The dangers which threatened his friend now drew him into their vortex like an invincible magnet.  His conscience accused him; but he followed Cinq-Mars wherever he went without even, from excess of delicacy, hazarding a single expression which might resemble a personal fear.  He had tacitly given up his life, and would have deemed it unworthy of both to manifest a desire to regain it.

The master of the horse was in his cuirass; he was armed, and wore large boots.  An enormous pistol, with a lighted match, was placed upon his table between two flambeaux.  A heavy watch in a brass case lay near the pistol.  De Thou, wrapped in a black cloak, sat motionless with folded arms.  Cinq-Mars paced backward and forward, his arms crossed behind his back, from time to time looking at the hand of the watch, too sluggish in his eyes.  He opened the tent, looked up to the heavens, and returned.

“I do not see my star there,” said he; “but no matter.  She is here in my heart.”

“The night is dark,” said De Thou.

“Say rather that the time draws nigh.  It advances, my friend; it advances.  Twenty minutes more, and all will be accomplished.  The army only waits the report of this pistol to begin.”

De Thou held in his hand an ivory crucifix, and looking first at the cross, and then toward heaven, “Now,” said he, “is the hour to complete the sacrifice.  I repent not; but oh, how bitter is the cup of sin to my lips!  I had vowed my days to innocence and to the works of the soul, and here I am about to commit a crime, and to draw the sword.”

But forcibly seizing the hand of Cinq-Mars, “It is for you, for you!” he added with the enthusiasm of a blindly devoted heart.  “I rejoice in my errors if they turn to your glory.  I see but your happiness in my fault.  Forgive me if I have returned for a moment to the habitual thought of my whole life.”

Cinq-Mars looked steadfastly at him; and a tear stole slowly down his cheek.

“Virtuous friend,” said he, “may your fault fall only on my head!  But let us hope that God, who pardons those who love, will be for us; for we are criminal—­I through love, you through friendship.”

Then suddenly looking at the watch, he took the long pistol in his hand, and gazed at the smoking match with a fierce air.  His long hair fell over his face like the mane of a young lion.

“Do not consume,” said he; “burn slowly.  Thou art about to light a flame which the waves of ocean can not extinguish.  The flame will soon light half Europe; it may perhaps reach the wood of thrones.  Burn slowly, precious flame!  The winds which fan thee are violent and fearful; they are love and hatred.  Reserve thyself!  Thy explosion will be heard afar, and will find echoes in the peasant’s but and the king’s palace.

“Burn, burn, poor flame!  Thou art to me a sceptre and a thunderbolt!”

De Thou, still holding his ivory crucifix in his hand, said in a low voice: