THE music of the Cardinal’s fÊte rang in De Blenau’s ears all night, and the lights danced in his eyes, and the various guests flitted before his imagination, like the figures in some great phantasmagoria. One time he seemed wandering in the gardens with Pauline de Beaumont, and offering up all the dearest treasures of his heart, when suddenly the lady raised her veil, and it was Mademoiselle de Bourbon. Then again he was seated on the Cardinal’s right hand, who poured out for him a cup of wine: he raised it to his lips, and was about to drink, when some one dashed it from his hand, exclaiming, “It is poison!” then, turning round to see who had thus interposed, he beheld a figure without a head, and the overthrown cup poured forth a stream of blood. The next moment it was all the Cardinal’s funeral, and the fool L’Angeli appeared as chief mourner. At length, however, towards the approach of morning, the uneasy visions died away, and left him in deep sleep, from which he rose refreshed, and prepared to encounter the events of a new day.

Alas! that man should still rise to sorrow and to danger, and that the kindest gift of Heaven should be the temporary forgetfulness of existence. Sorrow! how is it that thy coarse thread is so intimately mingled with the web of life, that he who would tear thee out must rend the whole fabric? Oh life, thou long sad dream! when shall we rise from all thy phantom agonies to that bright waking which we fondly hope?

De Blenau prepared his mind, as a man arming for a battle; and sent to notify to Chavigni, that he was about to visit the Cardinal. In a few minutes after, the Statesman himself appeared, and courteously conducted the young Count to his horse, but did not offer to accompany him to the Minister. “Monsieur de Blenau,” said he, “it is better you should go alone. After your audience, you will doubtless be in haste to return to St. Germain’s; but if you will remain to take your noon meal at my poor table, I shall esteem myself honoured.”

De Blenau thanked him for his courtesy, but declined, stating that he was anxious to return home before night, if he were permitted to do so at all. “My word is passed for your safety,” replied Chavigni; “so have no doubt on that head. But take my counsel, Monsieur le Comte: moderate your proud bearing towards the Cardinal. Those who play with a lion, must take good care not to irritate him.”

On arriving at the Palais Cardinal, De Blenau left his attendants in the outer court, and following an officer of the household, proceeded through a long suite of apartments to a large saloon, where he found several others waiting the leisure of the Minister, who was at that moment engaged in conference with the Ambassador from Sweden.

De Blenau’s own feelings were not of the most comfortable nature; but on looking round the room, he guessed, from the faces of all those with whom it was tenanted, that such sensations were but too common there. One had placed himself at a window, and gazed upon the stones of the court-yard with as much earnestness as if they had inspired him with the deepest interest. Another walked up and down his own corner with irregular steps and downcast look. Another leaned back in his seat, with his chin resting on his breast, and regarded intently a door in the other side of the saloon. And another sat bending his hat into so many shapes, that he left it, in the end, of no shape at all. But all were marked, by the knitted brow and anxious eye, for men whose fate was hanging on the breath of another.

There was nothing consolatory in their looks, and De Blenau turned to the portraits which covered the walls of the saloon. The first that his eye fell upon was that of the famous Montmorency. He was represented as armed in steel, with the head uncovered; and from his apparent age it seemed that the picture had not been painted long before the unfortunate conspiracy, which, by its failure, brought him to the scaffold. There was also an expression of grave sadness in the countenance, as if he had presaged his approaching fate. De Blenau turned to another; but it so happened that each picture in the room represented some one of the many whom Richelieu’s unsparing vengeance had overtaken. Whether they were placed in that waiting-room in order to overawe those whom the Minister wished to intimidate; or whether it was that the famous gallery, which the Cardinal had filled with portraits of all the principal historical characters of France, would contain no more, and that in consequence the pictures of the later dates had been placed in this saloon, without any deeper intent, matters not; but at all events they offered no very pleasant subject of contemplation.

De Blenau, however, was not long kept in suspense; for, in a few minutes, the door on the other side of the room opened, and the Swedish Ambassador passed out. The door shut behind him, but in a moment after an attendant entered, and although several others had been waiting before him, De Blenau was the first summoned to the presence of the Cardinal.

