“He has betrayed me, I tell you,” answered Cinq-Mars.  “Yet who could have believed it, that saw him press our hands, turning from his brother to me, and to the Duc de Bouillon, making himself acquainted with the minutest details of the conspiracy, of the very day on which Richelieu was to be arrested at Lyons, fixing himself the place of his exile (our party desired his death, but the recollection of my father made me ask his life).  The King said that he himself would direct the whole affair at Perpignan; yet just before, Joseph, that foul spy, had issued from out of the cabinet du Lys.  O Marie! shall I own it? at the moment I heard this, my very soul was tossed.  I doubted everything; it seemed to me that the centre of the world was unhinged when I found truth quit the heart of the King.  I saw our whole edifice crumble to the ground; another hour, and the conspiracy would vanish away, and I should lose you forever.  One means remained; I employed it.”

“What means?” said Marie.

“The treaty with Spain was in my hand; I signed it.”

“Ah, heavens! destroy it.”

“It is gone.”

“Who bears it?”

“Fontrailles.”

“Recall him.”

“He will, ere this, have passed the defiles of Oleron,” said Cinq-Mars, rising up.  “All is ready at Madrid, all at Sedan.  Armies await me, Marie—­armies!  Richelieu is in the midst of them.  He totters; it needs but one blow to overthrow him, and you are mine forever—­forever the wife of the triumphant Cinq-Mars.”

“Of Cinq-Mars the rebel,” she said, sighing.

“Well, have it so, the rebel; but no longer the favorite.  Rebel, criminal, worthy of the scaffold, I know it,” cried the impassioned youth, falling on his knees; “but a rebel for love, a rebel for you, whom my sword will at last achieve for me.”

“Alas, a sword imbrued in the blood of your country!  Is it not a poniard?”

“Pause! for pity, pause, Marie!  Let kings abandon me, let warriors forsake me, I shall only be the more firm; but a word from you will vanquish me, and once again the time for reflection will be passed from me.  Yes, I am a criminal; and that is why I still hesitate to think myself worthy of you.  Abandon me, Marie; take back the ring.”

“I can not,” she said; “for I am your wife, whatever you be.”

“You hear her, father!” exclaimed Cinq-Mars, transported with happiness; “bless this second union, the work of devotion, even more beautiful than that of love.  Let her be mine while I live.”

Without answering, the Abbe opened the door of the confessional and had quitted the church ere Cinq-Mars had time to rise and follow him.

“Where are you going?  What is the matter?” he cried.

But no one answered.

“Do not call out, in the name of Heaven!” said Marie, “or I am lost; he has doubtless heard some one in the church.”

But D’Effiat, agitated, and without answering her, rushed forth, and sought his late tutor through the church, but in vain.  Drawing his sword, he proceeded to the entrance which Grandchamp had to guard; he called him and listened.