Youth and Fate are always at variance as to times and distances. Youth says, "one day;" Fate says, "two." Youth says, "fifty miles;" but Fate almost always makes it a hundred. Edward had more difficulty in getting a thousand crowns than he had expected; and he did not altogether think that Signor Morini aided him as much as he might have done. Richelieu, who had only made a very short stay in Paris, quitted the capital about mid-day, and Edward, as may be supposed, was all impatience to hurry after him; but Morini, on the contrary, was as cool and composed as if he was making an astrological calculation, always remarking that he would overtake the minister long before he got to Suza. "He never travels very fast, you know," said the little Italian; "and, besides, he has got a whole party of the ladies of the court with him, who always make a march tedious. They went off at daylight this morning; but you may count upon them to make the journey at least five days longer than it ought to be."

"Nevertheless," said Edward, "I wish to proceed as fast as possible; and the objections of these bankers seem to me to be ridiculous."

"Oh, no; they make no objections," said Morini. "They only want a little time to consider. They are not all in love. They do not all want to get to Venice. They do business in a business-like way, and have no idea of firing off large sums like cannon-shot."

However, the whole of that day passed without the money being procured; and the second day had seen the sun rise several hours, when at length Signor Morini thought fit to whisper two words in the ear of Monsieur Philippon, the banker, which, as if by magic, brought forth the thousand crowns about which there had been so much difficulty.

Nevertheless, it was three o'clock in the evening before Edward Langdale could depart; and then, besides Signor Morini himself and the king's forager who had been promised, were half a dozen lackeys and pages, and a good deal of baggage,—which did not promise to accelerate the journey. Once started, however, and with sufficient money in his pocket, Edward resolved to delay for no man, and to be at Suza as soon as the cardinal. He was somewhat mistaken in his calculation, indeed; for Richelieu pursued his way, wherever he could, by water; and, though the prime minister could always command boats, the young English gentleman could not obtain the same accommodation in a country where the passage of troops and the court had rendered all means of progression scarce. In every other respect, the first part of Edward's journey was without accident,—I might almost have said without incident. But it so happened that at Montargis, where the young gentleman arrived in the afternoon, a large party of ladies were setting out on horseback just at the moment he entered the little town. The number of servants with them, and a small body of the cardinal's guard, showed that they belonged to the court, which could not otherwise have been discovered by their faces, as each, according to the general custom of that day, wore a little black velvet mask, called a loup, to guard her complexion when travelling. Signor Morini, however, either divined who each was by her figure, or else, with Italian carelessness, took his chance of mistakes; for he dashed at once amidst the party, talked first to one and then to another, and seemed very well received by all. Edward had ridden up by his side; but, as he knew nobody, he spoke to nobody till one of the ladies observed, in a very sweet voice, "You do not seem so sociable as your companion, sir."

"I could not presume," said Edward, "to address ladies whom I have never seen before, unless they gave me some encouragement to do so."

"I do not know whether you have seen me," said the lady; "but I have seen you."

"Pray, where?" asked Edward,—"that I may give that wild bird, Fancy, some notion how to fly."

"I saw you last with the cardinal, at the HÔtel de Bourgogne," said the lady, with that sort of timid, trembling accents which are so attractive on young and beautiful lips,—small drops of honey to young ears and hearts.

"Last?" said Edward. "Had I ever the pleasure of seeing you before that night?"

"I did not mean to say that," answered the lady. "But you imply that you did see me then."

"I saw two or three very beautiful persons," said Edward, "but have no means of knowing which of those you are."

"No, nor shall you have any," she replied, bowing her head gracefully, "neither to-day, nor to-morrow, nor the next day; but if you are very good, and behave yourself very well, I may take off my loup some time between this and Michaelmas. But now tell me: where are you riding so fast?—to get yourself killed at Suza?"

"No," answered Edward: "such is certainly not my object; but I am going toward Venice, and wish to reach that city as soon as my horse can carry me."

"Oh, that is a long way off," said the lady. "I think I must keep you near me. You shall be my cavalier along the road. I will find out some crime you have committed, and put you to all sorts of penances."

"But what if I have committed no crime?" asked the young gentleman.

"Oh, but you have," she said. "You should have known me the moment you saw me. No mask should be sufficient to hide a lady from a gallant and courteous cavalier. You ought to be able to see my face through my loup, as if it were made of glass."

Edward smiled, but made no reply; but he thought within himself, "Lucette would not have spoken so to a mere stranger. What a difference there is between her pure, sweet simplicity and the free manners of these courtly ladies!"

"You do not answer," continued the lady: "I am afraid we do not ride fast enough for you. Now, what is it makes you so anxious to run forward to Venice? Now, I warrant it is some of the beautiful black eyes of the City of the Sea."

