“And for your personal happiness you would overthrow a State?”

“The happiness of the State is one with mine.  I secure that undoubtedly in destroying the tyrant of the King.  The horror with which this man inspires me has passed into my very blood.  When I was first on my way to him, I encountered in my journey his greatest crime.  He is the genius of evil for the unhappy King!  I will exorcise him.  I might have become the genius of good for Louis XIII.  It was one of the thoughts of Marie, her most cherished thought.  But I do not think I shall triumph in the uneasy soul of the Prince.”

“Upon what do you rely, then?” said De Thou.

“Upon the cast of a die.  If his will can but once last for a few hours, I have gained.  ’Tis a last calculation on which my destiny hangs.”

“And that of your Marie!”

“Could you suppose it?” said Cinq-Mars, impetuously.  “No, no!  If he abandons me, I sign the treaty with Spain, and then-war!”

“Ah, horror!” exclaimed the counsellor.  “What, a war! a civil war, and a foreign alliance!”

“Ay, ’tis a crime,” said Cinq-Mars, coldly; “but have I asked you to participate in it?”

“Cruel, ungrateful man!” replied his friend; “can you speak to me thus?  Know you not, have I not proved to you, that friendship holds the place of every passion in my heart?  Can I survive the least of your misfortunes, far less your death.  Still, let me influence you not to strike France.  Oh, my friend! my only friend!  I implore you on my knees, let us not thus be parricides; let us not assassinate our country!  I say us, because I will never separate myself from your actions.  Preserve to me my self-esteem, for which I have labored so long; sully not my life and my death, which are both yours.”

De Thou had fallen at the feet of his friend, who, unable to preserve his affected coldness, threw himself into his arms, as he raised him, and, pressing him to his heart, said in a stifled voice: 

“Why love me thus?  What have you done, friend?  Why love me?  You who are wise, pure, and virtuous; you who are not led away by an insensate passion and the desire for vengeance; you whose soul is nourished only by religion and science—­why love me?  What has my friendship given you but anxiety and pain?  Must it now heap dangers on you?  Separate yourself from me; we are no longer of the same nature.  You see courts have corrupted me.  I have no longer openness, no longer goodness.  I meditate the ruin of a man; I can deceive a friend.  Forget me, scorn me.  I am not worthy of one of your thoughts; how should I be worthy of your perils?”

“By swearing to me not to betray the King and France,” answered De Thou.  “Know you that the preservation of your country is at stake; that if you yield to Spain our fortifications, she will never return them to us; that your name will be a byword with posterity; that French mothers will curse it when they shall be forced to teach their children a foreign language—­know you all this?  Come.”