out bidding one more adieu
to his mother? Who else would return to complain of the present, without
a hope for the future, but I?"

The gentle voice replied, but its tones were agitated, and evidently
accompanied with tears: "Alas! Henri, of what do you complain? Have I
not already done more, far more than I ought? It is not my fault, but my
misfortune, that my father was a sovereign prince. Can one choose
one's birthplace or one's rank, and say for example, 'I will be a
shepherdess?' How unhappy is the lot of princesses! From the cradle,
the sentiments of the heart are prohibited to them; and when they have
advanced beyond childhood, they are ceded like a town, and must not even
weep. Since I have known you, what have I not done to bring my future
life within the reach of happiness, in removing it far from a throne?
For two years I have struggled in vain, at once against my evil fortune,
that separates me from you, and against you, who estrange me from the
duty I owe to my family. I have sought to spread a belief that I was
dead; I have almost longed for revolutions. I should have blessed a
change which deprived me of my rank, as I thanked Heaven when my father
was dethroned; but the court wonders at my absence; the Queen requires
me to attend her. Our dreams are at an end, Henri; we have already
slumbered too long. Let us awake, be courageous, and think no more of
those dear two years--forget all in the one recollection of our great
resolve. Have but one thought; be ambitious for--be ambitious--for my
sake."

"Must we, then, indeed, forget all, Marie?" murmured Cinq-Mars.

She hesitated.

"Yes, forget all--that I myself have forgotten." Then, after a moment's
pause, she continued with earnestness: "Yes, forget our happy days
together, our long evenings, even our walks by the lake and through
the wood; but keep the future ever in mind. Go, Henri; your father was
Marechal. Be you more; be you Constable, Prince. Go; you are young,
noble, rich, brave, beloved--"

"Beloved forever?" said Henri.

"Forever; for life and for eternity."

Cinq-Mars, tremulously extending his hand to the window, exclaimed:

"I swear, Marie, by the Virgin, whose name you bear, that you shall be
mine, or my head shall fall on the scaffold!"

"Oh, Heaven! what is it you say?" she cried, seizing his hand in her
own. "Swear to me that you will share in no guilty deeds; that you will
never forget that the King of France is your master. Love