MONSIEUR LE GRAND.

IN the broad valley of the Loire, between Tours and Saumur, the train stops at the small station of Cinq-Mars. This station lies beside the Loire, which glides by in a current so broad and majestic, as to suggest a series of huge lakes, with banks bordered by sand and scrub, rather than a river. On either side of the Loire run ranges of low hills, their glassy surface gashed and scored by many a rent revealing the chalky soil beneath, their summits fringed with scanty underwood, and dotted with groups of gnarled and knotted oaks and ragged fir-trees, the rough roots clasping cairns of rock and blocks of limestone. In the dimples of these low hills lie snugly sheltered villas, each within its own garden and policy. These villas thicken as the small township of Cinq-Mars is approached,—a nest of bright little houses, gay streets, and tall chimneys telling of provincial commerce, all clustered beneath chalky cliffs which rise abruptly behind, rent by many a dark fissure and blackened watercourse. Aloft, on a grassy marge, where many an old tree bends its scathed trunk to the prevailing wind, among bushes and piled-up heaps of stones, rise the ruins of a feudal castle. Two gate towers support an arch, through which the blue sky peeps, and some low, broken walls, without form and void, skirt the summit of the cliff. This ruin, absolutely pathetic in its desolate loneliness, is all that remains of the ancestral castle of the CÖiffiers de Cinq-Mars, Marquis d'Effiat. From this hearth and from these shattered walls, now raised "to the height of infamy," sprung that handsome, shallow, ambitious coxcomb, known as the Marquis de Cinq-Mars, who succeeded Mademoiselle de Lafayette in the favour of Louis XIII.

Deprived of Louise de Lafayette, the King's spirits languished. In spite of his partial reconciliation with Anne of Austria, and the birth of a son, he was sullen and gloomy, spoke to no one, and desired no one to speak to him. When etiquette required his presence in the Queen's apartments, he seated himself in a corner, yawned, and fell asleep. The internal malady of which he died had already undermined his always feeble frame. His condition was altogether so critical, that the Cardinal looked round for a companion to solace his weariness. Henri de Cinq-Mars had lately come up to Paris from Touraine. In years he was a boy, under twenty. He was gentle, adroit, and amusing, but weak, and the Cardinal believed he had found in him the facile instrument he sought.

Cinq-Mars was presented to the King. Louis was at once prepossessed by his handsome person and distinguished manners. Cinq-Mars, accustomed from infancy to field sports and country life, angling in the deep currents of the Loire and the Indre, hunting wild boars and deer in the dense forests of Azay and of Chanteloup, or flying his gear-falcon from the summits of his native downs, struck a sympathetic chord in the sad King's heart. One honour after the other was heaped upon him; finally he was made Grand Seneschal of France and Master of the Horse. From this time he dropped the patronymic of "Cinq-Mars," and was known at Court as "Monsieur le Grand," one of the greatest personages in France. For a time all went smoothly. King and minister smiled upon the petulant stripling, whose witty sallies and boyish audacity were tempered by the highest breeding. He was always present when the Cardinal conferred with the King, and from the first gave his opinion with much more freedom than altogether pleased the minister, who simply intended him for a puppet, not for an adviser. When the Cardinal remonstrated, Cinq-Mars shook his scented curls, pulled his lace ruffles, talked of loyalty and gratitude to the King, and of personal independence, in a manner the Cardinal deemed highly unbecoming and inconvenient. Monsieur le Grand cared little for what the Cardinal thought, and did not take the trouble to hide this opinion. He cared neither for the terrible minister nor for the eccentric Louis, whom he often treated, even in public, with contempt. It was the old story. Confident in favour, arrogant in power, he made enemies every day.

Monsieur le Grand, however, passed his time with tolerable ease when relieved of the King's company, specially in the house of Marion de l'Orme, Rue des Tournelles. He was presented to her by Saint-EvrÉmond, and fell at once a victim to her wiles. Marion was the Aspasia of the day, and the charm of her entourage was delightful to him after the restraints of a dull and formal Court. Here he met D'Ablancourt, La Chambre, and CalprenÉde, the popular writers of the age. The AbbÉ de Gondi and Scarron came also, and even the prudish Mademoiselle de ScudÉri did not disdain to be present at these Noctes AmbrosianÆ. Marion de l'Orme, then only thirty, was in the zenith of her beauty. Her languishing dark eyes exercised an absolute fascination over Cinq-Mars from the first instant they met. Her affected reserve, the refinement of her manners, the entrain of her society, free without license, captivated him. He believed her to be virtuous, and desired to make her his wife. Marion de l'Orme was to become Madame le Grande!

