“Why,” said she, beholding him—“why bring me before an armed man?”
They left her alone with him without answering.
The Cardinal looked at her with a suspicious air. “Madame,” said he, “what are you doing in the camp at this hour? And if your mind is not disordered, why these naked feet?”
“It is a vow; it is a vow,” answered the young woman, with an air of impatience, seating herself beside him abruptly. “I have also made a vow not to eat until I have found the man I seek.”
“My sister,” said the Cardinal, astonished and softened, looking closely at her, “God does not exact such rigors from a weak body, and particularly from one of your age, for you seem very young.”
“Young! oh, yes, I was very young a few days ago; but I have since passed two existences at least, so much have I thought and suffered. Look on my countenance.”
And she discovered a face of perfect beauty. Black and very regular eyes gave life to it; but in their absence one might have thought her features were those of a phantom, she was so pale. Her lips were blue and quivering; and a strong shudder made her teeth chatter.
“You are ill, my sister,” said the minister, touched, taking her hand, which he felt to be burning hot. A sort of habit of inquiring concerning his own health, and that of others, made him touch the pulse of her emaciated arm; he felt that the arteries were swollen by the beatings of a terrible fever.
“Alas!” he continued, with more of interest, “you have killed yourself with rigors beyond human strength! I have always blamed them, and especially at a tender age. What, then, has induced you to do this? Is it to confide it to me that you are come? Speak calmly, and be sure of succor.”
“Confide in men!” answered the young woman; “oh, no, never! All have deceived me. I will confide myself to no one, not even to Monsieur Cinq-Mars, although he must soon die.”