in suppressing will fall before a word uttered from your heart.  No one has as yet calculated all that the good faith of a king of France may do for his people—­that people who are drawn so instantaneously to ward all that is good and beautiful, by their imagination and warmth of soul, and who are always ready with every kind of devotion.  The King, your father, led us with a smile.  What would not one of your tears do?”

During this address the King, very much surprised, frequently reddened, hemmed, and gave signs of great embarrassment, as always happened when any attempt was made to bring him to a decision.  He also felt the approach of a conversation of too high an order, which the timidity of his soul forbade him to venture upon; and repeatedly putting his hand to his chest, knitting his brows as if suffering violent pain, he endeavored to relieve himself by the apparent attack of illness from the embarrassment of answering.  But, either from passion, or from a resolution to strike the crowning blow, Cinq-Mars went on calmly and with a solemnity that awed Louis, who, forced into his last intrenchments, at length said: 

“But, Cinq-Mars, how can I rid myself of a minister who for eighteen years past has surrounded me with his creatures?”

“He is not so very powerful,” replied the grand ecuyer; “and his friends will be his most sure enemies if you but make a sign of your head.  The ancient league of the princes of peace still exists, Sire, and it is only the respect due to the choice of your Majesty that prevents it from manifesting itself.”