loy
him. We must neglect no chance."

"Listen to me," said Jacques de Laubardemont, "and answer at once. I am
not a phrase-maker, like my father. I bear in mind that you have done me
some good offices; and lately again, you have been useful to me, as you
always are, without knowing it, for I have somewhat repaired my fortune
in your little insurrections. If you will, I can render you an important
service; I command a few brave men."

"What service?" asked Cinq-Mars. "We will see."

"I commence by a piece of information. This morning while you descended
the King's staircase on one side, Father Joseph ascended the other."

"Ha! this, then, is the secret of his sudden and inexplicable change!
Can it be? A king of France! and to allow us to confide all our secrets
to him."

"Well! is that all? Do you say nothing? You know I have an old account
to settle with the Capuchin."

"What's that to me?" and he hung down his head, absorbed in a profound
revery.

"It matters a great deal to you, since you have only to speak the word,
and I will rid you of him before thirty-six hours from this time, though
he is now very near Paris. We might even add the Cardinal, if you wish."

"Leave me; I will use no poniards," said Cinq-Mars.

"Ah! I understand you," replied Jacques. "You are right; you would
prefer our despatching him with the sword. This is just. He is worth
it; 'tis a distinction due to him. It were undoubtedly more suitable for
great lords to take charge of the Cardinal; and that he who despatches
his Eminence should be in a fair way to be a marechal. For myself, I
am not proud; one must not be proud, whatever one's merit in one's
profession. I must not touch the Cardinal; he's a morsel for a king!"

"Nor any others," said the grand ecuyer.

"Oh, let us have the Capuchin!" said Captain Jacques, urgently.

"You are wrong if you refuse this office," said Fontrailles; "such
things occur every day. Vitry began with Concini; and he was made a
marechal. You see men extremely well at court who have killed their
enemies with their own hands in the streets of Paris, and you hesitate
to rid yourself of a villain! Richelieu has his agents; you must have
yours. I can not understand your scruples."

"Do not torment him," said Jacques, abruptly; "I understand it. I
thought as he does when I was a boy, before reason came. I would not
have killed even a monk; but let me speak to him." Then, turning toward
Cinq-Mars, "Listen: wh