"Oh, yes," replied Richelieu, calmly: "the man got well, and was here some two months ago. Besides, I never depend upon one informant. But every one may be deceived; and no one told me that the good count had got you in limbo all this time. You say he denied you the means of communicating with me. Did you show him your safe-conduct?"
"I did, sir," answered Edward; "and it had a very good effect, for it made him give me beef and wine instead of bread and water, with which he began my diet. I demanded also to be sent to your Eminence; but Monsieur de Bourbonne did not see fit to do so."
"Enough," said Richelieu; "enough." And, taking a scrap of paper from the table, he wrote a few words thereon and laid it down again. "And now tell me all about your escape," he continued. "How did you get away from this giant of the castle?"
Edward narrated, with perfect gravity of manner, but with some quiet pleasantry of language, every particular of his escape from Coiffy; and Richelieu listened, evidently amused, but without any comment.
"Then you did not pass through Paris?" said the cardinal. "That is a pity: you would have seen some interesting things there. We are improving the drama greatly; and the Marais has a good troupe, they tell me. I am building a house, too, there, and I should like to have your opinion of it."
Edward smiled. "My opinion would be little worth," he answered. "I have but little experience in those things of which your Eminence has a thorough knowledge."
"And yet," said Richelieu, "I am told that you have great taste and skill in arts which reached their height not long ago, but which we have nearly lost in these days: I mean the designing in precious metals. A very extraordinary man told me you were a thorough connoisseur."
"The little knowledge I possess," answered Edward, "is derived from seeing every day in my early youth some very precious specimens which my father brought over from Italy. They are all gone, alas! but one; and that, I am afraid, will soon be lost also."
"Nay," said Richelieu, rather eagerly; "if you want to part with it I will buy it. I am making a collection of the works of Cellini and the men of his time."
"Could I obtain it," answered Edward, "I would humbly offer it to your Eminence without price, as a token of my gratitude. And, indeed, it is beyond price. But some day soon I fear it will be in less worthy hands, or melted down into gold crowns and the jewels picked out to adorn the brown neck of some Parisian seamstress. It is within the walls of yon devoted town, my lord. I was foolish not to bring it away with me."