He could not help feeling as if he wronged those he left still in doubt as to their fate: but following the officer through an ante-room, he entered the audience closet, and immediately perceived Richelieu seated at a table, over which were strewed a multitude of papers of different dimensions, some of which he was busily engaged in examining;—reading them he was not, for his eye glanced so rapidly over their contents, that his knowledge of each could be but general. He paused for a moment as De Blenau entered, bowed his head, pointed to a seat, and resumed his employment. When he had done, he signed the papers, and gave them to a dull-looking personage, in a black silk pourpoint, who stood behind his chair.

“Take these three death-warrants,” said he, “to Monsieur Lafemas, and then these others to Poterie at the Bastille. But no—stop,” he continued after a moment’s thought; “you had better go to the Bastille first, for Poterie can put Caply to the torture, while you are gone to Lafemas; and you can bring me back his confession as you return.”

De Blenau shuddered at the sang froid with which the Minister commanded those things that make one’s blood curdle even to imagine. But the attendant was practised in such commissions; and taking the packets, as a mere matter of course, he bowed in silence, and disappearing by a door on the other side, left De Blenau alone with the Cardinal.

“Well, Monsieur de Blenau,” said Richelieu, looking up with a frank smile, “your pardon for having detained you. There are many things upon which I have long wished to speak to you, and this caused me to desire your company. But I have no doubt that we shall part perfectly satisfied with each other.”

The Cardinal paused, as if for a reply. “I hope so too, my Lord,” said De Blenau. “I can, of course, have no cause to be dissatisfied with your Eminence; and for my own part, I feel my bosom to be clear.”

“I doubt it not, Monsieur le Comte,” replied the Minister, with a gracious inclination of the head—“I doubt it not; I know your spirit to be too frank and noble to mingle in petty faction and treasonable cabal. No one more admires your brave and independent bearing than myself. You must remember that I have marked you from your youth. You have been educated, as it were, under my own eye; and were it now necessary to trust the welfare of the State to the honour of any one man, I would confide it to the honour of De Blenau.”

“To what, in the name of Heaven, can this lead?” thought De Blenau; but he bowed without reply, and the Cardinal proceeded.

“I have, for some time past,” he continued, “been thinking of placing you in one of those high stations, to which your rank and consideration entitle you to aspire. At present, none are vacant; but as a forerunner to such advancement, I propose to call you to the Council, and to give you the government of Poitou.”

De Blenau was now, indeed, astonished. The Cardinal was not a man to jest: and yet what he proposed, as a mere preliminary, was an offer that the first noble in France might have accepted with gladness. The Count was about to speak. But Richelieu paused only for a moment, to observe the effect of what he said upon his auditor; and perhaps over-rating the ambition of De Blenau, he proceeded more boldly.

“I do not pretend to say, notwithstanding my sense of your high merit, and my almost parental feelings towards you, that I am wholly moved to this by my individual regard; but the truth is, that the State requires, at this moment, the services of one, who joins to high talents a thorough knowledge of the affairs of Spain.”

“So!” thought De Blenau, “I have it now. The government of Poitou, and a seat at the Council, provided I betray the Queen and sell my own honour.” Richelieu seemed to wait an answer, and De Blenau replied: “If your Eminence means to attribute such knowledge to me, some one must have greatly misled you. I possess no information on the affairs of Spain whatever, except from the common reports and journals of the time.”

This reply did not seem to affect Richelieu’s intentions. “Well, well, Monsieur de Blenau,” said he, with a smile, “you will take your seat at the Council, and will, of course, as a good subject and an honourable man, communicate to us whatever information you possess, on those points which concern the good of the State. We do not expect all at once; and every thing shall be done to smooth your way, and facilitate your views. Then, perhaps, if Richelieu live to execute the plans he has formed, you, Monsieur de Blenau, following his path, and sharing his confidence, may be ready to take his place, when death shall at length call him from it.”

The Cardinal counted somewhat too much on De Blenau’s ambition, and not sufficiently on his knowledge of the world; and imagining that he had, the evening before, discovered the weak point in the character of the young Count, he thought to lead him to any thing, by holding out to him extravagant prospects of future greatness. The dish, however, was somewhat too highly flavoured; and De Blenau replied, with a smile,—

“Your Eminence is exceeding good to think at all of me, in the vast and more important projects which occupy your mind. But, alas! my Lord, De Blenau would prove but a poor successor to Richelieu.—No, my Lord Cardinal,” he continued, “I have no ambition; that is a passion which should be reserved for such great and comprehensive minds as yours. I am contented as I am. High stations are always stations of danger.”

