And what became of Edward Langdale all this time? He remained in the royal camp, not as a prisoner, not exactly free. It was impossible for him to travel through France and to pass into England without safe-conduct of some kind; and Edward soon divined that—whether from suspicion, or from some other motive, he knew not—Richelieu had determined not to let him depart till Rochelle had surrendered. The minister became more difficult of access, also, after the king had returned to the camp, and the long and more familiar conversations which Edward had enjoyed with him previously were altogether at an end. He was courteous and kind when the young man was admitted to his presence; but, when Edward pressed for permission to depart, the answer always was, "In a few days." On one occasion, indeed, the natural impatience of Edward Langdale's disposition caused him to burst forth with something beyond frankness, and he said, bluntly, "Your Eminence has promised to let me go for the last six weeks. Now, six weeks are nothing to you, but they are all-important to me; for I have only one crown and two livres in my pocket, with two servants and myself to furnish, to say nothing of the horses, who are as badly off as if they were citizens of Rochelle; and, besides——"
"That will be soon amended," said Richelieu, with a slight smile. "Give me some more paper off that table." And he wrote an order upon the treasurer of his household for the payment to Monsieur Edward Langdale of the usual salary of a gentleman-in-ordinary to the king.
"My lord cardinal, how am I to take this money?" asked Edward. "England and France are still at war."
"Then take it as a prisoner," said Richelieu, somewhat sternly. "Do not talk nonsense, lad. But you said 'besides.' What is there besides?"
"If you had read the letter I showed your Eminence," replied Edward, "you would have seen that my presence is absolutely required in England upon business of much importance to myself."
"What letter? When? Oh, I remember,—when you brought me the cup. I cannot help thinking, notwithstanding, you are as well here for the time. But, speaking of the cup, I pray you put a price upon it."
"I cannot sell a gift that was given me by my father on my birthday. The very act of giving places an obligation on the receiver not to sell, but none not to give; and I trust your Eminence will condescend to receive it on the only terms on which I can part with it."
"Well," said Richelieu, "I will take it on those terms, and will direct my good friend Monsieur Mulot to give you back the papers that enveloped it. They seem to belong to you; for I see the name of Langdale frequently mentioned. Guard them safely till some more learned head than your own has examined them, for few men know the value of scraps of old paper. Sometimes they will raise a man to wealth and power, sometimes throw him headlong down. God knows whether that same art of writing has done more good or harm in the world. Cadmus, who invented letters, they say, was the same man who sowed the serpents' teeth and reaped an iron harvest. Is not this an allegory, Master Langdale? Go and consider of it; for I am busy just now."
Not long after this conversation, the good but stupid Father Mulot brought to the young gentleman the bundle of papers in which the cup had been enveloped, and entered into a long disquisition upon the various differences between the Catholic and Protestant faiths. He was evidently bent upon converting his hearer from his religious errors; but Edward was obdurate to the kind of eloquence which he displayed, and the good man left him rather in pity than in anger. To examine the papers was Edward's next task; but he could make nothing of them. Some pages were wanting; others were mutilated; and, though he saw his father's and his mother's name in many places, yet but little light could be obtained as to the import of the documents in which they were mentioned. Only one gleam of significance appeared throughout the whole. There was one passage which stated that "Richard Langdale, baronet, with the full and free consent of his wife, Dame Heleonora Langdale, in virtue of the last will and testament of Henry Barmont, her uncle, lord of the manor of Buckley as aforesaid, which consent was testified by her hand and seal unto the within-written lease and demise, did lease, give, and grant unto William Watson, his heirs and assigns, for the term of twenty-one years from the fifth day of——"
There the manuscript stopped, the page which followed being torn off; but at the same time, though he had no knowledge of law, Edward could perceive that an admission of the absolute rights of his mother over the manor of Buckley, under the will of her uncle, was implied. He resolved, then, to follow the advice of the cardinal and preserve the papers with care. But still his detention in France was exceedingly annoying. The letter of Dr. Winthorne had pressed him earnestly to return to England; and other thoughts and feelings were busy in his bosom urging him in the same direction. He felt himself something more than bound—shackled—by his engagement with Lord Montagu. Without any definite cause of complaint, the links which attached him to that nobleman had been broken. He felt that he had been doubted without cause, that he had been neglected and forgotten in a moment of difficulty and peril, and that the confidence which had at one time existed between his lord and himself could never be fully restored. Such were the reasons which he urged upon himself to explain the desire he felt for severing the connection. But perhaps there was another motive which he did not choose to scrutinize so accurately. Fifteen months had passed since he had promised the Cardinal de Richelieu not to seek his young bride for the space of two years, and Richelieu had promised him that at the end of those two years she should be his. He had no absolute certainty of where she was; he knew not what might have become of her; he could only frame vague, wild plans for finding and recovering her; and nine months, without a long journey to England, seemed to his impatient heart not more than time sufficient to vanquish all the obstacles which might lie between him and her.