“Open in the King’s name!”
Then he bent down, gravely this time, and kissed his wife again, and as she sank weeping into his arms, he said calmly to us:
“Open!”
But Coqueville hesitated, and the Prince had to command him twice before he sullenly drew the bolts, and, opening the door, stepped back to my side; and in a moment there was the jingling of spurs, the clash of scabbards, and the room was thronged with armed men, at the head of whom stood Achon, and by his side was the tall figure of Richelieu.
Condé, his arm still round his wife’s waist, a little group of scared faces behind him, stood in the centre of the room, proud and dignified. I had moved back a pace from Coqueville, somewhat into the shadow. Now that the blow had fallen, I was dazed, bewildered; my mind seemed a blank.
“Monseigneur!” and Achon made a slight gesture of his hand behind him, “you see, resistance is hopeless.”
“None has been made,” answered Condé dryly.
There was a little silence, and then Achon turned to Richelieu:
“Their swords, monsieur.”
Coqueville was the nearest. As Richelieu approached him, he said: