as the wall was
ornamented with a beautiful Cordova leather, and as large red damask
curtains, fastened back by gold clasps, floated before the window, he
perceived by degrees that his fear was exaggerated, and he began to turn
his head to the right and the left, upward and downward.

At this movement, which nobody opposed, he resumed a little courage, and
ventured to draw up one leg and then the other. At length, with the help
of his two hands he lifted himself from the bench, and found himself on
his feet.

At this moment an officer with a pleasant face opened a door, continued
to exchange some words with a person in the next chamber and then came
up to the prisoner. "Is your name Bonacieux?" said he.

"Yes, Monsieur Officer," stammered the mercer, more dead than alive, "at
your service."

"Come in," said the officer.

And he moved out of the way to let the mercer pass. The latter obeyed
without reply, and entered the chamber, where he appeared to be
expected.

It was a large cabinet, close and stifling, with the walls furnished
with arms offensive and defensive, and in which there was already a
fire, although it was scarcely the end of the month of September. A
square table, covered with books and papers, upon which was unrolled
an immense plan of the city of La Rochelle, occupied the center of the
room.

Standing before the chimney was a man of middle height, of a haughty,
proud mien; with piercing eyes, a large brow, and a thin face, which
was made still longer by a ROYAL (or IMPERIAL, as it is now called),
surmounted by a pair of mustaches. Although this man was scarcely
thirty-six or thirty-seven years of age, hair, mustaches, and royal, all
began to be gray. This man, except a sword, had all the appearance of a
soldier; and his buff boots still slightly covered with dust, indicated
that he had been on horseback in the course of the day.

This man was Armand Jean Duplessis, Cardinal de Richelieu; not such as
he is now represented--broken down like an old man, suffering like a
martyr, his body bent, his voice failing, buried in a large armchair
as in an anticipated tomb; no longer living but by the strength of his
genius, and no longer maintaining the struggle with Europe but by the
eternal application of his thoughts--but such as he really was at this
period; that is to say, an active and gallant cavalier, already weak
of body, but sustained by that moral power which made of him one of
the most extraor