“Good night, Monsieur le Juge,” replied De Blenau; “do me the favour of sitting down—for I suppose I may do the honours of my chamber, though it be but a prison. I am glad to see you, Sir; for I trust you can inform me why I am here confined.”
“Monsieur de Blenau,” said the Judge, seating himself, “we will be frank with one another. You are very well aware how deeply you are implicated in this conspiracy; and I will tell you that we have ample proofs of every thing. But at the same time I know of a way by which you can save yourself; a way which one or two highly honourable men have embraced, having been misled at first by designing persons, but having returned to a sense of duty and honour, and confessed all they knew, together with the names of those they supposed to be amongst the guilty.”
“I have no doubt, Sir,” replied the Count, “that all and every thing you say is correct and right. But there is one point, on which I am in the dark. I am not aware of what conspiracy you mean.—I have, it is true, conspired——” Lafemas turned an attentive ear, and De Blenau perceived that the Greffier who had followed the Judge was making a note of all that passed. “Stop, gentlemen,” said he, nodding to the officer; “take the whole of my sentence, I beg. You shall have it in plain language—I have, it is true, conspired on more than one occasion, with sundry of his Majesty’s lieges, to kill a fat buck or a lusty boar, in various of the royal forests in this kingdom. But this is the only conspiracy of which I have been guilty; and for that I can plead his Majesty’s free permission and pardon.”
“All this is very good, Monsieur le Comte,” said Lafemas, his brows darkening; “but I must tell you that it will not serve the purpose you propose. I came here to you as a friend—”
“And as a friend,” interrupted De Blenau, “you brought with you that gentleman in black to take down my words, in case I should be at a loss to remember what I had said.”
“I must once more tell you, Sir,” said the Judge, “that this will not answer your purpose, for a full confession has been made by Monsieur de Cinq Mars since his condemnation.”
“Since his condemnation!” exclaimed De Blenau. “Good God! is it possible that he is condemned?”
Lafemas was little capable of understanding any of those finer feelings which brighten the dull void of human existence. He read from the black page of his own mind, and fancied that every other was written in the same dark character. All that he saw in the exclamation of De Blenau was fear for himself, not feeling for his friend; and he replied, “Yes, Monsieur le Comte, he is condemned to lose his head for the crimes of which he has been guilty: the question also formed part of his sentence, but this he has avoided by making a full confession, in which, as you may easily suppose, your name is very fully comprised.”
“You may as well cease, Sir,” replied the Count. “It may indeed be true that my unhappy friend is guilty and has confessed his guilt; but no language you can use will ever persuade me that, knowing my innocence, as he well does, he would say any thing that could implicate me.—I will farther answer every thing that can possibly be asked of me in a very few words. As to myself, I have nothing to confess, for I am perfectly guiltless towards the State: and as to others, I can give no information, for I am wholly ignorant of any plot, conspiracy, or treason whatsoever.”
“I am sorry for your obstinacy, Monsieur de Blenau,” said Lafemas rising; “for the Cardinal has resolved that you shall confess, and we have the means of making the most stubborn answer. I am, in fact, commanded this very night to use measures which might not be very agreeable to you. But I give you till to-morrow to consider, and so bid you farewell.”