“Ah, what a thing it is to have no one to whom to say a friendly word when it is so cold! and my poor mistress! to come on foot all the way from the Hotel de Nevers.  Ah, amore! qui regna amore!”

“Come, Italian, wheel about, I tell thee.  Let me hear no more of thy musical tongue.”

“Ah, Santa Maria!  What a harsh voice, dear Grandchamp!  You were much more amiable at Chaumont, in Turena, when you talked to me of ’miei occhi neri.”

“Hold thy tongue, prattler!  Once more, thy Italian is only good for buffoons and rope-dancers, or to accompany the learned dogs.”

“Ah, Italia mia!  Grandchamp, listen to me, and you shall hear the language of the gods.  If you were a gallant man, like him who wrote this for a Laure like me!”

And she began to hum: 

        Lieti fiori a felici, e ben nate erbe
        Che Madonna pensando premer sole;
        Piaggia ch’ascolti su dolci parole
        E del bel piede alcun vestigio serbe.

The old soldier was but little used to the voice of a young girl; and in general when a woman spoke to him, the tone he assumed in answering always fluctuated between an awkward compliment and an ebullition of temper.  But on this occasion he appeared moved by the Italian song, and twisted his moustache, which was always with him a sign of embarrassment and distress.  He even omitted a rough sound something like a laugh, and said: 

“Pretty enough, ‘mordieu!’ that recalls to my mind the siege of Casal; but be silent, little one.  I have not yet heard the Abbe Quillet come.  This troubles me.  He ought to have been here before our two young people; and for some time past—­”

Laure, who was afraid of being sent alone to the Place St. Eustache, answered that she was quite sure he had gone in, and continued: 

       “Ombrose selve, ove’percote il sole
        Che vi fa co’suoi raggi alte a superbe.”

“Hum!” said the worthy old soldier, grumbling.  “I have my feet in the snow, and a gutter runs down on my head, and there’s death at my heart; and you sing to me of violets, of the sun, and of grass, and of love.  Be silent!”

And, retiring farther in the recess of the church, he leaned his gray head upon his hands, pensive and motionless.  Laure dared not again speak to him.

While her waiting-woman had gone to find Grandchamp, the young and trembling Marie with a timid hand had pushed open the folding-door of the church.

She there found Cinq-Mars standing, disguised, and anxiously awaiting her.  As soon as she recognized him, she advanced with rapid steps into the church, holding her velvet mask over her face, and hastened to take refuge in a confessional, while Henri carefully closed the door of the church by which she had entered.  He made sure that it could not be opened on the outside, and then followed his betrothed to kneel within the place of penitence.  Arrived an hour before her,