Whether he discovered by the similarity of the writing with the signature of the safe-conduct that the verses were the cardinal's own, or that he thought he saw some allusion to the minister's situation which discovered the author, I know not; but there were particular passages which he dwelt upon in reading; and the minister smiled approvingly, saying, "Well! exceedingly well, Monsieur Apsley. The poet loses nothing on your lips. Think you the verses good?"

"Very good, your Eminence," replied Edward. "Were the arrangement of the lines somewhat different, they would make an excellent speech in a tragedy."

"Ha! say you so?" said the minister, apparently well pleased: "I will give the author that hint. He has some small merit, and may perhaps hereafter aim at higher flights."

"He has chosen a high subject now, sir," replied Edward, "But, by your pardon, I did not come here to read poetry, however good, but to request your Eminence to recognise my safe-conduct and to let me go forward on my way."

Richelieu's brow became a little shaded. "So fast!" he said, as if speaking to himself, and then demanded, "Where do you wish to go?"

"First to Niort," answered Edward, boldly, "where I was going when I was stopped, and then, by Paris, into Switzerland."

The cardinal paused and gazed at him for a moment in silence, and then replied, "There are previously several matters to be inquired into. I trust we are here in France too courteous to stay any gentleman travelling through our country for purposes of mere pleasure or instruction, though there may be matters of enmity, and even war, between the two nations. I trust we are too honest to give a safe-conduct and then to deny its efficacy. But spies we hang, young gentleman."

The words sounded chilling upon Edward Langdale's ear; but he knew that a moment's silence might be destruction, and he replied, at once, "I am no spy, your Eminence; and, whatever I may have done that is indiscreet, I came not to examine or report, and never will, any thing I see in this country. It is as safe with me as with yourself, lord cardinal."

"Then you acknowledge you have done indiscreet things?" said Richelieu.

"Probably," answered the young man: "who has not? But, still, I am no spy."

"Of the character of a spy there may be many definitions," answered the minister; "and modern codes do not exactly limit themselves to the Hebrew interpretation of the term, to wit, that he is a person who goes out to see the nakedness of the land. But, that apart, we must know the meaning of what the letters in this bag contain." And, stretching back his hand, he took the wallet and drew out a letter, while Edward observed, as calmly as he could, "I am not responsible, your Eminence, for what those letters contain. I know not the contents of any one of them, but merely took them as requested to persons in France with whom the writers had no other means of communication."

He spoke the truth; for he had not seen and did not know the contents of any one of the letters he had borne across the channel, except that to the good syndic Clement Tournon, which announced the speedy arrival of Lord Denbigh's fleet.

Richelieu paid no apparent attention to what he said, but read from the letter he held in his hand: "'To the most mighty Prince the Duc de Rohan. These will be given to you by one in whom you can put all confidence. Yield him all credence in what he shall tell you on the part of a true friend.' 'To his Highness the Prince de Soubise. Monsieur: Let me commend to you most highly the bearer, a young English gentleman of good house, true, faithful, and worthy of all credit. He ought to be the possessor of great estate; but I assure your Highness that his merit is above his fortunes, and that the dearest trust you have you may confide to his keeping.' Signed with a large B. All the rest, sir, are of the same tenor,—without due signature, and in vague terms. What is the meaning of this?"

"Probably the writers foresaw," replied Edward, who had determined on his course, "that the letters might fall into the hands of your Eminence, and, knowing themselves not your friends, might not wish to make you my enemy."

"Bold, upon my life!" exclaimed Richelieu, in a tone of surprise.

"But true!" said Edward. "I much wish to see the Duc de Rohan or the Prince de Soubise, upon matters totally unconnected with those letters; and when your Eminence gives me permission to proceed I shall seek them instantly."

"When I give permission," said Richelieu, somewhat scornfully; "but well,—'tis very well. Sir, these letters are very suspicious, and would well justify the detention of the bearer. But I must ask some more questions. What seek you with Messieurs de Soubise and Rohan, two noblemen in arms against their sovereign?"

"My lord cardinal, my business with them is private. Those letters are suspicious or not, as they may be viewed: they are not criminal; and though, as you shall determine, they may perhaps justify my detention, yet I assure you once again I knew not their contents until this moment. You must be the judge of your own conduct. I know my own purposes, and can safely say my only object in seeking to see those two princes is one with which your Eminence has no concern."

