We must leave Edward Langdale for some half-hour, and carry the gentle reader with us to another part of the old Chateau of Nantes. No one can venture to say that we have not adhered to him through good and evil with the tenacity of true friendship; but we must now either turn to a different personage and another scene, or embarrass our after-narrative with that most ugly beast, an explanation, which so frequently in romance and poem follows the most brilliant heroes and most beautiful heroines like an ill-favored cur. In a fine long room with windows looking upon the Loire, about half-past ten o'clock in the morning, was a gentleman between forty and fifty The door opened, and the cardinal laid down his pen. Monsieur de Tronson paused, as if for permission to advance, and Richelieu beckoned him forward, saying, "Come in, Mr. Secretary; come in. I am enjoying a space of leisure after so many busy and anxious days. Till one, I have little to do and less to think of." "Your Eminence will allow me to remind you," said Tronson, advancing and standing by his side, "that this morning you appointed the hour of ten to see that young English gentleman." "True," said the cardinal. "I have not forgotten." And he pointed with his hand to the larger table, on which lay one of Master Ned's unfortunate leathern bags; adding, "What do you make of the case? "The passport is evidently signed by your Eminence," answered Tronson; "and the young man himself has the manners of a gentleman of distinction. He is highly educated, too,—a profound Greek and Latin scholar: so says Father Morlais, whom I sent to have some conversation with him. He is somewhat bluff and abrupt in his manners, it is true, as most of these islanders are; but still his whole demeanor strikes me as dignified, and even graceful. He can be no common spy, your Eminence: that is clear; and if Buckingham has chosen him for an agent he has chosen strangely well." "As to his learning," replied Richelieu, "that signifies little. Many a poor scholar is willing to risk his neck in the hope of promotion. We have employed such ourselves, my good friend. Then, as to dignity of manner, it is easily assumed. But his abruptness and brusquerie offer a different indication. It requires long habit to know when to be rude and harsh, when soft and gentle. How old did you say?" "From eighteen to nineteen at the utmost," said Tronson: "he appears even less." "Well, but this girl who is with him?" asked the cardinal: "what of her?" "That seems easily explained, monseigneur," replied the secretary, with a smile: "she is, it would seem, of high family,—related to Monsieur de Soubise on the one side," (the cardinal's brow became ominously dark,) "and to Madame de Chevreuse on the other." For an instant Richelieu's brow became darker still; and, with uncontrollable vehemence, he exclaimed, "Ah! she has escaped me, as she thinks; but she will find that I forget not my enemies,—nor my friends, Tronson,—nor my friends," he added, with one of those subtle smiles which had at least as much of the serpent in them as the dove. Tronson turned a little pale, for that peculiar smile was known at the court by this time, and it was not supposed to be favorable to those on whom it was bestowed. But the secretary was too wise to notice "No, no, man; no," answered Richelieu. "I mean Madame de Luynes,—Madame de Chevreuse, Tronson. Have you not heard? She quitted Nantes at daybreak this morning for Le Verger. Strange!" he continued, speaking to himself: "'twas only last night; and yet she must have heard enough to frighten her. Can the king betray himself and me? She must have learned something. What is the girl's name, Monsieur de Tronson?" "Lucette du Mirepoix, she says," replied the secretary. "Lucette de Mirepoix du Valais," said the cardinal, slowly and thoughtfully: "the same,—the same, Tronson. Do you not remember there was much contention, some six years ago, between Madame de Luynes and this scheming rebel Soubise, about the guardianship of this very girl? There the duchess was right, for she would have brought her into the bosom of the Church; but Soubise was too quick for her, and sent the child away,—perhaps to England, to make sure she should be brought up in heresy. But my fair duchess shall find me worse to deal with than Soubise. But you said just now," he continued, in a calmer tone, "that all could be easily explained. What did you mean, my friend?" "Merely that her travelling with this youth is a problem easily solved," answered the secretary. "Last night, when they parted, there were some warm kisses passed,—not at all fraternal, your Eminence; and, putting those gentle signs in connection with some words and rosy blushes, I conclude that they are bent on matrimony. Probably they have found difficulties at home, and, as is not unfrequent with these English, they have gone off together." "Is the young man of noble birth, think you?" asked the cardinal, thoughtfully. "Not of high rank, even amongst the English," answered Tronson: "his very name shows it." Richelieu smiled, but this time it was a bland and pleasant smile. "We will punish her," he said, speaking to himself,—"punish both!" "But, your Eminence, if the safe-conduct be yours, as I think, and the young man be really what he pretends, you will hardly——" "Hand me that leathern bag and the knife," said the minister, interrupting him, and seemingly paying not the slightest attention to the secretary's words. "And now," he continued, when De Tronson had obeyed, "let the youth be brought to me; and have the girl taken to the adjoining room, ready to be brought in when I require her: see that no one converses with her, my excellent good friend." The secretary bowed his head and withdrew, repeating to himself, "'My excellent friend!'—I have someway offended him. His words are too kind!" But then, after a moment's thought, he murmured, in almost the same words which Richelieu had used a minute or two before, "Can the king have betrayed me? If so, he has betrayed himself too; for God knows I advised him solely for his benefit." Louis XIII. had now been on the throne of France about sixteen years, and Richelieu had not been actually of the king's council more than three; but both had been long enough before the world's eyes for men to have learned that a king could betray his best friends from fear or weakness, and that a minister could be most gentle in manners when he was the most savage at heart. Richelieu was fond of cats, and perhaps learned some lessons from his favorites. However, in the present instance Tronson guessed rightly: the king had betrayed him to his powerful minister. The night before, nearly at midnight, the cardinal had carried to the king the confession of the unhappy Count de Chalais, drawn from him in his dungeon by the minister himself,—perhaps—nay, probably—by the most unworthy artifices. In recompense for an act which put an end to one of the monarch's painful fits of hesitation, Louis revealed to Richelieu the names of those who, in the confidence of loyal friendship, had opposed some of the minister's favorite schemes; and Tronson was one. Thus, he had guessed right. Whether Richelieu had guessed right likewise no one can tell. That Louis had communicated the confession of Chalais to some of his inferior confidants, who had warned Madame de Chevreuse to fly, is very probable; but most improbable that he had warned her When, after the death of her first husband, Marie de Rohan married the princely Duc de Chevreuse, and Richelieu rose rapidly to the height of power, the enmity between them was no longer concealed, except by the courtly varnish of external politeness,—and, indeed, not always by that. Thus, when sitting there in his apartments in the Chateau of Nantes, there was perhaps no one in France whom Richelieu desired to mortify and humiliate personally more than Marie de Rohan, Duchess of Chevreuse:—no, not even her distant relatives the Prince de Soubise and his brother the Duc de Rohan, though both had opposed the royal forces in the field, and the reduction of both to submission was essential to his policy. For them he had some respect, and no individual enmity; but toward her there was a rancor which prompted to any act that would sting rather than destroy. At that time even Richelieu had cause to follow the course which had been pursued by Luynes, and to avoid carrying resentments too far. He was not yet so firmly seated in power that, if he made great enemies, he might not be thrown aside by a fickle king. Otherwise it might seem strange that he dared not follow the same bold course against Madame de Chevreuse which he soon pursued against the unfortunate Chalais, and later against Montmorency and Cinq Mars. But, as I have said, his fingers were not so tightly fixed round the staff of command that he could venture to assail in front the mighty houses of Montbazon and Lorraine, while VendÔme and CondÉ were |