This was precisely what that astute lady had angled for. Hence her reserve, her downcast eyes, her affected indifference. She saw that she was dealing with a vain, ignorant boy, who, in her hands, was helpless as an infant. Truly, he was madly in love with her, but he was a minor, and under the guardianship of the Dowager Marquise de Cinq-Mars, his mother, who might possibly not view an alliance with Mademoiselle Marion de l'Orme as an honour to the ancestral tree of the Effiats de Cinq-Mars. The marriage must be secret. Early one morning they started from the Rue de Tournelles in a coach and never stopped until they had reached the old castle among the hills of Touraine, above the feudatory village of Cinq-Mars. In the chapel of that now ruined pile their faith was plighted. Marion promised love, Cinq-Mars constancy. They were incapable of either. For eight days the old castle rang with the sounds of revelry. Cinq-Mars and Marion were as in a fairy palace; life was but a long enchantment. But at the end of that time Nemesis appeared in the shape of the Dowager Marchioness, to whose ears the report of these merry-makings came at Paris. Cinq-Mars replied to his mother that it was all a passetemps, and that Mademoiselle de l'Orme—well—was still Mademoiselle de l'Orme; that he loved the Principessa Maria di Gonzaga (to whom the handsome profligate had, indeed, paid his addresses before leaving Paris, the better to throw dust in the eyes of the world), and that he should shortly return to Paris and his duty with his Majesty.

The mediÆval chatelaine, however, was not to be deceived. She knew of the secret marriage, and nothing could exceed her rage. That Marion de l'Orme should sit on the feudal dais upon the seigneurial throne—that she should wear her jewelled coronet, should eat out of her silver dish, and inhabit her apartments—the thing was atrocious, scandalous, impossible. She flew to the Cardinal, with whom she had some friendship, and informed him of what had occurred. The Cardinal, who had formerly favoured Marion de l'Orme with more than his regard, was as much incensed as herself. That his protÉgÉ, Cinq-Mars, should supplant him, made him, old as he was, furiously jealous. That Cinq-Mars should dare to abandon the splendid position he himself had assigned him, leave the morbid Louis a prey to any adventurous scoundrel whose adroit flattery or affected sympathy might in a few hours render him arbiter of the Court and master of the kingdom, was, to Richelieu's thinking, an unpardonable crime. The artful prelate immediately took his measures. A royal ordinance was speedily framed, making all marriages contracted by persons under age, and without the consent of guardians, null and void!

Cinq-Mars returned to Court indignant, insolent, defiant; swearing vengeance against the meddling Cardinal, and ready to enter into any scheme for his destruction. Mademoiselle Marion de l'Orme re-opened her salon in the Rue des Tournelles.

