far from young and
pretty. Cinq-Mars noticed this interchange of glances, and smiled also,
but bitterly.

"Is it true then," he thought, "that the affections meet the same fate
as the fashions, and that the lapse of a few years can throw the same
ridicule upon a costume and upon love? Happy is he who does not outlive
his youth and his illusions, and who carries his treasures with him to
the grave!"

But--again, with effort breaking the melancholy course of his thoughts,
and wishing that the good Marechal should read nothing unpleasant upon
the countenances of his hosts, he said:

"People spoke, then, with much freedom to King Henri? Possibly, however,
he found it necessary to assume that tone at the beginning of his reign;
but when he was master did he change it?"

"Never! no, never, to his last day, did our great King cease to be the
same. He did not blush to be a man, and he spoke to men with force and
sensibility. Ah! I fancy I see him now, embracing the Duc de Guise in
his carriage, on the very day of his death; he had just made one of his
lively pleasantries to me, and the Duke said to him, 'You are, in
my opinion, one of the most agreeable men in the world, and destiny
ordained us for each other. For, had you been but an ordinary man,
I should have taken you into my service at whatever price; but since
heaven ordained that you should be born a great King, it is inevitable
that I belong to you.' Oh, great man!" cried Bassompierre, with tears
in his eyes, and perhaps a little excited by the frequent bumpers he had
drunk, "you said well, 'When you have lost me you will learn my value.'"

During this interlude, the guests at the table had assumed various
attitudes, according to their position in public affairs. One of the
Italians pretended to chat and laugh in a subdued manner with the young
daughter of the Marechale; the other talked to the deaf old Abbe, who,
with one hand behind his ear that he might hear, was the only one
who appeared attentive. Cinq-Mars had sunk back into his melancholy
abstraction, after throwing a glance at the Marechal, as one looks aside
after throwing a tennis-ball until its return; his elder brother did
the honors of the table with the same calm. Puy-Laurens observed
the mistress of the house with attention; he was devoted to the Duc
d'Orleans, and feared the Cardinal. As for the Marechale, she had an
anxious and afflicted air. Careless words had often recalled the death
of her husb