I love justice, and I must not wrong even
those who have the will to be less forbearing to myself. A pen, Joseph,
a pen, lest my memory prove treacherous and I disappoint their tastes."

The Capuchin hastened to obey; writing implements stood upon the table
near which the Cardinal was seated; and in another moment he was
scribbling, in the ill-formed and straggling characters peculiar to him,
upon the back of a despatch.

"So, so," he muttered between his set teeth, "the gallant Marechal de
Marillac has an affection for the block: so be it; a scaffold is easily
constructed. And M. de Guise is an amateur of exile and of beggary:
truly it were a pity to thwart his fancy; and France can well spare a
prince or two without making bankrupt of her dignity. Bassompierre, the
volatile and restless Bassompierre, the hero of the Court dames, and the
idol of the Court ballets, favours the seclusion of a prison; there is
space enough for him in the one which he has selected, and his gorgeous
habiliments will produce the happiest effect when contrasted with the
gloomy walls of the good old fortress. And my colleague, my destined
successor, did he not talk of the galleys? I had never given him credit
for sufficient energy to prefer the oar to the pen, and the chain of a
felon to the seals of a minister of state; but since he will have it so,
by the soul of Jean du Plessis, so shall it be!"

And as he terminated this envenomed monologue the Cardinal thrust the
fatal paper into his breast, and clasped his hands convulsively
together; his dim eyes flashed fire, his thin lips quivered, his pale
countenance became livid, and the storm of concentrated passion shook
his frail form as with an ague-fit.

"The day is your own," said the Capuchin calmly; "you are now face to
face with your enemies, and you know all the joints in their armour.
Every blow may be rendered a mortal one."

Richelieu smiled. The paroxysm of fury had subsided, and he was once
more cold, and stern, and self-possessed. "We lose time," he said, "and
I have yet to play the courtier. Are my robes ready?"

"All is prepared," quietly replied his companion, as he withdrew from
the closet, where he shortly reappeared laden with the sumptuous costume
of his friend and patron. A few minutes sufficed for the necessary
metamorphosis; the citizen-raiment was cast aside, the crimson drapery
flung over the shoulders of its owner, the jewelled cross adjusted on
his breast; and b