“Be it as you will,” said Cinq-Mars; “come down.”

It was his character ever to assume with others the mien they wore toward him; and the rudeness of the Spaniard made him as hard as iron toward him.

“A proud rascal that, Monsieur,” said Grandchamp; “in your place Monsieur le Marechal would certainly have left him on his ladder.  Come, Louis, Etienne, Germain, escort Monsieur’s prisoners—­a fine acquisition, truly!  If they bring you any luck, I shall be very much surprised.”

Cinq-Mars, suffering from the motion of his horse, rode only at the pace of his prisoners on foot, and was accordingly at a distance behind the red companies, who followed close upon the King.  He meditated on his way what it could be that the Prince desired to say to him.  A ray of hope presented to his mind the figure of Marie de Mantua in the distance; and for a moment his thoughts were calmed.  But all his future lay in that brief sentence—­“to please the King”; and he began to reflect upon all the bitterness in which his task might involve him.

At that moment he saw approaching his friend, De Thou, who, anxious at his remaining behind, had sought him in the plain, eager to aid him if necessary.

“It is late, my friend; night approaches.  You have delayed long; I feared for you.  Whom have you here?  What has detained you?  The King will soon be asking for you.”

Such were the rapid inquiries of the young counsellor, whose anxiety, more than the battle itself, had made him lose his accustomed serenity.

“I was slightly wounded; I bring a prisoner, and I was thinking of the King.  What can he want me for, my friend?  What must I do if he proposes to place me about his person?  I must please him; and at this thought—­shall I own it?—­I am tempted to fly.  But I trust that I shall not have that fatal honor.  ‘To please,’ how humiliating the word! ’to obey’ quite the opposite!  A soldier runs the chance of death, and there’s an end.  But in what base compliances, what sacrifices of himself, what compositions with his conscience, what degradation of his own thought, may not a courtier be involved!  Ah, De Thou, my dear De Thou!  I am not made for the court; I feel it, though I have seen it but for a moment.  There is in my temperament a certain savageness, which education has polished only on the surface.  At a distance, I thought myself adapted to live in this all-powerful world; I even desired it, led by a cherished hope of my heart.  But I shuddered at the first step; I shuddered at the mere sight of the Cardinal.  The recollection of the last of his crimes, at which I was present, kept me from addressing him.  He horrifies me; I never can endure to be near him.  The King’s favor, too, has that about it which dismays me, as if I knew it would be fatal to me.”