In the idleness of the camp, without post, duty, or occupation, his mind naturally rested for hours each day upon youth's favorite theme. The imaginative—perhaps I may say the poetical—temperament which he had inherited from his mother, and which had hitherto in life found few opportunities of development and little or no encouragement amidst the hard realities with which he had had to deal, had now full sway, and sometimes soothed, sometimes tormented him with alternate hopes and fears.
Lucette was often the theme of his conversation with good Clement Tournon, who was daily regaining health and strength. The old syndic asked many questions as to Lucette's journey, and told Edward many of the rumors which had reached Rochelle; but it was evident that he knew nothing of that part of Lucette's history which was the most interesting to his young hearer. Feelings which it is needless to dwell upon prevented Edward from referring to it himself; and day after day he would ride forth into the country alone, or walk up and down in the neighborhood of the cardinal's residence, buried in solitary thought.
To the country-house now inhabited by Richelieu was attached a garden in an antique taste, where roses had now ceased to bloom and the flowers of summer had all passed away. But it was a quiet and solitary place, for the taste of neither soldiers nor courtiers led them that way, and, though the gates were always open, it was rarely that any one trod the walks, except one of the cooks with white night-cap on head seeking pot-herbs in a bed which lay at the lower part of the ground. Edward Langdale was more frequently there than anywhere else; and one day, toward evening, as he was walking up and down in one of the cross-walks, he saw the cardinal come forth from the building alone and take his way straight down the centre alley, looking first down upon the ground and then up toward the sky, as a man wearied with the thoughts and cares and business of the day. It seemed no moment to approach him; and Edward somewhat hurried his pace toward a small gate at the end of the garden. He had nearly reached it when the cardinal's voice stopped him.
"Come hither," said Richelieu, "and, if you are inclined to talk of no business, walk here by me. It is strange that amongst all who are here there is hardly one man with whom one's mind can refresh itself. My friend Bois Robert is too full of jest. It becomes tiresome. Good Father Mulot (whom they should have called Mulet) is full of one idea,—the conversion of heretics, by fire and sword, pestilence and famine, or what else you like,—though I cannot see why to prevent them from being damned in the other world I should be damned in this. I know the verses of Horace are against me, and that every man unreasonably complains of his fate; but I cannot help thinking that of all the conditions in the world the fate of a prime minister is the most anxious, laborious, and tiresome."
"I should think so indeed, your Eminence," said Edward, with a sigh.
"Ha!" said Richelieu: "then you are so little ambitious as to deem it has no advantages?"
"Not so, my lord," replied Edward. "It has vast and magnificent advantages,—the power to do good, to stop evil, to reward the worthy, ay, and even to punish the bad,—to save and elevate one's country. But great and valuable things must always be purchased at a high price; and I can easily conceive that the sense of responsibility, the opposition of petty factions and base intrigues, the stupidity of some men, the cunning devices of others, the importunity and the ingratitude of all, the want of domestic peace, the continual sacrifice of personal comfort, must make the high position your Eminence speaks of any thing but a bed of roses."
"You shall have your safe-conduct to-morrow morning," said Richelieu. "Such sentiments are sufficient to corrupt the whole court of France. Sir, if they were to become general, and men would but act upon them, I should have nothing to do. There would be nobody to envy me. Nobody would try to overthrow me. They would only look upon me as the wheel-horse of the car of state, and wonder that I could pull along so patiently. The ingratitude of all!" he repeated, in a meditative tone. "Ay, it is but too true! Those are the petrifying waters which harden the heart and seem to turn the very spirit into stone. Do you know what has been done within this hour, Monsieur Langdale?"
"No," replied the young Englishman: "I have heard of nothing important, sir."
"Why, I thought it must be at the gates of Paris by this time," said Richelieu. "A treaty has been signed with Rochelle; and a good man—a marvellous good man in his way—says I am no true Catholic, because I will not starve some thousands of men to death or make them take the mass with a lie upon their mouths. I do not understand his reasoning, but that is my fault, of course; but through this very treaty of Rochelle I think I shall make more real Catholics than he would make false ones. But now, Monsieur Langdale, you think I have kept you here unreasonably; but you are mistaken. I wished to have news from various quarters ere I suffered you to go back to England. I need not tell you to return by the month of July next; but, for many reasons, I desire you should return before. I leave it to yourself to do so or not; but you will find it for your benefit. To-morrow you shall have all necessary passes,—though it is probable that the fall of this very city of Rochelle will lead to peace between France and England. If it do so, remember a conversation which took place between us a good many months ago."