Mazarin nodded an assent, but wishing to know what this prediction was, about which they disputed, he remained in the same place.
“I don’t say,” resumed the guard, “that Coysel is not a sorcerer, but I say that if his prophecy gets wind, it’s a sure way to prevent it’s coming true.”
“How so?”
“Why, in this way: if Coysel says loud enough for the cardinal to hear him, on such or such a day such a prisoner will escape, ’tis plain that the cardinal will take measures of precaution and that the prisoner will not escape.”
“Good Lord!” said another guard, who might have been thought asleep on a bench, but who had lost not a syllable of the conversation, “do you suppose that men can escape their destiny? If it is written yonder, in Heaven, that the Duc de Beaufort is to escape, he will escape; and all the precautions of the cardinal will not prevent it.”
Mazarin started. He was an Italian and therefore superstitious. He walked straight into the midst of the guards, who on seeing him were silent.
“What were you saying?” he asked with his flattering manner; “that Monsieur de Beaufort had escaped, were you not?”
“Oh, no, my lord!” said the incredulous soldier. “He’s well guarded now; we only said he would escape.”
“Who said so?”
“Repeat your story, Saint Laurent,” replied the man, turning to the originator of the tale.