"I am the judge of my own conduct, young gentleman," answered the minister, in a not ungentle voice. "But see you here. Sir Peter Apsley has been represented to me as a good, lubberly youth, whom his relations and guardians are fain to send to foreign lands to see if he can gather some grains of sense and learning amongst more quick-witted people. Now, here we have a young man well read, ready and quick, of a fine taste, and speaking many tongues. This is suspicious too,—unless indeed you have visited some shrine and the saint has worked a miracle."

"My lord cardinal, it would befit me ill to bandy words with you," replied Edward: "I should but fare the worse. Your qualities are not unknown in England; and, having said all I can rightly say, I would not willingly try to match my wit against yours."

"I know few who could do it better for your age," said the cardinal, perhaps remembering still with pleasure the youth's praise of his not super-excellent verses. "But now to another theme. Who is the girl that is travelling with you, first as a page, then in the habit of a peasant-girl? Your paramour, I trust, she is not."

The cheek of Edward Langdale glowed like fire. "You wrong us both, even by the thought, lord cardinal," he said, although Richelieu had spoken the last words with a somewhat threatening brow. "You have heard me avow that I have been perhaps guilty of some indiscretion; and I wish to Heaven she had never come with me; but I could not dream of wronging an innocent girl who has trusted entirely to me, and should think my love for her but a poor and false excuse were I to do so even in thought. As to her being with me, your Eminence may surmise many motives; but, believe me, all were honest."

"I am willing to suppose it," answered the cardinal, mildly. "You wish to marry: is it not so?"

Edward bowed his head.

"And you fear there may be difficulties raised by her family?" continued Richelieu, in a tone of inquiry.

"Many," replied the youth.

"Perhaps there is a difference in rank," suggested the cardinal.

"It may be so," answered Edward; "but yet I am a gentleman, and all my friends have been so, as far as we can trace the house."

"Well, we shall hear what she says herself," answered the minister, ringing a small silver bell.

The exempt immediately appeared at the door, and the cardinal bade him call Mademoiselle de Mirepoix from the neighboring room.

It is to be feared that Lucette was not a heroine. Her step was tottering, and her face pale, when, after a pause of one or two minutes, she entered the cardinal's presence. But the dress she now wore, rich and in very good taste, not only displayed the young beauties of her face and form, but made her look several years older than she really was. Edward, conscious of what she must feel, bent his eyes to the ground for an instant as she entered, but the next moment, with a sudden impulse, advanced, and, taking her hand, led her toward the minister.

Richelieu was evidently struck with her appearance: it was something very different from what he had expected to see, and the disappointment was a pleasant one. With dignified politeness he rose to meet her, and led her himself to a seat, saying, "I am glad to see you, mademoiselle. I trust you rested well last night?"

Lucette raised her eyes with a look of surprise at the unexpected kindness of his tone, and a warm blush passed over her cheek, while she replied, "I did not sleep at all, my lord: I was too much frightened."

"Nay, be not frightened here, my child," replied Richelieu, in a fatherly tone. "I must ask you a few questions, to which you must give me sincere answers; but it will soon be over. To the bold and daring, men in my position must be stern and harsh; but the timid and submissive will only meet kindness and protection. First, then, tell me, what is your name?"

"Lucette de Mirepoix," answered the beautiful young girl, in a low voice.

"De Mirepoix du Valais?" inquired the minister.

"The same," said Lucette, looking up again with some surprise.

"Now let me hear if you have ever been in England," said Richelieu, fixing his dark eyes upon her.

"Yes," answered Lucette, at once. "I have been in England for several years."

"Do you know why you were sent there?" asked the cardinal. "Surely this is a richer and more beautiful land than that cold, foggy island."

"Oh, no!" cried Lucette, eagerly. "It is true, I know nothing of the land of France except about Rochelle; but nothing can be more beautiful than England."

"And you would gladly marry an Englishman?" said Richelieu, with a smile. Lucette blushed deeply, but answered nothing, and the cardinal went on:—"You have not yet told me why you were sent to England."

"I do not personally know," answered Lucette; "but I have heard that a lady—I think, called Madame de Luynes—claimed me as my nearest relation, and that my other friends did not choose to give me up to her, which the law might have forced them to do if she could have found me in France."

Richelieu smiled. "That is a mistake," he said. "We would have found means to frustrate such an attempt. Do you know if she still persists in her purpose?"

"Oh, yes," answered Lucette, quickly: "at least, so I have been told. They said that she had power enough in England, through the Duke of Buckingham, to have me given up to her, even there. That was one reason why I returned to France."

