Already weakened by fever, fatigue, and grief, the Cardinal, seized with horror and pity, exclaimed: 

“Ah, for the love of God, let this terrible scene have an end!  Take away this woman; she is mad!”

The frantic creature turned, and suddenly uttering loud cries, “Ah, the judge! the judge! the judge!” she said, recognizing Laubardemont.

The latter, clasping his hands and trembling before the Cardinal, said with terror: 

“Alas, Monseigneur, pardon me! she is my niece, who has lost her reason.  I was not aware of this misfortune, or she would have been shut up long ago.  Jeanne!  Jeanne! come, Madame, to your knees! ask forgiveness of Monseigneur the Cardinal-duc.”

“It is Richelieu!” she cried; and astonishment seemed wholly to paralyze this young and unhappy beauty.  The flush which had animated her at first gave place to a deadly pallor, her cries to a motionless silence, her wandering looks to a frightful fixedness of her large eyes, which constantly followed the agitated minister.

“Take away this unfortunate child quickly,” said he; “she is dying, and so am I. So many horrors pursue me since that sentence that I believe all hell is loosed upon me.”

He rose as he spoke; Jeanne de Belfiel, still silent and stupefied, with haggard eyes, open mouth, and head bent forward, yet remained beneath the shock of her double surprise, which seemed to have extinguished the rest of her reason and her strength.  At the movement of the Cardinal, she shuddered to find herself between him and Laubardemont, looked by turns at one and the other, let the knife which she held fall from her hand, and retired slowly toward the opening of the tent, covering herself completely with her veil, and looking wildly and with terror behind her upon her uncle who followed, like an affrighted lamb, which already feels at its back the burning breath of the wolf about to seize it.

Thus they both went forth; and hardly had they reached the open air, when the furious judge caught the hands of his victim, tied them with a handkerchief, and easily led her, for she uttered no cry, not even a sigh, but followed him with her head still drooping upon her bosom, and as if plunged in profound somnambulism.

CHAPTER XIII

THE SPANIARD

Meantime, a scene of different nature was passing in the tent of Cinq-Mars; the words of the King, the first balm to his wounds, had been followed by the anxious care of the surgeons of the court.  A spent ball, easily extracted, had been the only cause of his accident.  He was allowed to travel and all was ready.  The invalid had received up to midnight friendly or interested visits; among the first were those of little Gondi and of Fontrailles, who were also preparing to quit Perpignan for Paris.  The ex-page, Olivier d’Entraigues, joined with them in complimenting the fortunate volunteer, whom the King seemed to have distinguished.  The habitual coldness of the Prince toward all who surrounded him having caused those who knew of them to regard the few words he had spoken as assured signs of high favor, all came to congratulate him.