It was in the old Chateau of St. Loup, near the village of Mesnil, on a sultry evening about the end of September, that a party was assembled, who, in point of rank and greatness of design, had seldom been equalled within those walls, even when they were the habitation of the great and beautiful of other days. But years and centuries had passed since they had been so tenanted. The court-yard was full of weeds, and grass, and tangled shrubs: the ivy creeping over the ruined walls obtruded its long branches through the unglazed windows, and the breaches which the siege of time had effected in the solid masonry, gave entrance to the wind of night and the wintry tempest.
The chamber that had been chosen for a place of meeting on the present occasion was one which, more than any other, had escaped the hand of desolation. The casements, it is true, had long ceased to boast of glass, and part of the wall itself had given way, encumbering with its broken fragments the farther end of the great saloon, as it had once been called. The rest, however, of the chamber was in very tolerable repair, and contained also several pieces of furniture, consisting of more than one rude seat, and a large uncouth table, which evidently had never belonged to the castle in its days of splendour.
At the head of this table sat Gaston Duke of Orleans, the younger brother of the King, leaning his head upon his hand in an attitude of listless indifference, and amusing himself by brushing the dust which had gathered on the board before him, into a thousand fanciful shapes with the feather of a pen—now forming fortifications with lines and parallels, and half moons and curtains—and then sweeping them all heedlessly away—offering no bad image of the many vast and intricate plans he had engaged in, all of which he had overthrown alike by his caprice and indecision.
Near him sat his two great favourites and advisers, Montressor and St. Ibal: the first of whom was really the inconsiderate fool he seemed; the second, though not without his share of folly, concealed deeper plans under his assumed carelessness. These two men, whose pride was in daring every thing, affected to consider nothing in the world worth trouble or attention, professing at the same time perfect indifference to danger and uncomfort, and contending that vice and virtue were merely names, which signified any thing, according to their application. Such was the creed of their would-be philosophy; and Montressor lost no opportunity of evincing that heedlessness of every thing serious which formed the principal point of his doctrine. In the present instance he had produced a couple of dice from his pocket, and was busily engaged in throwing with St. Ibal for some pieces of gold which lay between them.
Two more completed the party assembled in the old Chateau of St. Loup. The first of these was Cinq Mars: his quick and ardent spirit did not suffer him to join in the frivolous pastimes of the others, but on the contrary, he kept walking up and down the apartment, as if impatient for the arrival of some one expected by all; and every now and then, as he turned at the extremity of the chamber, he cast a glance upon the weak Duke and his vicious companions, almost amounting to scorn.
Beside the Master of the Horse, and keeping an equal pace, was the celebrated President De Thou, famed for unswerving integrity and the mild dignity of virtuous courage. His personal appearance, however, corresponded ill with the excellence of his mind; and his plain features, ill-formed figure, and inelegant movements, contrasted strongly with the handsome countenance and princely gait of Cinq Mars, as well as the calm pensive expression of his downcast eye, with the wild and rapid glance of his companion’s.
As the time wore away, the impatience of Cinq Mars visibly increased; and every two or three minutes he would stop, and look out from one of the open casements, and then approaching the table would take one of the torches, of which there were several lighted in the room, and strike it against the wall to increase the flame. “It is very extraordinary,” cried he at length, “that Fontrailles has not yet arrived.”
“Oh! no, Cinq Mars,” replied De Thou, “we are a full hour before the time. You were so impatient, my good friend, that you made us all set off long before it was necessary.”
“Why, it is quite dark,” said the Master of the Horse, “and Fontrailles promised to be here at nine.—It is surely nine, is it not, Montressor?”
“Size ace,” said the Gambler, “quatre à quatre, St. Ibal. I shall win yet!”