Edward Langdale entered the presence of the cardinal firm and upright;
and, to say the truth, now tricked out with all the taste and ornament
which the skill of a French tailor of the reign of Louis XIII., and the
short time allowed for the operation, permitted, he was as
handsome-looking a youth as you could easily see in this world of ugly
hearts and indifferent faces. His air was perfectly calm and well
assured, but not presumptuous; and the easy grace with which he carried
his hat with its long plume in one hand, and the velvet case with the
passport in the other, was not unnoticed by the cardinal, who was
accustomed to observe slight indications and to draw his inferences from
them,--not exactly taking for granted that they meant what they seemed
to mean; for there was many a man in France and at the court who
affected well more gayety than the lark when his heart was full of
anxiety and sorrow, many a one who assumed a grave solemnity who within
was as light a bubble as ever floated down the stream of time. But often
he drew inferences the most opposite from the outside indications, and
saw evidence of the pinchbeck in the fresh glitter of the gilding.
Richelieu did not make any motion to rise, but, pointing to a seat near
him, he bent his head calmly, and said, "Be seated, sir. I am glad to
see you in Nantes. How long is it since you arrived?"
"Yesterday evening, my lord," replied Edward, "I reached the city,
having been delayed by several causes during many days. Indeed, it is
probable I should not have visited this city at all had not some of the
royal officers refused to recognise my safe-conduct."
"Perhaps they did not recognise your person," said the cardinal, softly,
continuing to gaze at the young Englishman with a keen and scrutinizing
look. "But I think, Monsieur Apsley, I must have seen your face
somewhere before."
"That cannot be, may it please your Eminence," replied Edward, frankly.
"I never had the honor of beholding you till now."
"You speak French with great purity," said the minister. "Did you never
reside in this country?"
"I visited it some time ago, but did not remain more than a few months,"
the youth replied; "but I studied the language long in my own country,
and spoke it continually with those who spoke it well."
"Well, indeed!" said Richelieu; "but they tell me you are learned in
many ways, and doubtless you have given attention to our
poets,--superior, in refinement at least, to any that the world can
boast. Let me have a sample of your taste. What think you of these lines
just sent to me by a young poet? The hand is inexperienced, but I think
the head is good. You can read the language, of course." And he handed
the lines to Edward, who, confounded by what was passing, took the paper
and gazed at it for a moment in silence. Then, feeling that such
silence might be dangerous, he proceeded to read the verses aloud, with
good emphasis and a graceful delivery:--
"Who on the height of power would stand must be
Hard as the rock to those who dare his arm;
To the indifferent, cool; and tenderly
Treat the young faults of those who mean no harm.
"The sunshine warms the serpent in the brake:
Then crush his head while lasts his sleeping hour,
Nor wait till, fresh envenom'd, he awake.
There still are snakes enow where there is power."
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:--
"'Who on the height of power would stand must be
Hard as a rock to those who dare his arm;
To the indifferent, cool; and tenderly
Treat the young faults of those who mean no harm.'
"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]
[Footnote 1: Some historians have fancied that there were feelings of
tenderness on the part of Richelieu toward the beautiful Marie de Rohan;
but it is only necessary to look into any of the memoirs of those times,
and to remember the character of the man, to see that Madame de
Chevreuse was incessantly employed in thwarting his plans, undervaluing
his genius, and even ridiculing his person; and that nothing but the
most bitter enmity could be excited on his part by such conduct.]