As for Louis, from whom the knowledge of this little escapade had been carefully concealed, he received back the truant with greater favour than ever. Cinq-Mars, confident in the King's attachment, and looking on him as too feeble to combat his own audacious projects, spoke words which Louis had not heard since the beloved voice of Louise de Lafayette had uttered them. "He ought to rid himself of the Cardinal, and rule for himself," said Monsieur le Grand; "if not by fair, then by foul means." "Let Richelieu die," cried Cinq-Mars, "as he has made others die—the best blood in France: Montmorenci, Chalais, Saint-Preuil, Marillac, and so many others." It is certain that the King listened to these proposals favourably. He actually consented to conspire against himself and the State which he governed. Louis was too stupid to realise the absurdity of his position. He permitted Cinq-Mars to coquet with the Spanish Government, in order to insure the support of Spanish troops to be sent from the Netherlands to defend Sedan against the Cardinal and his own army in case of failure. But Richelieu, now fully alive to the dangerous ascendancy of Cinq-Mars,—for he had spies everywhere, specially the soft-spoken Chavigny, who was always about the King,—openly taxed his Sovereign with treachery in a message borne to him by the Marquis de MortÉmart. Louis was dumbfounded and terrified. He wrote a letter that very same day, addressed to the Chancellor SÉguier, apologising for his seeming infidelity to his minister. "He did not deny," said he, "that Monsieur le Grand desired to compass the Cardinal's death," but, with incredible meanness, he added, "that he had never listened to him." Monsieur le Grand, whose weak head was by this time completely turned, fully believing himself invincible, openly discussed what he should do when he was himself prime minister. Suspecting Louis of being too weak to be his only supporter, he turned to Gaston, Duc d'OrlÉans. Monsieur, whose life, like that of his brother's, singularly repeats itself, bethinking himself of early times and of a certain moonlight meeting on the terrace of Saint-Germain, at once addressed himself to the Queen. But she had already suffered too much to allow herself again to be drawn into danger. When Monsieur detailed the plot, and asked her significantly, "What news she had lately had from her brother, the King of Spain?" she answered that she had had no news, and instantly changed the conversation. This did not at all cool Monsieur's ardour, such as it was. Three times he had been banished from France for treason, and three times he had returned, as ready as ever, with or without the Queen, to conspire, to betray, and to be again banished. So the traitor-prince and the vainglorious favourite, both intensely hating Richelieu, laid their heads together to destroy him by means of Spain. To them was joined the Marquis de Thou, one of the jeunesse dorÉe of the Court, along with Fontrailles, secretary to Monsieur. The great Cardinal, sitting in the Palais Royal like a huge spider in his web, ready to pounce upon his prey as soon as it had reached the precise spot where he intended to seize it, was familiar with every detail. Monsieur was to receive four hundred thousand crowns in order to raise levies in France; he was also to declare war against France in concert with Spain.

The Cardinal was to be assassinated or imprisoned for life; Gaston was to be proclaimed regent for his nephew Louis XIV. It was the old story, only, now an heir was born to the throne, Monsieur did not dare to claim the first place. Fontrailles, a creature of his own, he allowed to be sent into Spain. The treaty was signed at Madrid by Fontrailles, on the part of Monsieur and Cinq-Mars, and by the King of Spain on his own part. This done, Fontrailles flew back to France, with the precious document stitched in his clothes. Scarcely was the ink dry, before Richelieu was provided with a copy.

The Court was at Narbonne, on the Mediterranean, whither Cinq-Mars had led the King, in order to be near the Spanish frontier. Richelieu was at this time greatly indisposed, and in partial disgrace. He hung about the Rhone, sometimes at Tarascon, near Avignon, sometimes at Valence, conveniently near to be informed by Chavigny of everything that happened. Chavigny, deep in Louis's confidence, pendulated between the King and the minister. At the fitting moment, Chavigny requested a formal audience. It was the afternoon of the same day that Fontrailles had returned to Narbonne, the treaty with Spain still stitched in his clothes. Contrary to custom, when Chavigny knocked at the King's door, Louis requested Monsieur le Grand to retire. This alone ought to have aroused his suspicions. While Chavigny talked with the King, Cinq-Mars, ashamed of letting the Court see his exclusion from the room, lolled in the anteroom reading a story. Fontrailles found him there.

"How now, Monsieur le Grand," said he, "do you allow his most Christian Majesty to give an audience at which you are not present? You are getting him into bad habits."

"It is only Chavigny," replied Cinq-Mars, not taking his eyes off his book; "he can have nothing particular to say, for he is here every day. I am weary of the King's company. I have been with him all day, and I want to finish this story, which is much more interesting than his stupid talk." And Cinq-Mars threw himself back in his easy-chair, and resumed his reading.

"Ah, Monsieur le Grand," said Fontrailles, smiling at him curiously, "fortune favours you. You are a beautiful man. Look at me, with my hump" (Fontrailles was deformed); "I use my eyes; I am going to-night to meet Monsieur, before I leave Narbonne. I have brought him that little present from Madrid you know of. I have it safe here in my pocket," and Fontrailles tapped his side and grinned. "Come with me, Monsieur le Grand," said he, coaxingly, and he tried to take his hand, but Cinq-Mars repulsed him. "Come with me; believe me, the air of Narbonne is heavy at this time of year. I am not sure that it is not deadly, very deadly, indeed—especially for you, Monsieur le Marquis. A little change will do your health good. I am going. Come with me where we can breathe"; and Fontrailles laughed a short dry laugh, and looked out of the window upon the blue expanse of ocean, whose waves beat against the yellow shores of the Mediterranean.

