"Your Eminence will allow me to remind you," said Tronson, advancing and standing by his side, "that this morning you appointed the hour of ten to see that young English gentleman."
"True," said the cardinal. "I have not forgotten." And he pointed with his hand to the larger table, on which lay one of Master Ned's unfortunate leathern bags; adding, "What do you make of the case? Think you he is the person he represents himself, or, as our hard-headed friends before Rochelle will have it, a spy from England?"
"The passport is evidently signed by your Eminence," answered Tronson; "and the young man himself has the manners of a gentleman of distinction. He is highly educated, too,—a profound Greek and Latin scholar: so says Father Morlais, whom I sent to have some conversation with him. He is somewhat bluff and abrupt in his manners, it is true, as most of these islanders are; but still his whole demeanor strikes me as dignified, and even graceful. He can be no common spy, your Eminence: that is clear; and if Buckingham has chosen him for an agent he has chosen strangely well."
"As to his learning," replied Richelieu, "that signifies little. Many a poor scholar is willing to risk his neck in the hope of promotion. We have employed such ourselves, my good friend. Then, as to dignity of manner, it is easily assumed. But his abruptness and brusquerie offer a different indication. It requires long habit to know when to be rude and harsh, when soft and gentle. How old did you say?"
"From eighteen to nineteen at the utmost," said Tronson: "he appears even less."
"Well, but this girl who is with him?" asked the cardinal: "what of her?"
"That seems easily explained, monseigneur," replied the secretary, with a smile: "she is, it would seem, of high family,—related to Monsieur de Soubise on the one side," (the cardinal's brow became ominously dark,) "and to Madame de Chevreuse on the other."
For an instant Richelieu's brow became darker still; and, with uncontrollable vehemence, he exclaimed, "Ah! she has escaped me, as she thinks; but she will find that I forget not my enemies,—nor my friends, Tronson,—nor my friends," he added, with one of those subtle smiles which had at least as much of the serpent in them as the dove.
Tronson turned a little pale, for that peculiar smile was known at the court by this time, and it was not supposed to be favorable to those on whom it was bestowed. But the secretary was too wise to notice it; and he merely asked, "Who has escaped, your Eminence?—this young lady? She was safe in the castle not an hour ago."
"No, no, man; no," answered Richelieu. "I mean Madame de Luynes,—Madame de Chevreuse, Tronson. Have you not heard? She quitted Nantes at daybreak this morning for Le Verger. Strange!" he continued, speaking to himself: "'twas only last night; and yet she must have heard enough to frighten her. Can the king betray himself and me? She must have learned something. What is the girl's name, Monsieur de Tronson?"