Joseph interrupted him harshly, stamping his foot on the ground: 

“When you have finished your prayer,” said he, “you will perhaps inform me whether you will assist me; and I will instantly—­”

“Never, impure wretch, never!” said Henri d’Effiat.  “I will never unite with you in an assassination.  I refused to do so when powerful, and upon yourself.”

“You were wrong; you would have been master now.”

“And what happiness should I find in my power when shared as it must be by a woman who does not understand me; who loved me feebly, and prefers a crown?”

“Inconceivable folly!” said the Capuchin, laughing.

“All with her; nothing without her—­that was my desire.”

“It is from obstinacy and vanity that you persist; it is impossible,” replied Joseph.  “It is not in nature.”

“Thou who wouldst deny the spirit of self-sacrifice,” answered Cinq-Mars; “dost thou understand that of my friend?”

“It does not exist; he follows you because—­”

Here the Capuchin, slightly embarrassed, reflected an instant.

“Because—­because—­he has formed you; you are his work; he is attached to you by the self-love of an author.  He was accustomed to lecture you; and he felt that he should not find another pupil so docile to listen to and applaud him.  Constant habit has persuaded him that his life was bound to yours; it is something of that kind.  He will accompany you mechanically.  Besides, all is not yet finished; we shall see the end and the examination.  He will certainly deny all knowledge of the conspiracy.”

“He will not deny it!” exclaimed Cinq-Mars, impetuously.

“He knew it, then?  You confess it,” said Joseph, triumphantly; “you have not said as much before.”

“O Heaven, what have I done!” gasped Cinq-Mars, hiding his face.

“Calm yourself; he is saved, notwithstanding this avowal, if you accept my offer.”

D’Effiat remained silent for a short time.

The Capuchin continued: 

“Save your friend.  The King’s favor awaits you, and perhaps the love which has erred for a moment.”

“Man, or whatever else thou art, if thou hast in thee anything resembling a heart,” answered the prisoner, “save him!  He is the purest of created beings; but convey him far away while yet he sleeps, for should he awake, thy endeavors would be vain.”

“What good will that do me?” said the Capuchin, laughing.  “It is you and your favor that I want.”

The impetuous Cinq-Mars rose, and, seizing Joseph by the arm, eying him with a terrible look, said: 

“I degraded him in interceding with thee for him.”  He continued, raising the tapestry which separated his apartment from that of his friend, “Come, and doubt, if thou canst, devotion and the immortality of the soul.  Compare the uneasiness and misery of thy triumph with the calmness of our defeat, the meanness of thy reign with the grandeur of our captivity, thy sanguinary vigils to the slumbers of the just.”