"I pray you, Fontrailles, do not trouble me," said Cinq-Mars, looking up over his book and yawning. "I really must have some time to myself, or I shall die. Besides, I want to see his Majesty when Chavigny goes; he is staying longer than usual, I think."

"Yes, Monsieur le Grand, too long for a man coming from the Cardinal, methinks."

Fontrailles still stood watching Cinq-Mars. His deep-set eyes were fixed upon him intently, as Cinq-Mars, with perfect indifference, went on reading his story. Fontrailles passed his hand thoughtfully over his brow two or three times. A look of pity came into his face as he contemplated Cinq-Mars, still reading. He was so young, so fresh, so magnificent; his golden locks long and abundant; his pleasant face faultless in feature; his delicate hands; his perfumed clothes,—all so perfect! Should he try to save him? A tear gathered in the eye of the hardened conspirator.

"Monsieur le Grand," said he softly, stepping up nearer to Cinq-Mars and placing his hand on his red and silver shoulder-knot—"Monsieur le Grand, I say——"

"What, Fontrailles, are you not gone yet? Ma foi! I thought you were far on your road to Monsieur——"

"No, Monsieur le Grand; no, I am not gone yet."

Cinq-Mars put down his book, sat upright, and looked at him.

"What the devil do you want with me, Fontrailles? I will meet you and Monsieur le Duc to-morrow. For to-night, peace."

"Have you no suspicion of what Chavigny is saying to the King all this time, Marquis?" asked Fontrailles with an ominous grin.

"None, my friend; but I shall hear it all before his coucher. His most gracious Majesty is incapable of lying down to rest before telling me every syllable," and Cinq-Mars snapped his finger and thumb contemptuously towards the door of the room within which Louis was closeted with Chavigny.

"Are you quite sure of the King, Monsieur le Grand?" asked Fontrailles significantly, still leaning over Cinq-Mars and pressing his hand upon his shoulder-knot. "It is needful for you to be quite sure of him. His Majesty is apt to be weak and treacherous."

Cinq-Mars nodded his head; then, as if something had suddenly struck him, he rose, and in his turn began to gaze curiously at Fontrailles, whose manner and countenance were strangely expressive of some unspoken fear.

"You are very tall, Monsieur le Grand," said Fontrailles abruptly, speaking low, with his hand placed over his eyes, the better to contemplate Cinq-Mars, now drawn up to his full height, and staring at him with wonder; "you are very tall," he repeated, "and I am such a little man. You are very handsome, too—the handsomest gentleman in all France—and very gracious to me also—very kind and gracious."

Fontrailles spoke thoughtfully, as a man who turned some important matter over in his mind.

"Have you come here only to tell me this, Fontrailles?" answered Cinq-Mars, laughing, and again he yawned, passed his jewelled fingers through his clustering locks, and again took up the book which he had laid down on a table beside him, and reseated himself. Fontrailles, however, had never taken his eyes off him. His gaze had deepened into an expression of deep sorrow, although he spoke jestingly. Whatever train of thought occupied him, it had not been broken by what Cinq-Mars had just said.

"You are very tall," he again repeated, as if speaking to himself, in a peculiar voice; "so tall, indeed, that you could do without your head, Monsieur le Grand, and yet be taller than I am. Perhaps this makes you careless. I am short, and I could not afford to lose my head—so—I am going to leave Narbonne instantly. The air here is as deadly to my constitution as it is to yours. Marquis, pray do believe me. Will you come with me—the tall man with the little one?—both needing a change. Will you come?"

Cinq-Mars did not heed him a whit. Fontrailles laid his hand heavily on the thick shock of Monsieur le Grand's golden curls.

"No, mille diables, no!" roared Cinq-Mars in a rage, shaking him off; "I will not go. Why should I go? For God's sake leave me. I am just at the catastrophe of my story, and you keep on tormenting me like a gadfly."

"Excuse me, Monsieur le Grand," replied Fontrailles submissively, "I did but advise you for your good. I desire your company for the sake of that comely head of yours; but, as I said, you are tall, and I am short, which makes a great difference. It is a long journey across the mountains of France into the Low Countries," added he, sighing. "That will be my road—a long and weary road. It might fatigue your excellency. I am going, Monsieur le Marquis. I am gone—Adieu!"

Cinq-Mars did not look up, and Fontrailles, turning upon him a last look full of pity, disappeared.