“I had heard that the Count de Blenau was no way fearful,” said Richelieu, fixing on him a keen and almost scornful glance. “Was the report a mistake? or is it lately he has become afraid of danger?”

De Blenau was piqued, and lost temper. “Of personal danger, my Lord, I am never afraid,” replied he. “But when along with risk to myself is involved danger to my friends, danger to my country, danger to my honour, and danger to my soul,” and he returned the Cardinal’s glance full as proudly as it had been given, “then, my Lord Cardinal, I would say, it were no cowardice, but true courage to fly from such peril—unless,” he added, remembering the folly of opposing the irritable and unscrupulous Minister, and thinking that his words had, perhaps, been already too warm—“unless, indeed, one felt within one’s breast the mind of a Richelieu.”

While De Blenau spoke, the Cardinal’s brow knitted into a frown. A flush too came over his cheek; and untying the ribbon which served as a fastening, he took off the velvet cap he generally wore, as if to give himself air. He heard him, however, to the end, and then answered drily, “You speak well, Monsieur de Blenau, and, I doubt not, feel what you say. But am I to understand you, that you refuse to aid us at the Council with your information and advice?”

“So far, your Eminence is right,” replied the Count, who saw that the storm was now about to break upon his head; “I must, indeed, decline the honours which you offer with so bountiful a hand. But do not suppose that I do so from unwillingness to yield you any information; for, truly, I have none to give. I have never meddled with politics. I have never turned my attention to State affairs; and therefore still less could I yield you any advice. Your Eminence would be woefully disappointed, when you expected to find a man well acquainted with the arts of government, and deep read in the designs of foreign states, to meet with one, whose best knowledge is to range a battalion, or to pierce a boar; a soldier, and not a diplomatist; a hunter, and not a statesman. And as to the government of Poitou, my Lord, its only good would be the emolument, and already my revenues are far more than adequate to my wants.”

“You refuse my kindness, Sir,” replied the Cardinal, with an air of deep determined haughtiness, very different from the urbanity with which he had at first received De Blenau; “I must now speak to you in another tone. And let me warn you to beware of what you say; for be assured, that I already possess sufficient information to confound you if you should prevaricate.”

“My Lord Cardinal,” replied De Blenau, somewhat hastily, “I am not accustomed to prevaricate. Ask any questions you please, and, so long as my honour and my duty go with them, I will answer you.”

“Then there are questions,” said the Cardinal, “that you would think against your duty to answer?”

“I said not so, your Eminence,” replied De Blenau. “In the examination I find I am to undergo, give my words their full meaning, if you please, but no more than their meaning.”

“Well then, Sir, answer me as a man of honour and a French noble,” said the Cardinal—“Are you not aware of a correspondence that has been, and is now, carried on between Anne of Austria and Don Francisco de Mello, Governor of the Low Countries?”

“I know not whom you mean, Sir, by Anne of Austria,” replied De Blenau. “If it be her Majesty, your Queen and mine, that you so designate, I reply at once that I know of no such correspondence, nor do I believe that it exists.”

“Do you mean to say, Monsieur de Blenau,” demanded the Cardinal, fixing his keen sunken eyes upon the young Count with that basilisk glance for which he was famous—“Do you mean to say, that you yourself have not forwarded letters from the Queen to Madame de Chevreuse, and Don Francisco de Mello, by a private channel?—Pause, Monsieur de Blenau, before you answer, and be well assured that I am acquainted with every particular of your conduct.”

“Your Eminence is, no doubt, acquainted with much more intricate subjects than any of my actions,” replied the Count. “With regard to Madame de Chevreuse, her Majesty has no need to conceal a correspondence with her, which has been fully permitted and sanctioned, both by your Eminence and the still higher authority of the King; and I may add, that to my certain knowledge, letters have gone to that lady by your own courier. On the other point, I have answered already; and have only to say once more, that I know of no such correspondence, nor would I, assuredly, lend myself to any such measures, which I should conceive to be treasonable.”

“I have always hitherto supposed you to be a man of honour,” said the Cardinal coolly; “but what must I conceive now, Monsieur le Comte, when I tell you that I have those very letters in my possession?”

