“It is a vow; it is a vow,” answered the young woman, with an air of impatience, seating herself beside him abruptly.  “I have also made a vow not to eat until I have found the man I seek.”

“My sister,” said the Cardinal, astonished and softened, looking closely at her, “God does not exact such rigors from a weak body, and particularly from one of your age, for you seem very young.”

“Young! oh, yes, I was very young a few days ago; but I have since passed two existences at least, so much have I thought and suffered.  Look on my countenance.”

And she discovered a face of perfect beauty.  Black and very regular eyes gave life to it; but in their absence one might have thought her features were those of a phantom, she was so pale.  Her lips were blue and quivering; and a strong shudder made her teeth chatter.

“You are ill, my sister,” said the minister, touched, taking her hand, which he felt to be burning hot.  A sort of habit of inquiring concerning his own health, and that of others, made him touch the pulse of her emaciated arm; he felt that the arteries were swollen by the beatings of a terrible fever.

“Alas!” he continued, with more of interest, “you have killed yourself with rigors beyond human strength!  I have always blamed them, and especially at a tender age.  What, then, has induced you to do this?  Is it to confide it to me that you are come?  Speak calmly, and be sure of succor.”

“Confide in men!” answered the young woman; “oh, no, never!  All have deceived me.  I will confide myself to no one, not even to Monsieur Cinq-Mars, although he must soon die.”

“What!” said Richelieu, contracting his brows, but with a bitter laugh,—­“what! do you know this young man?  Has he been the cause of your misfortune?”

“Oh, no!  He is very good, and hates wickedness; that is what will ruin him.  Besides,” said she, suddenly assuming a harsh and savage air, “men are weak, and there are things which women must accomplish.  When there were no more valiant men in Israel, Deborah arose.”

“Ah! how came you with all this fine learning?” continued the Cardinal, still holding her hand.

“Oh, I can’t explain that!” answered she, with a touching air of naivete and a very gentle voice; “you would not understand me.  It is the Devil who has taught me all, and who has destroyed me.”

“Ah, my child! it is always he who destroys us; but he instructs us ill,” said Richelieu, with an air of paternal protection and an increasing pity.  “What have been your faults?  Tell them to me; I am very powerful.”

“Ah,” said she, with a look of doubt, “you have much influence over warriors, brave men and generals!  Beneath your cuirass must beat a noble heart; you are an old General who knows nothing of the tricks of crime.”

Richelieu smiled; this mistake flattered him.

“I heard you ask for the Cardinal; do you desire to see him?  Did you come here to seek him?”