“Your pardon, gentlemen,” interposed De Thou, “I must be heard now—Your schemes extend much farther than I had any idea of—Cinq Mars, I was not informed of all this—had I been so, I would never have come here. To serve my country, to rid her of a Minister who, as I conceive, has nearly destroyed her, who has trampled France under his feet, and enthralled her in a blood-stained chain, I would to-morrow lay my head upon the block—Frown not, Monsieur de Fontrailles—Cinq Mars, my noble friend, do not look offended—but I cannot, I will not be a party to the crime into which mistaken zeal is hurrying you. Are we not subjects of France? and is not France at war with Spain? and though we may all wish and pray God that this war may cease, yet to treat or conspire with that hostile kingdom is an act which makes us traitors to our country and rebels to our King. Old De Thou has but two things to lose—his life and his honour. His life is valueless. He would sacrifice it at once for the least benefit to his country. He would sacrifice it, Cinq Mars, for his friendship for you. But his honour must not be sullied: and as through life he has kept it unstained, so shall it go with him unstained to his last hour. Were it merely personal danger you called upon me to undergo, I would not bestow a thought upon the risk: but my fame, my allegiance, my very salvation are concerned, and I will never give my sanction to a plan which begins by the treasonable proposal of bringing foreign enemies into the heart of the land.”
“As to your salvation, Monsieur le President,” said Montressor, “I’ll undertake to buy that for you for a hundred crowns. You shall have an indulgence to commit sins ad libitum, in which high treason shall be specified by name. Now, though these red-hot heretics of Germany, who seem inclined to bring that fiery place upon earth, which his Holiness threatens them with in another world, and who are assisted by our Catholic Cardinal with money, troops, ammunition, and all the hell-invented implements of war,—though these Protestants, I say, put no trust in the indulgences which their apostacy has rendered cheap in the market, yet I am sure you are by far too staunch a stickler for all antique abuses to doubt their efficacy. I suppose, therefore, when salvation can be had for a hundred crowns, good Monsieur de Thou, you can have no scruple on that score—unless indeed you are as stingy as the dog in the fable.”
“Jests are no arguments, Monsieur de Montressor,” replied De Thou, with stern gravity; “you have a bad habit, young Sir, of scoffing at what wiser men revere. Had you any religion yourself of any kind, or any reason for having none, we might pardon your error, because it was founded on principle. As for myself, Sir, what I believe, I believe from conviction, and what I do, I do with the firm persuasion that it is right; without endeavouring to cloak a bad cause with a show of spirit, or to hide my incapacity to defend it with stale jokes and profane raillery. Gentlemen, you act as you please; for my part I enter into no plan by which Spain is to be employed or treated with.”
“I think it dangerous too,” said the unsteady Duke of Orleans.
“Ten times more dangerous to attempt any thing without it,” exclaimed Fontrailles.—“Should we not be fools to engage in such an enterprise without some foreign power to support us? We might as well go to the Palais Cardinal, and offer our throats to Richelieu at once.”
Montressor and St. Ibal both applied themselves to quiet the fears of the Duke, and soon succeeded in removing from his mind any apprehensions on the score of Spain: but he continued from time to time to look suspiciously at De Thou, who had risen from the table, and was again walking up and down the apartment. At length Gaston beckoned to Cinq Mars, and whispered something in his ear.
“You do him wrong, my Lord,” exclaimed Cinq Mars indignantly, “I will answer for his faith. De Thou,” he continued, “the Duke asks your promise not to reveal what you have heard this night; and though I think my friend ought not to be suspected, I will be obliged by your giving it.”
“Most assuredly,” replied De Thou; “his Highness need be under no alarm. On my honour, in life or in death, I will never betray what I have heard here. But that I may hear as little as possible, I will take one of these torches, and wait for you in the lower apartments.”
“Take care that you do not meet with Père Le Rouge, Monsieur de Thou,” exclaimed St. Ibal as De Thou left them.
“Cease your jesting, gentlemen,” said Cinq Mars; “we have had too much of it already. A man with the good conscience of my friend De Thou, need not mind whom he meets. For my own part, I am resolved to go on with the business I have undertaken; I believe I am in the right; and if not, God forgive me, for my intentions are good.”