"And not to wed this young gentleman?" said the cardinal.

Lucette blushed again, and was silent.

"But you love him, and are willing to wed him?" continued Richelieu, seeming to take a pleasure in the rosy embarrassment his questions produced.

Poor Lucette! It was indeed a painful moment for her; but she felt that her own fate, and that of Edward also, depended upon her words, and, with her eyes bent down, and her face all in a glow, she answered, in a low but firm tone, "Yes." Then, springing up as if she could bear the torturing interrogation no longer, she darted across, cast herself upon Edward's bosom, and wept.

"Answer enough, methinks," said Richelieu, speaking to himself. "And now, daughter," he continued, gravely, "only two more questions, and I have done. But your answers must be frank and open. Did your good friends in La Rochelle know and consent to your travelling alone with this young gentleman disguised as a page?"

"Oh, yes!" sobbed the poor girl: "they themselves proposed it. They knew they could trust to his honor, and so could I. But we were not alone; we had servants with us; and—and—"

"Enough," said Richelieu. "Monsieur de Soubise, you are a confident man."

These words might have shown Lucette that she and the cardinal had been playing in some sort at cross-purposes; but they were spoken in a low tone, and in her agitation she did not hear or take notice of them.

"Now for the last question," said Richelieu: "but you must first resume your seat;" and, taking her hand, he led her back to her chair. "Tell me,—and tell me true, my child: have you ever heard that young gentleman standing opposite to you called by any other name than Sir Peter Apsley?"

It was a terrible blow to poor Lucette. She had been educated in truth and honor; a lie was abhorrent to all her previous feelings and thoughts; and yet, if she told the truth, she knew or believed that she was condemning one whom she now felt she loved more than any one on earth, to an ignominious death. She turned deadly pale, and raised her eyes to Edward's face, as if seeking counsel or help.

Edward gave the help without a moment's hesitation. Stepping quickly forward so as to stand immediately before the prelate's chair, he said, "Ask her not that question, my lord cardinal. Neither make those sweet honest lips utter a word of falsehood, nor force them to betray a secret she thinks herself bound to keep. I will answer for her. She has heard me called by another name; but I could not have come into this country without obtaining the passport of Sir Peter Apsley,—a young man of my own age and height,—who had given up the intention of visiting France. My name is Edward Langdale, son of Sir Richard Langdale, of Buckley, of as good and old a family as his whose name I took."

Richelieu gazed at him coldly, without the least mark of surprise. "You have tried to deceive me," he said; "but you could not. It was a dangerous experiment, sir. And, now, what have you to say why the fate you have sought should not fall upon your head?"

"Not much, your Eminence," replied Edward; "and all I have to say is written here." And, as he spoke, he stretched forth his hand and took the verses he had before read from the small table at the cardinal's right hand, and repeated the first stanza:—

"That is all I can plead in favor of forgiveness."

"And you have fairly won it," said Richelieu, gravely; "but it shall come in such a shape as perhaps you do not expect."

The words were ambiguous, and the cardinal's look was so cold that Lucette's heart fell. She hesitated a moment, and then cast herself at Richelieu's feet, murmuring, "Oh, spare him, my lord! spare him! He has told you the whole truth now."

"Whatever becomes of me," exclaimed Edward, "for God's sake, give not up this dear girl to Madame de Chevreuse."

He had touched the key-note; but it only served to confirm a half-formed purpose in the great minister's mind. A smile spread over his face, which was then eminently handsome, and, first turning to Lucette, he said, "He has told me the whole truth, has he? Still, he will be all the better of a safe-conduct in his own name. Shall I put in the page and all, young gentleman?" Then, ringing the silver bell again, he ordered the exempt, who had still waited without, to carry the passport of Sir Peter Apsley to one of his secretaries and bid him make a copy, substituting the name of Edward Langdale for Peter Apsley. "And hark," he continued; "bend down your ear."

The man obeyed. Richelieu whispered to him for a moment or two, and the exempt retired, closing the door.

Still, Edward Langdale did not feel altogether at ease as to the fate of Lucette. The smile upon the cardinal's lip when he proposed to "put in the page and all" evidently marked the words as a jest; and Richelieu now sat silent for several minutes, gazing upon the ground, as if still somewhat undecided.