“You may conceive what you please, Sir,” replied De Blenau, giving way to his indignation; “but I will dare any man to lay before me a letter from her Majesty to the person you mention, which has passed through the hands of De Blenau.”

The Cardinal did not reply, but opening an ebony cabinet, which stood on his right hand, he took from one of the compartments a small bundle of papers, from which he selected one, and laid it on the table before the Count, who had hitherto looked on with no small wonder and expectation. “Do you know that writing, Sir?” demanded the Cardinal, still keeping his hand upon the paper, in such a manner as to allow only a word or two to be visible.

De Blenau examined the line which the Cardinal suffered to appear, and replied—“From what little I can see, I should imagine it to be the hand-writing of her Majesty. But that does not show that I have any thing to do with it.”

“But there is that in it which does,” answered Richelieu, folding down a line or two of the letter, and pointing out to the Count a sentence which said, “This will be conveyed to you by the Count de Blenau, who you know never fails.”

“Now, Sir!” continued the Cardinal, “once more let me advise you to give me all you possess upon this subject. From a feeling of personal regard, I have had too much patience with you already.”

“All I can reply to your Eminence,” answered the Count, not a little embarrassed, “is, that no letter whatever has been conveyed by me, knowingly, to the Governor of the Low Countries.”

De Blenau’s eyes naturally fixed on the paper, which still lay on the table, and from which the Cardinal had by this time withdrawn his hand; and feeling that both life and honour depended upon that document, he resolved to ascertain its authenticity, of which he entertained some doubt.

“Stop,” said he hastily, “let me look at the superscription,” and before Richelieu could reply, he had raised it from the table and turned to the address. One glance was enough to satisfy him, and he returned it to the Cardinal with a cool and meaning smile, repeating the words—“To Madame de Chevreuse.”

At first the Cardinal had instinctively stretched out his hand to stop De Blenau in his purpose, but he instantly recovered himself, nor did his countenance betray the least change of feeling. “Well, Sir,” replied he, “you said that you would dare any one to lay before you a letter from the Queen to the person I mentioned. Did I not mention Madame de Chevreuse, and is not there the letter?”

“Your Eminence has mistaken me,” replied De Blenau, bowing his head, and smiling at the Minister’s art; “I meant, Don Francisco de Mello. I had answered what you said in regard to Madame de Chevreuse, before.”

“I did mistake you then, Sir,” said the Cardinal; “but it was from the ambiguity of your own words. However, passing over your boldness, in raising that letter without my permission; I will show you that I know more of your proceedings than you suspect. I will tell you the very terms of the message you sent to the Queen, after you were wounded in the wood of Mantes, conveying to her, that you had not lost the packet with which you were charged. Did not Seguin tell her, on your part, that though the wound was in your side, your heart was not injured?”

“I dare say he did, my Lord,” replied De Blenau, coolly; “and the event has proved that he was quite right, for your Eminence must perceive that I am quite recovered, which, of course, could not have been the case, had any vital part been hurt. But I hope, your Eminence, that there is no offence, in your eyes, either in having sent the Queen, my mistress, an account of my health, or in having escaped the attack of assassins.”

A slight flush passed over Richelieu’s cheek. “You may chance to fall into less scrupulous hands than even their’s,” replied he. “I am certainly informed, Sir, that you, on the part of the Queen, have been carrying on a treasonable intercourse with Spain—a country at war with France, to whose crown you are a born subject and vassal; and I have to tell you, that the punishment of such a crime is death. Yes, Sir, you may knit your brow. But no consideration shall stay me from visiting, with the full severity of the law, such as do so offend; and though the information I want be but small, depend upon it, I shall not hesitate to employ the most powerful means to wring it from you.”

De Blenau had no difficulty in comprehending the nature of those means, to which the Cardinal alluded; but his mind was made up to suffer the worst. “My Lord Cardinal,” replied he, “what your intentions are, I know not; but be sure, that to whatever extremes you may go, you can wring nothing from me but what you have already heard. I once more assure you, that I know of no treasonable correspondence whatsoever; and firm in my own innocence, I equally despise all attempts to bribe or to intimidate me.”

“Sir, you are insolent!” replied the Cardinal rising: “Use no such language to me!—Are you not an insect I can sweep from my path in an instant? Ho, a guard there without! We shall soon see, whether you know aught of Philip of Spain.”

