The dress of this delectable personage was a medley of the French and Flemish costumes. He wore a grey vest of silk, with sleeves slashed at the elbow, and the shirt, which was not conspicuously clean, buttoned at the wrist with agate studs. His haut de chausse, which was of deep crimson, and bore loops and ribbons of yellow, was fringed round the leg, near the knees, with a series of brazen tags or points but indifferently silvered; and as he walked along with huge steps, these aforesaid tags clattered together with a sort of important sound, which, put in combination with the rest of his appearance, drew many a laugh from the boys of St. Germain’s. Over his grey vest was drawn a straight-cut doublet of yellow silk, without sleeves; and a pair of long boots, of untanned leather, covered all defects which might otherwise have been apparent in his hose. His dress was completed by a tawdry bonnet with a high black plume: and a Toledo blade of immeasurable length, with a worked iron hilt and black scabbard, hung by his side, describing with its point various strange figures on the dust of the road.
“Here comes Villa Grande, the Italian lute-player,” exclaimed Cinq Mars the moment he saw him. “Do you know him, De Blenau?”
“I have heard him play on his instrument and sing at your house,” replied De Blenau; “and from his language that night, may say I know him through and through, for a boasting coxcomb, with as much courage as the sheath of a rapier,—which looks as good as a rapier itself till it is touched, and then it proves all emptiness. Mind you how he boasted of having routed whole squadrons when he served in the Italian horse? and I dare say he would run from a stuffed pikeman in an old hall.”
“Nay, nay; you do him wrong, Claude,” replied Cinq Mars. “He has rather too much tongue, it is true; but that is not always the sign of a bad hound. I must speak to him, however, for he does me service.—Well, Signor Villa Grande,” continued he, addressing the Italian, who now approached, swinging an enormous cane in his hand, and from time to time curling up the ends of his mustaches; “you remember that you are to be ready at a moment’s notice. Be sure, also, that your mind be made up; for I tell you fairly, the service which you undertake is one of danger.”
“Monsieur,” replied the Italian with a strong foreign accent, “I will be ready, when you call upon me, in shorter time than you could draw your sword; and as for my mind being made up, if there were an army drawn out to oppose my progress, I would be bound to carry the despatch to the Duke of Bouillon, or die in the attempt. Fear not my yielding it to any body; piutosto morir vol’io, as the song has it,” and he hummed a few bars of one of his native airs.—“Oh Dio!” continued he, recognising De Blenau, who had turned away on perceiving that Cinq Mars spoke to the Italian on some business of a private nature. “Oh Dio! Monsieur le Comte de Blenau, is it really you returned at last? Benedetto quel giorno felice! Doubtless you are aware of the glorious plans of your friend Monsieur le Grand.”
“Good day, Signor,” answered De Blenau; “I know of no one’s plans but my own, the most glorious of which, within my apprehension at present, is to get to the Palace as soon as possible. Come, Cinq Mars, are you at leisure?” and he took a step or two in advance, while the Master of the Horse gave the Italian a warning to put a bridle on his tongue, and not to let it run so loosely without any regard to necessary caution.
“For Heaven’s sake, take care what you are about, Cinq Mars!” said De Blenau, when he was again joined by his friend. “Of course you are the best judge of your own plans; but unless you have a mind to ruin them all, do not trust them to such a babbling idiot as that; and beware that, in attempting to catch a lion, you do not get torn yourself.”
“Oh, no fear,” replied the Grand Ecuyer; “that fellow knows nothing more than it is absolutely necessary for him to know, and as for the rest, I have plunged into a wide sea, Claude, and must swim to land somehow.”
They had by this time reached the gates of the Palace, and Cinq Mars, knowing that some meetings are better in private, left his friend, and turned his steps towards the apartments of the King.
In the mean while, De Blenau proceeded with a rapid pace towards that part of the Palace which had been assigned to Madame de Beaumont; and his heart beat with that wild uncontrollable emotion, which the meeting with one dearly loved can alone produce. At that very moment similar sensations were throbbing in the bosom of Pauline de Beaumont, who from the window had seen the approach of Cinq Mars and another; and long before her eye could distinguish a feature, her heart had told her who it was. A sort of irresistible impulse led her, at first, to fly towards the door by which she expected him to enter; but before she was half across the room, some other feeling came over her mind. She returned to her seat at the window, and a blush stole over her cheek, though there was no other person present to observe her emotion or pry into its cause.