De Blenau followed Chavigni through the grand saloon, where many an eye was turned upon the elegant and manly figure of him, who on that night of splendour and finery, presumed to show himself in a suit, rich indeed and well-fashioned, but evidently intended more for the sports of the morning than for the gay evening circle in which he then stood. Yet it was remarked, that none of the ladies drew back as the Cavalier passed them, notwithstanding his riding-dress and his dusty boots; and one fair demoiselle, whose rank would have sanctioned it, had it been done on purpose, was unfortunate enough to entangle her train on his spurs. The Count de Coligni stepped forward to disengage it, but De Blenau himself had already bent one knee to the ground, and easily freeing the spur from the robe of Mademoiselle de Bourbon, he remained for a moment in the same attitude. “It is but just,” said he, “that I should kneel, at once to repair my awkwardness, and sue for pardon.”
“It was my sister’s own fault, De Blenau,” said the Duke d’Enghien, approaching them, and embracing the young Count. “We have not met, dear friend, since the rendering of Perpignan. But what makes you here? Does your proud spirit bend at last to ask a grace of my Lord Uncle Cardinal?”
“No, your Highness,” replied De Blenau; “no farther grace have I to ask, than leave to return to St. Germain’s as soon as I may.”
“What!” said the Duke, in the abrupt heedless manner in which he always spoke, “does he threaten you too with that cursed bugbear of a Bastille? a bugbear, that makes one man fly his country, and another betray it; that makes one man run his sword into his heart, and another marry;”—alluding without ceremony to his own compelled espousal of the Cardinal’s niece. “But there stands Chavigni,” he continued, “waiting for you, I suppose. Go on, go on; there is no stopping when once you have got within the Cardinal’s magic circle—Go on, and God speed your suit; for the sooner you are out of that same circle the better.”
Quitting the young hero, who had already, on more than one occasion, displayed that valour and conduct which in after-years procured for him the immortal name of the Great Condé, the Count de Blenau passed another group, consisting of the beautiful Madame de Montbazon and her avowed lover, the Duke of Longueville, who soon after, notwithstanding his unconcealed passion for another, became the husband of Mademoiselle de Bourbon. For be it remarked, in those days a bitter quarrel existed between Love and Marriage, and they were seldom seen together in the same society. It is said indeed, that in France, a coolness remains between them to this day. Here also was the Duke of Guise, who afterwards played so conspicuous a part in the revolution of Naples, and by his singular adventures, his gallantry and chivalrous courage, acquired the name of l’Hero de la Fable, as Condé had been called l’Hero de l’Histoire. Still passing on, De Blenau rejoined Chavigni, who waited for him at the entrance of the next chamber.
It was the great hall of audience, and at the farther extremity stood the Cardinal de Richelieu himself, leaning for support against a gilt railing, which defended from any injurious touch the beautiful picture of Raphael, so well known by the title of “La Belle Jardiniere.” He was dressed in the long purple robes of his order, and wore the peculiar hat of a Cardinal; the bright colour of which made the deadly hue of his complexion look still more ghastly. But the paleness of his countenance, and a certain attenuation of feature, was all that could be discerned of the illness from which he suffered. The powerful mind within seemed to conquer the feebleness of the body. His form was erect and dignified, his eye beaming with that piercing sagacity and haughty confidence in his own powers, which so distinguished his policy; and his voice clear, deep, and firm, but of that peculiar quality of sound, that it seemed to spread all round, and to come no one knew from whence, like the wind echoing through an empty cavern.
It was long since De Blenau had seen the Cardinal; and on entering the audience-chamber, the sound of that voice made him start. Its clear hollow tone seemed close to him, though Richelieu was conversing with some of his immediate friends at the farther end of the room.
As the two cavaliers advanced, De Blenau had an opportunity of observing the manner in which the Minister treated those around him: but far from telling aught of dungeons and of death, his conversation seemed cheerful, and his demeanour mild and placid. “And can this be the man,” thought the Count, “the fabric of whose power is cemented by blood and torture?”
They had now approached within a few paces of the spot where the Cardinal stood; and the figure of Chavigni catching his eye, he advanced a step, and received him with unaffected kindness. Towards De Blenau, his manner was full of elegant politeness. He did not embrace him as he had done Chavigni; but he held him by the hand for a moment, gazing on him with a dignified approving smile. Those who did not well know the heart of the subtle Minister, would have called that smile benevolent, especially when it was accompanied by many kind inquiries respecting the young nobleman’s views and pursuits. De Blenau had been taught to judge by actions, not professions; and the Cardinal had taken care to imprint his deeds too deeply in the minds of men to be wiped out with soft words. To dissemble was not De Blenau’s forte; and yet he knew, that to show a deceiver he cannot deceive, is to make him an open enemy for ever. He replied, therefore, calmly and politely; neither repulsed the Cardinal’s advances, nor courted his regard; and after a few more moments of desultory conversation, prepared to pursue his way through the various apartments.
“There are some men, Monsieur le Comte,” said the Cardinal, seeing him about to pass on, “whom I might have scrupled to invite to such a scene as this, in their riding-dress. But the Count de Blenau is not to be mistaken.”