“Far be it from me to advise your Majesty so to do,” replied Cinq Mars, who clearly perceived that the King’s answer proceeded only from casual irritation. “It was the sight of the old towers of the Chateau, that called the Cardinal to my mind. In truth, I had almost forgotten him.”
“Forgotten him, Cinq Mars!” cried the King. “I think he has done enough to make himself remembered.”
“He has indeed, Sire,” replied Cinq Mars, “and his memory will long last coupled with curses in the heart of every true Frenchman. But there he lies; I trust, like the Tarasque, hideous but harmless, for the present.”
“What do you mean by the Tarasque?” demanded Louis; “I never heard of it.”
“It is merely a whimsical stone dragon, Sire,” replied Cinq Mars, “that lies carved in the Church of St. Marthe, at Tarascon on the Rhone—a thing of no more real use than the Cardinal de Richelieu.”
“Of no use, Sir!” exclaimed the King, his eye flashing fire. “Do you think that we would repose such trust, and confide our kingdom’s weal to one who is of no use? Silence, Sir!” he continued, seeing Cinq Mars about to reply: “No more of this subject—we have heard too much of it.”
Cinq Mars was too wise to add another word, and the King rode on to Narbonne, maintaining a sullen silence towards all around him.
Of the conversation which had passed not one word had escaped the ears of Fontrailles; and the moment the cortège had dismounted, he followed the Master of the Horse towards a distant part of the grounds which lay behind the Chateau. Cinq Mars walked on as if he did not see him, and at last finding that he persisted in following, he stopped abruptly, exclaiming, “Well, Fontrailles! well! what now? What would you say? I can guess it all, so spare yourself the trouble.”
“You mistake me, Cinq Mars,” replied Fontrailles, “if you think I would blame you. You did your best, though the time was not the best chosen; but all I wish to press upon you is, not to let this dispirit you. Let the subject die away for the present and seem forgotten, till the King is in a better mood. Every hour of his neglect is death to Richelieu; and besides, the King’s consent is not absolutely necessary to us.”
“To me, absolutely necessary,” replied Cinq Mars, “for I stir not one step without it.”