Had the Cardinal’s glance been directed towards De Blenau, he would have seen, that at the name of Philip of Spain, a degree of paleness came over his cheek; but another object had caught Richelieu’s eye, and he did not observe it. It was the entrance of the attendant whom he had despatched with the death-warrants, which now drew his notice; and well pleased to show De Blenau the dreadful means he so unscrupulously employed to extort confession from those he suspected, he eagerly demanded, “What news?”

“May it please your Eminence,” said the attendant, “Caply died under the torture. In truth, it was soon over with him, for he did not bear it above ten minutes.”

“But the confession, the confession!” exclaimed Richelieu. “Where is the procÈs verbal?”

“He made no confession, Sir,” replied the man. “He protested, to the last, his innocence, and that he knew nothing.”

“Pshaw!” said Richelieu; “they let him die too soon; they should have given him wine to keep him up. Foolish idiot,” he continued, as if meditating over the death of his victim; “had he but told what he was commanded, he would have saved himself from a death of horror. Such is the meed of obstinacy.”

“Such,” thought De Blenau, “is, unhappily, often the reward of firmness and integrity. But such a death is honourable in itself.”

No one could better read in the face what was passing in the mind than Richelieu, and it is probable that he easily saw in the countenance of De Blenau, the feelings excited by what had just passed. He remembered also the promise given by Chavigni; and if, when he called the Guard, he had ever seriously proposed to arrest De Blenau, he abandoned his intention for the moment. Not that the high tone of the young Count’s language was either unfelt, or forgiven, for Richelieu never pardoned; but it was as easy to arrest De Blenau at St. Germain’s as in Paris; and the wily Minister calculated, that by giving him a little liberty, and throwing him off his guard, he might be tempted to do those things which would put him more completely in the power of the government, and give the means of punishing him for his pride and obstinacy, as it was internally termed by a man long unaccustomed to any opposition.

De Blenau was principally obnoxious to the Cardinal, as the confidant of the Queen, and from being the chief of her adherents both by his rank, wealth, and reputation. Anne of Austria having now become the only apparent object which could cloud the sky of Richelieu’s political power, he had resolved either to destroy her, by driving her to some criminal act, or so to entangle her in his snares, as to reduce her to become a mere instrument in his hands and for his purposes. To arrest De Blenau would put the Queen upon her guard; and therefore, the Minister, without hesitation, resolved to dissemble his resentment, and allow the Count to depart in peace; reserving for another time the vengeance he had determined should overtake him at last. Nor was his dissembling of that weak nature which those employ, who have all the will to deceive, without the art of deceiving.

Richelieu walked rapidly up and down the closet for a moment, as if striving to repress some strong emotion, then stopped, and turning to De Blenau with some frankness of manner, “Monsieur le Comte,” said he, “I will own that you have heated me,—perhaps I have given way to it too much. But you ought to be more careful of your words, Sir, and remember that with men whose power you cannot resist, it is sometimes dangerous even to be in the right, much more to make them feel it rudely. However, it is all past, and I will now detain you no longer; trusting to your word, that the information which I have received, is without foundation. Let me only add, that you might have raised yourself this day to a height which few men in France would not struggle to attain. But that is past also, and may, perhaps, never return.”

“I am most grateful, believe me,” replied De Blenau, “for all the favours your Eminence intended me; and I have no doubt, that you will soon find some other person, on whom to bestow them, much more worthy of them than myself.”

Richelieu bowed low, and fixed his eyes upon the Count without reply—a signal that the audience was over, which was not lost upon De Blenau, who very gladly took his leave of the Minister, hoping most devoutly never to see his face again. The ambiguity of his last sentence, however, had not escaped the Cardinal.

“So, Monsieur de Blenau!” said he, as soon as the Count had left him, “you can make speeches with a double meaning also! Can you so? You may rue it though, for I will find means to bend your proud spirit, or to break it; and that before three days be over. Is every thing prepared for my passage to Chantilly?” he continued, turning to the attendant.

“All is prepared, please your Eminence,” replied the man; “and as I passed, I saw Monsieur de Chavigni getting into his chaise to set out.”

“We will let him be an hour or two in advance,” said the Cardinal. “Send in the Marquis de Goumont;” and he again applied himself to other affairs.