"No, indeed, it is not," replied Edward. "I never was in Venice in my life."

"Well," she continued, "love of some kind, at all events. Nothing but love could make a man in such a hurry. Now, tell me what kind of love it is."

"Why, the most extraordinary love in the world," answered Edward. "The love of a man for his wife,—a love they recognise little in France, not at all in Italy, and so dilute in Turkey that it is not worth having."

"Very marvellous love indeed," replied the lady. "Yet I think if I were a man, and were married, I should love my wife better than you do."

"I defy you," said Edward, laughing.

"Now, I will catechize you," returned the lady. "Do you think of her every day?"

"Every hour, every moment," said Edward.

"Do you make her your chief object in life?—pray for her, work for her?"

"Every thing else in life," said Edward, "is but valuable to me as it has reference to her. Ambition becomes splendid when I think it may elevate her. Money, which is but dross, seems to gain real worth if she is to share it."

"And do you ever," continued the lady, laughing, "stare at pretty faces across a theatre and dream for a minute or two as to what might be your luck if you had not tied yourself to another?"

"No!" replied Edward, boldly. "I sometimes may stare at pretty faces, and think them very beautiful, when I think there is a fanciful resemblance to that which I think most beautiful of all."

The lady was silent for a minute or two; but at length she answered, "Well, I think you are very rude. You must be an Englishman, you are so uncivil. You dare me so that I have a great mind to make you in love with me, just to punish you. Nay, do not shake your head: I could do it in five minutes. All men are as weak as water,—at least, so I have always been told; and I could soon bring you to my feet if I chose to employ a few little simple arts upon you."

"I doubt not your power, dear lady," replied Edward, "upon any heart not preoccupied like mine; but Helen of Troy, or her bright mistress, Venus herself, could have no effect upon one who loves as I do."

"Well, this is too bad," said the lady. "We shall see. We have a long journey to take together; and if before it is over I do not make you tell me you love me, my name is not—what it is."

Just at this moment one of the young cavaliers rode up, with the gay and dashing air of his country and his class, and addressed the lady in some commonplace terms of gallant attention. In an instant she seemed turned into ice,—answered a few words politely, but in so cold a tone that Edward could not but see at once the dangerous preference she seemed to show him. The young man appeared to feel it too; and, after staying by her side for about five minutes, he directed his horse to another group, where his society seemed more welcome. The conversation was renewed between Edward and his fair companion as soon as the officer was gone, and did not much vary in character from the specimen already given. It was late, however, when the party arrived at Chatillon, and the ladies retired at once to the apartments which had been prepared for them; but at eight o'clock on the following morning none of them had quitted their chambers, nor did Edward see any preparation among guards or attendants for pursuing the journey before a late hour. Calling Pierrot without much deliberation, the young Englishman ordered his horses to be saddled, and was in the act of mounting, when Morini, whom he had not yet seen that day, appeared at the door, exclaiming, "Hi? Where are you going?"

"To Suza," replied Edward, springing on his horse's back; and, without waiting to hear any remonstrances from the little Italian, he rode off as fast as he could go.

We will not pursue him on his journey, nor even dwell upon the forcing of the pass at Suza. Suffice it to say that Edward arrived, just in time to volunteer, the night before the attack. Richelieu he did not see, although he heard he was in the camp. But one of the first persons he met with was the young officer who had gone down with him to the outposts before Rochelle, and who now gayly marched up with him against the entrenchments at Suza. It is well known how they were taken at the first rush, with no great resistance on the part of the troops of Savoy. But Edward and his companion both received slight pike-wounds,—one in the arm and the other in the shoulder,—sufficient to show they had been in the heat of the battle, but not severe enough to obtain much commiseration. The king, as was usual with him, retired to his quarters as soon as the pass was carried, without inquiring the amount of his loss or taking any notice of the wounded. Not so Richelieu; for as soon as the particulars could be ascertained he caused a list of all who had suffered much, or little, to be laid before him.

On the following morning, somewhat to his surprise, Edward received a summons to attend the cardinal, and, when he presented himself, met with a somewhat sharp rebuke for having left Morini and his party.

"They tell me you are wounded," said Richelieu. "It serves you very right, for having disobeyed my commands."

"It is but a scratch, sir," said Edward. "A rusty nail in an old door would inflict a worse; and I was anxious to show that in all cases, except against my own country, I am really desirous of serving your Eminence."

"That is all very well," replied the cardinal. "But I like to be obeyed. You could not tell my views or purposes in the directions which I gave. But, as it is done, it cannot be helped. And now, I suppose, you are longing to go on to Venice?"

"Most anxiously," replied Edward, "if I understand your Eminence rightly, that you free me from the promise I made to you some two years ago, and authorize me to claim my bride wherever I may find her."

