“Escape! my lord—escape! Your eminence does not then know where Monsieur de Beaufort is?”
“Yes, I do, sir; in the donjon of Vincennes.”
“Yes, sir; in a room, the walls of which are seven feet thick, with grated windows, each bar as thick as my arm.”
“Sir,” replied Mazarin, “with perseverance one may penetrate through a wall; with a watch-spring one may saw through an iron bar.”
“Then my lord does not know that there are eight guards about him, four in his chamber, four in the antechamber, and that they never leave him.”
“But he leaves his room, he plays at tennis at the Mall?”
“Sir, those amusements are allowed; but if your eminence wishes it, we will discontinue the permission.”
“No, no!” cried Mazarin, fearing that should his prisoner ever leave his prison he would be the more exasperated against him if he thus retrenched his amusement. He then asked with whom he played.
“My lord, either with the officers of the guard, with the other prisoners, or with me.”
“But does he not approach the walls while playing?”