“Hush!” exclaimed Fontrailles, laying his finger on his lip as they turned into another alley, “we are no longer alone. Govern yourself, Cinq Mars, and I will prove every tittle of what I have advanced ere we be two hours older.”
This was uttered in a low tone of voice; for there was indeed another group in the same avenue with themselves. The party, which was rapidly approaching, consisted of three persons, of whom one was a step in advance, and, though in no degree superior to the others in point of dress, was distinguished from them by that indescribable something which constitutes the idea of dignity. He was habited in a plain suit of black silk with buttons of jet, and every part of his dress, even to the sheath and hilt of his couteau de chasse, corresponding. On his right hand he wore a thick glove, of the particular kind generally used by the sportsmen of the period, but more particularly by those who employed themselves in the then fashionable sport of bird-catching; and the nets and snares of various kinds carried by the other two, seemed to evince that such had been the morning’s amusement of the whole party.
The King, for such was the person who approached, was rather above the middle height, and of a spare habit. His complexion was very pale; and his hair, which had one time been of the richest brown, was now mingled throughout with grey. But still there was much to interest, both in his figure and countenance. There was a certain air of easy self-possession in all his movements; and even when occupied with the most trivial employment, which was often the case, there was still a degree of dignity in his manner, that seemed to show his innate feeling of their emptiness, and his own consciousness of how inferior they were, both to his situation and his talents. His features at all times appeared handsome, but more especially when any sudden excitement called up the latent animation of his dark-brown eye, recalling to the minds of those who remembered the days gone before, that young and fiery Prince who could not brook the usurped sway even of his own highly talented mother, but who had now become the slave of her slave. The consciousness of his fallen situation, and of his inability to call up sufficient energy of mind to disengage himself, generally cast upon him an appearance of profound sadness: occasionally, however, flashes of angry irritability would break across the cloud of melancholy which hung over him, and show the full expression of his countenance, which at other times displayed nothing but the traces of deep and bitter thought, or a momentary sparkle of weak, unthinking merriment. So frequent, however, were the changes to be observed in the depressed Monarch, that some persons even doubted whether they were not assumed to cover deeper intentions. It might be so, or it might not; but at all events, between the intervals of these natural or acquired appearances, would often shine out strong gleams of his mother’s unyielding spirit, or his father’s generous heart.
The rapid pace with which he always proceeded, soon brought the King close to Cinq Mars and Fontrailles. “Good-morrow, Monsieur de Fontrailles,” said he, as the Count bowed low at his approach. “Do not remain uncovered. ’Tis a fine day for forest sports, but not for bare heads; though I have heard say, that if you were in the thickest mist of all Holland, you would see your way through it.—What! mon Grand Ecuyer,” he continued, turning to Cinq Mars; “as sad as if thou hadst been plotting, and wert dreaming even now of the block and axe?” And with a kind and familiar air, he laid his hand upon his favourite’s arm: who on his part started, as if the Monarch had read his thoughts and foretold his doom.
A single word has sometimes lost or won an empire. Even less than a single word, if we may believe the history of Darius’s horse, who, being a less loquacious animal than Balaam’s ass, served his master without speaking. However, Fontrailles fixed his eye on Cinq Mars, and seeing plainly the effect of Louis’s speech, he hastened to wipe it away. “To calculate petty dangers in a great undertaking,” said he, “were as weak as to think over all the falls one may meet with in the chase, before we get on horseback.”
Both Cinq Mars and the King were passionately fond of the noble forest sport, so that the simile of Fontrailles went directly home, more especially to the King, who, following the idea thus called up, made a personal application of it to him who introduced it. “Jesu, that were folly indeed!” he exclaimed, in answer to the Count’s observation. “But you are not fond of the chase either, Monsieur de Fontrailles, if I think right; I never saw you follow boar or stag, that I can call to mind.”
“More my misfortune than my fault, Sire,” replied Fontrailles. “Had I ever been favoured with an invitation to follow the royal hounds, your Majesty would have found me as keen of the sport as even St. Hubert is said to have been of yore.”
“Blessed be his memory!” cried the King. “But we will hunt to-day; we will see you ride, Monsieur de Fontrailles. What say you, Cinq Mars? The parties who went out to turn a stag last night (I remember now) presented this morning, that in the bosquet at the end of the forest, near Argenin, is quartered a fat stag of ten, and another by Boisjardin; but that by Argenin will be the best, for he has but one refuite by the long alley.—Come, gentlemen, seek your boots,—seek your boots; and as our Grand Veneur is not at Chantilly, you, Cinq Mars, shall superintend the chase. Order the Maitre valet de chiens to assemble the old pack and the relais at the Carrefour d’Argenin, and then we will quickly to horse.” So saying, he turned away to prepare for his favourite sport; but scarcely had gone many paces ere he slackened his pace, and allowed the two gentlemen to rejoin him. “What think you, friend?” said he, addressing Cinq Mars; “they tell me, the Cardinal is sick. Have you heard of it?”
“I have heard a vague report of the kind,” replied Cinq Mars, watching his master’s countenance, “but as yet nothing certain. May I crave what information your Majesty possesses?”
“Why, he is sick, very sick,” replied Louis, “and perchance may die. May his soul find mercy! Perchance he may die, and then—” And the King fell into deep thought.