Louis XIII. had now been on the throne of France about sixteen years, and Richelieu had not been actually of the king's council more than three; but both had been long enough before the world's eyes for men to have learned that a king could betray his best friends from fear or weakness, and that a minister could be most gentle in manners when he was the most savage at heart. Richelieu was fond of cats, and perhaps learned some lessons from his favorites. However, in the present instance Tronson guessed rightly: the king had betrayed him to his powerful minister. The night before, nearly at midnight, the cardinal had carried to the king the confession of the unhappy Count de Chalais, drawn from him in his dungeon by the minister himself,—perhaps—nay, probably—by the most unworthy artifices. In recompense for an act which put an end to one of the monarch's painful fits of hesitation, Louis revealed to Richelieu the names of those who, in the confidence of loyal friendship, had opposed some of the minister's favorite schemes; and Tronson was one. Thus, he had guessed right. Whether Richelieu had guessed right likewise no one can tell. That Louis had communicated the confession of Chalais to some of his inferior confidants, who had warned Madame de Chevreuse to fly, is very probable; but most improbable that he had warned her himself. She was the friend, companion, counsellor of his unhappy queen, and was hated by himself as well as by his minister. The king's hatred, however, was merely the reflex of his hatred for another. The enmity of Richelieu was more personal and of long standing. When Marie de Rohan had married the Constable Duke of Luynes, the now potent cardinal had been but a petty agent of the queen-mother; and he had been treated by the proud woman with some contempt. Again, in appearance the king, the constable, and all the ministers had solicited for Richelieu the cardinal's hat from Rome, but he had discovered that Luynes secretly opposed what he publicly asked; and he attributed this treachery to the suggestions of the duchess.
When, after the death of her first husband, Marie de Rohan married the princely Duc de Chevreuse, and Richelieu rose rapidly to the height of power, the enmity between them was no longer concealed, except by the courtly varnish of external politeness,—and, indeed, not always by that.
Thus, when sitting there in his apartments in the Chateau of Nantes, there was perhaps no one in France whom Richelieu desired to mortify and humiliate personally more than Marie de Rohan, Duchess of Chevreuse:—no, not even her distant relatives the Prince de Soubise and his brother the Duc de Rohan, though both had opposed the royal forces in the field, and the reduction of both to submission was essential to his policy. For them he had some respect, and no individual enmity; but toward her there was a rancor which prompted to any act that would sting rather than destroy. At that time even Richelieu had cause to follow the course which had been pursued by Luynes, and to avoid carrying resentments too far. He was not yet so firmly seated in power that, if he made great enemies, he might not be thrown aside by a fickle king. Otherwise it might seem strange that he dared not follow the same bold course against Madame de Chevreuse which he soon pursued against the unfortunate Chalais, and later against Montmorency and Cinq Mars. But, as I have said, his fingers were not so tightly fixed round the staff of command that he could venture to assail in front the mighty houses of Montbazon and Lorraine, while Vendôme and Condé were already his enemies. It was perhaps meditation upon subjects such as these that occupied the minister's deepest thoughts while he opened with a sharp penknife the leathern bag which De Tronson had brought him, took out several letters, cut the silk, and read the contents; for he did all with an absent air. But Richelieu's mind was one of those which can carry on two processes at once,—one deep, intense, and mighty, the consideration of vital questions, the other the mere observation and recognition of objects—for the time, at least—less important. He seemed to pay little attention to those letters; yet not one word escaped him, and when he had done he replaced them in the bag and cast it behind his chair, but within reach of his hand. He then took up, from the little table close by, the paper on which he had previously been writing, and was reading over the verses, when the door opened, and an exempt of the court appeared, looking at the minister with a sort of inquiring air. Richelieu bowed his head, and the man, stepping back, but holding open the door, introduced Edward Langdale and retired into the ante-chamber.
CHAPTER XVIII.
Edward Langdale entered the presence of the cardinal firm and upright; and, to say the truth, now tricked out with all the taste and ornament which the skill of a French tailor of the reign of Louis XIII., and the short time allowed for the operation, permitted, he was as handsome-looking a youth as you could easily see in this world of ugly hearts and indifferent faces. His air was perfectly calm and well assured, but not presumptuous; and the easy grace with which he carried his hat with its long plume in one hand, and the velvet case with the passport in the other, was not unnoticed by the cardinal, who was accustomed to observe slight indications and to draw his inferences from them,—not exactly taking for granted that they meant what they seemed to mean; for there was many a man in France and at the court who affected well more gayety than the lark when his heart was full of anxiety and sorrow, many a one who assumed a grave solemnity who within was as light a bubble as ever floated down the stream of time. But often he drew inferences the most opposite from the outside indications, and saw evidence of the pinchbeck in the fresh glitter of the gilding.
Richelieu did not make any motion to rise, but, pointing to a seat near him, he bent his head calmly, and said, "Be seated, sir. I am glad to see you in Nantes. How long is it since you arrived?"
"Yesterday evening, my lord," replied Edward, "I reached the city, having been delayed by several causes during many days. Indeed, it is probable I should not have visited this city at all had not some of the royal officers refused to recognise my safe-conduct."
"Perhaps they did not recognise your person," said the cardinal, softly, continuing to gaze at the young Englishman with a keen and scrutinizing look. "But I think, Monsieur Apsley, I must have seen your face somewhere before."
"That cannot be, may it please your Eminence," replied Edward, frankly. "I never had the honor of beholding you till now."