"That is soon settled," said Richelieu; and, taking up a pen, he wrote:—"Lucette Marie de Mirepoix du Valais is the wife of Edward Langdale, of Buckley; and these are to summon and require all persons who have or have had any control or custody of the said Lucette to give her up to the said Edward Langdale, her husband, and, in the king's name, to warn all persons to refrain from opposing the rights of the said Edward Langdale in regard to the said Lucette de Mirepoix, under pretence of relationship, guardianship, or any other cause whatever."

He signed it with his name, and gave it to Edward, saying, "Get it sealed, and then away to Venice as soon as you please. Peace will be signed in three days, if I am not mistaken; and not only peace with Savoy, young gentleman, but with England also,—hard-headed England! In the mean time, you can pass freely. My safe-conduct—which of course you have with you—is as good now, I imagine, in Italy as in France. Only one thing more. Let it be understood that you return and join me as soon as you have fulfilled your mission; and bring your bride with you, if you find her." He paused, with a smile of much good-humor, and then added, "When you come back I may have a little negotiation for you; for the first steps to the surrender of Rochelle I owe to you."

The political events which followed are well known. The peace of Suza with Savoy and England, the raising of the siege of Casal, and the relinquishment of Mantua to the house of Nevers, succeeded with the utmost rapidity; and the Cardinal de Richelieu saw every thing that his mind conceived or his hand touched perfectly successful.

In the mean time, Edward Langdale hastened over the Alps, crossed the whole breadth of Italy, and, taking boat at MestrÉ, landed in Venice. But he was not so successful as the great man he had just left. Richelieu's safe-conduct obtained for him instant access to all the authorities of the republic; and, with more frankness than they usually displayed, they informed him at once that the young lady he sought was no longer in the city. She had been claimed, they said, some months before, by authority which their laws prevented them from opposing, and had been carried, they believed, into Savoy. Edward then asked for Madame de la Cour; but he found that she also had left Venice, and had gone, they believed, to Paris. The only person, they said, who knew any thing of Mademoiselle de Mirepoix was an old merchant who had arrived some days before and was living at a goldsmith's on the Sclavonian quay. Edward hurried there, and, as he expected, found old Clement Tournon. But the worthy syndic could give him no information, and was in almost as much distress about his Lucette as Edward himself.

"Depend upon it," he said, "that horrid Madame de Chevreuse has got possession of the dear girl at last; and our only resource will be an appeal to the cardinal. He has eyes everywhere, and will both know where to find her and how to recover her."

No time was lost. The old man and Edward set off together, directing their course by Turin and Suza. But again they were disappointed. The king, who in time of war forgot all his slothful inactivity and showed the fire and eagerness of his father, had by this time turned upon the Cevennes,—the last refuge of the Protestants in France,—and Richelieu had followed—or, rather, accompanied—him. With the delay of one day at ChambÉry, to rest the old man, Edward pushed on after the cardinal toward Nismes, hearing nothing as he went but tales of Louis's exploits. The army of the Duc de Rohan, which had opposed successfully several of the best generals of France, had seemed paralyzed by the fierce energy of the king. Town after town had fallen; and Montauban itself, the people said, could not hold out three days. Such was the last intelligence which Edward received just after his entrance into Ners; but at the same time came the news, far more satisfactory to him, that Richelieu himself was at Alais, but a few miles distant. No horses were to be procured: his own were tired nearly to foundering; and poor Clement Tournon, in his eagerness to keep up with his young companion, had greatly over-tasked his strength. Nothing remained but to pass the night at Ners, a mere village, where almost every house was occupied by some of the followers of the court. But though the accommodation was as poor as it could be, yet Edward saw the next morning that Clement Tournon must still remain at Ners. His bodily powers were not equal to carry him farther without long repose; and Edward set out for Alais alone, leaving Pierrot to attend upon the old man.

The little town, when the young gentleman entered it, was all alive. Courtiers and soldiers were fluttering about in every direction; and the gay dresses, unspotted and fresh, showing that the court had been some days there, contrasted sadly with Edward's dusty garments and travel-soiled apparel. Nevertheless, he rode straight forward, through what is now called the Place de la MarÉchale, to a house where the numerous groups, both on foot and horseback, before the door, led him to believe the cardinal's quarters were established. There he sprang to the ground under the arcade, and, leaving his tired horse, with the perfect certainty that he would not run away, he was pushing his way through the little crowd around, noticed very little by anybody, when the voice of his young companion in the attack at Suza met his ear, exclaiming, "Ah, Monsieur de Langdale! Have you heard Montauban has been taken? But do not let me stop you; for his Eminence was asking for you yesterday."

"As you are of his household," said Edward, "will you have the kindness to tell his Eminence that I am here?—for I know none of these people. They do not know me; and I suspect I am not a very courtier-like figure to seek an audience of the prime minister."

