Cinq-Mars, with eyes fixed upon the, great bay window of the dining-room, looked sorrowfully upon the magnificent landscape.  The sun shone in full splendor, and colored the sands of the Loire, the trees, and the lawns with gold and emerald.  The sky was azure, the waves were of a transparent yellow, the islets of a vivid green; behind their rounded outlines rose the great sails of the merchant-vessels, like a fleet in ambuscade.

“O Nature, Nature!” he mused; “beautiful Nature, farewell!  Soon will my heart cease to be of simplicity enough to feel your charm, soon you wall no longer please my eyes.  This heart is already burned by a deep passion; and the mention of the interests of men stirs it with hitherto unknown agitation.  I must, however, enter this labyrinth; I may, perchance, lose myself there, but for Marie—­”

At this moment, aroused by the words of his mother, and fearing to exhibit a childish regret at leaving his beautiful country and his family, he said: 

“I am thinking, Madame, of the road which I shall take to Perpignan, and also of that which shall bring me back to you.”

“Do not forget to take that of Poitiers, and to go to Loudun to see your old tutor, our good Abbe Quillet; he will give you useful advice about the court.  He is on very good terms with the Duc de Bouillon; and besides, though he may not be very necessary to you, it is a mark of deference which you owe him.”

“Is it, then, to the siege of Perpignan that you are going, my boy?” asked the old Marechal, who began to think that he had been silent a long time.  “Ah! it is well for you.  Plague upon it! a siege! ’tis an excellent opening.  I would have given much had I been able to assist the late King at a siege, upon my arrival in his court; it would have been better to be disembowelled then than at a tourney, as I was.  But we were at peace; and I was compelled to go and shoot the Turks with the Rosworm of the Hungarians, in order that I might not afflict my family by my idleness.  For the rest, may his Majesty receive you as kindly as his father received me!  It is true that the King is good and brave; but they have unfortunately taught him that cold Spanish etiquette which arrests all the impulses of the heart.  He restrains himself and others by an immovable presence and an icy look; as for me, I confess that I am always waiting for the moment of thaw, but in vain.  We were accustomed to other manners from the witty and simple-hearted Henri; and we were at least free to tell him that we loved him.”

Cinq-Mars, with eyes fixed upon those of Bassompierre, as if to force himself to attend to his discourse, asked him what was the manner of the late king in conversation.