“Ah, my son, is it you?” said the good man, letting fall his pistols, which were picked up by a domestic, also armed to the teeth.  “What do you here?  The abomination has entered the town, and I only await the night to depart.  Make haste within, my dear boy, with your people.  I took you for the archers of Laubardemont, and, faith, I intended to take a part somewhat out of my line.  You see the horses in the courtyard there; they will convey me to Italy, where I shall rejoin our friend, the Duc de Bouillon.  Jean!  Jean! hasten and close the great gate after Monsieur’s domestics, and recommend them not to make too much noise, although for that matter we have no habitation near us.”

Grandchamp obeyed the intrepid little Abbe, who then embraced Cinq-Mars four consecutive times, raising himself on the points of his boots, so as to attain the middle of his pupil’s breast.  He then hurried him into a small room, which looked like a deserted granary; and seating him beside himself upon a black leather trunk, he said, warmly: 

“Well, my son, whither go you?  How came Madame la Marechale to allow you to come here?  Do you not see what they are doing against an unhappy man, whose death alone will content them?  Alas, merciful Heaven! is this the first spectacle my dear pupil is to see?  And you at that delightful period of life when friendship, love, confidence, should alone encompass you; when all around you should give you a favorable opinion of your species, at your very entry into the great world!  How unfortunate! alas, why did you come?”

When the good Abbe had followed up this lamentation by pressing affectionately both hands of the young traveller in his own, so red and wrinkled, the latter answered: 

“Can you not guess, my dear Abbe, that I came to Loudun because you are here?  As to the spectacle you speak of, it appears to me simply ridiculous; and I swear that I do not a whit the less on its account love that human race of which your virtues and your good lessons have given me an excellent idea.  As to the five or six mad women who—­”

“Let us not lose time; I will explain to you all that matter; but answer me, whither go you, and for what?”

“I am going to Perpignan, where the Cardinal-Duke is to present me to the King.”

At this the worthy but hasty Abbe rose from his box, and walked, or rather ran, to and fro, stamping.  “The Cardinal! the Cardinal!” he repeated, almost choking, his face becoming scarlet, and the tears rising to his eyes; “My poor child! they will destroy him!  Ah, mon Dieu! what part would they have him play there?  What would they do with him?  Ah, who will protect thee, my son, in that dangerous place?” he continued, reseating himself, and again taking his pupil’s hands in his own with a paternal solicitude, as he endeavored to read his thoughts in his countenance.

“Why, I do not exactly know,” said Cinq-Mars, looking up at the ceiling; “but I suppose it will be the Cardinal de Richelieu, who was the friend of my father.”