"I will do it directly," said the young officer. "He is very busy, but I know he wishes to see you: so follow me up."

Edward mounted the stairs close after his companion, and, entering a chamber to which there was no ante-room, as he had expected, found himself immediately in the presence of Richelieu, who was seated at a table near the window, while two secretaries were writing at his right hand. The room was half full of people, some of whom were waiting silently, as if for audience, while others were conversing in low voices; and one middle-aged man was speaking to the cardinal, with a paper in his hand, as if making a report. Richelieu raised his eyes as Edward entered, but took no notice, and continued to listen attentively to the gentleman who was speaking. As soon as he was done, the cardinal said, "Well, be it so. See that it is done;" and wrote a few words on a sheet of paper. Another and another succeeded, spoke a few words to the minister, and received their answer; and then Richelieu, rising, said, aloud, "No more audiences this morning." The young Englishman was about to retire with the rest, who were slowly going out; but the cardinal added the next moment, "Monsieur Langdale, I wish to speak to you."

Thus saying, he passed into a room beyond, and Edward followed, leaving none but the secretaries in that which they had just quitted. It was a bed-chamber they now entered, (for, when campaigning, prime ministers, as well as others, must put up with such accommodation as they can get,) and Richelieu neither seated himself nor asked his companion to be seated.

"You have come at an important moment," said the cardinal, abruptly, "and I almost feared you would not be here in time. Are you willing to undertake a mission for me to Monsieur le Duc de Rohan, some forty miles hence?"

"Certainly, your Eminence," replied Edward. "But I must make three conditions, though to you. They are very slight ones."

"Ha!" said Richelieu, his brow somewhat darkening. "I am not accustomed to conditions. But let me hear what they are. You are an original, like most of your countrymen. Perhaps I shall be able to grant them."

"Simply these three, my lord cardinal:—That while I am gone you shall cause search to be made for my young wife, who is not in Venice, has been brought to France, and is beyond doubt, I think, in the hands of Madame de Chevreuse."

"Granted," said Richelieu. "The next."

"That you shall send over a physician to good old Clement Tournon, whom I have left ill at Ners."

"Ah!" said Richelieu. "Is he at Ners? That is most lucky. That man Morini said truly. Fortune goes with you. He may help me to raise the money, so that there may be no delay; for you must know, Master Langdale, that even kings and prime ministers, when they carry on expensive wars, sometimes come to the end of their finances at the very moment when large sums are most necessary. Clement Tournon: he is connected with all the goldsmiths of Nismes, is he not?"

"I heard him say on the journey that he had a number of friends there, and also in Avignon," replied Edward.

"It will do," said Richelieu. "Your second condition is granted. What is the third?"

"That your Eminence lends me a fresh horse, for my own is knocked up. I could wish also that I had some servant with me,—some one who knows the way."

"The horse you shall have," said Richelieu; "but as for the servant," he continued, thoughtfully, "I think you must go alone. I do not wish to send any Frenchman to that camp. Nay, more: nobody must know where you are going. Look at this map. This is the road." And he pointed with his finger to a map of the Cevennes. "First you go there,—to St. Martin,—then on to Mas Dieu. There you must inquire where the duke is encamped. I think it is somewhere near St. Andeal; but you will soon learn."

He ceased, and fell into a fit of thought; and, after waiting two or three minutes, Edward inquired, "And what am I to say to him? or will your Eminence write?"

"No, I will negotiate no more," answered Richelieu. "Say to him I have received his message; and I answer, 'One hundred thousand crowns in money, in four days, on the conditions expressed before;' and I wish his answer, Yes or No, before mid-day to-morrow."

"One horse will not carry me there and back—if it be forty miles—in that time over those mountains," said Edward.

"Pshaw! Kill the horse and buy another!" exclaimed Richelieu. "It is worth ten horses for me to have the news to-morrow. Stay; you must have some credence."

Thus saying, he went into the other room again, was absent a few minutes, and returned with a small packet and a sheet of paper. Both were addressed to the Duc de Rohan, and on the latter was written, "Hear and believe the bearer, Edward Langdale, to you already known;" and then followed the great scrawl of "Richelieu." The packet was sealed; but, as the cardinal gave it to his young friend, he said, "That contains the terms which he must sign and return by your hand. Go down and get yourself some breakfast in the eating-hall while the horse is getting ready. You will find good wine here. But remember: silence!"

Edward went down, and soon procured refreshment; but, ere he had eaten more than a few mouthfuls or drank more than one draught of wine, one of the secretaries whom he had seen above came in, with a very reverential bow, saying, "His Eminence desires me to ask if Monsieur de Langdale requires any money for his journey."

"No," replied Edward: "I have enough."

The horse was announced as ready the moment after, and Edward, springing on his back, set out before the secretary lost sight of him.