At length he looked up. "Monsieur de Langdale," he said, pointing to the leathern case, "that belongs to you. It shall be sent to your room. In it you will find nine hundred and eighty crowns of gold, all told. Moreover, you can take the letters: I trust to your honor as a gentleman not to use them against the king's service. Your safe-conduct will be here in a few minutes; but, before I sign it, I will put the sincerity of yourself and this young lady to one more test."

He paused, and looked at them both gravely for a moment, adding, "You have given me to understand that you wish to unite your fates. You have travelled so long together unrestrained, that, whether your families consent or not, it is desirable, for the lady's sake, that there should be a sacred bond between you. I now ask you both, are you willing to plight your faith to each other at the altar?—now,—this very hour?"

Edward's heart beat high, it must be owned, with joy, although there were many other emotions in his bosom; and perhaps at that moment he regretted the loss of property which was rightfully his, more than he had ever done before.

Lucette bent down her eyes with a face suffused with blushes; but, when the cardinal again demanded, "What say you, Mademoiselle de Mirepoix?" she took his hand and kissed it for her sole reply.

"With joy, my lord," answered Edward. "But will our marriage—both under age—be valid without the consent of relations?"

Richelieu smiled. "Their consent you must obtain hereafter," he said; "but, in the mean time, I will make your union so firm that no power on earth or in hell can break it. By the power which the Church has given me, I will sweep away all obstacles. But remember, sir, for the time you separate at the altar. You may indeed convey Mademoiselle de Mirepoix to either the Prince de Soubise or the Duc de Rohan,—not as your bride, but with the same respect you assure me you have hitherto shown her. You must promise me, as a gentleman, to return here, and confer with me, as soon as you have seen the young lady safe under the protection of one of her two cousins. Tell him—whichever it is—that in the peculiar circumstances of the case the cardinal prime minister has judged it imperatively necessary that you should be married, and has himself seen the ceremony performed; that for two years you leave your bride with him, but at the end of that time you will claim her and take her, and that all my power shall be exerted to give her to you. He will find me more difficult to frustrate than Madame de Chevreuse."

"The gentlemen your Eminence was pleased to summon," said a servant at the door; and the next moment a number of different persons entered the room, amongst whom the only one known to Edward and Lucette was Monsieur de Tronson.

"Gentlemen, by your good leave, you are called as witnesses to a marriage," said Richelieu. "You, Monsieur de Bleville, have the kindness to take note in double of all the proceedings: there is paper. Go on to the chapel: the almoner is there by this time: I will follow in an instant. You will find two ladies there, I think. Tronson, stay with me for a moment. Monsieur de la Force, you are of good years: give Mademoiselle de Mirepoix your hand."

The crowd passed out, carrying with them Edward and Lucette, both feeling as if they were in a dream. Richelieu extended his hand gravely to Monsieur de Tronson, saying, "You see, De Tronson, even I can forgive."

The secretary pressed his hand respectfully, saying, "Those you do forgive, if they be generous and wise, will never offend again. But I understand not this matter, your Eminence."

"Not understand!" cried Richelieu, with a laugh. "Did I not say I would punish them both?—not these two pretty children, for I do believe I make them happy,—but the proud Duchesse de Chevreuse and the rebellious Prince de Soubise. What will be in the heart of Marie de Rohan when she hears that the heiress, on whose guardianship she had set her heart to strengthen herself by her marriage into some powerful house, is already married to a poor English gentleman? What will be in her heart, Tronson, I say? Hell! hell! To Soubise—if he submits,—as submit he must—we can make compensation. But there is much to be done, Tronson, and I must leave it to you to do; for in an hour I must be on my way to Beauregard, where I expect a visit from Monsieur this evening. First, these two lovers must set out to-night for Niort. Let a coach well horsed be ready for them. Then they must have some aged and prudent dame to bear them company; and next, a good sure man must keep his eye on the lad till he returns here, which will be in a day or two."

"Then does your Eminence still suspect him?" asked De Tronson.

"Suspect him? No, man, no: I know him!" answered Richelieu. "This is Edward Langdale, page to my Lord Montagu,—a brave, bold, honest, clever lad, who shall do me good service yet, without knowing it. He is going to join his lord somewhere on the frontier, or in Lorraine or in Savoy, doubtless with tidings from Buckingham,—though there be no letters from the gaudy duke amongst those he carries. I like the lad, and, were it possible to gain him—but that cannot be. Now, let us to the chapel. You see to the rest; I have but time to dispose of Madame de Chevreuse's fair ward, and make all so sure that she must fret in vain."[1]