ded was his indifference. Cinq-Mars knew this, and had
desired to make it a means of escape, preparing the King to regard all
that he had done as child's play, as the consequence of his friendship
for him; but the danger was not so great, and he breathed freely when the
Prince said to him:

"The Cardinal is not in question here. I love him no more than you do;
but it is with your scandalous conduct I reproach you, and which I shall
have much difficulty to pardon in you. What, Monsieur! I learn that
instead of devoting yourself to the pious exercises to which I have
accustomed you, when I fancy you are at your Salut or your Angelus--you
are off from Saint Germain, and go to pass a portion of the night--with
whom? Dare I speak of it without sin? With a woman lost in reputation,
who can have no relations with you but such as are pernicious to the
safety of your soul, and who receives free-thinkers at her house--in a
word, Marion de Lorme. What have you to say? Speak."

Leaving his hand in that of the King, but still leaning against the
column, Cinq-Mars answered:

"Is it then so culpable to leave grave occupations for others more
serious still? If I go to the house of Marion de Lorme, it is to hear the
conversation of the learned men who assemble there. Nothing is more
harmless than these meetings. Readings are given there which, it is true,
sometimes extend far into the night, but which commonly tend to exalt the
soul, so far from corrupting it. Besides, you have never commanded me to
account to you for all that I do; I should have informed you of this long
ago if you had desired it."

"Ah, Cinq-Mars, Cinq-Mars! where is your confidence? Do you feel no need
of it? It is the first condition of a perfect friendship, such as ours
ought to be, such as my heart requires."

The voice of Louis became more affectionate, and the favorite, looking at
him over his shoulder, assumed an air less angry, but still simply
ennuye, and resigned to listening to him.

"How often have you deceived me!" continued the King; "can I trust myself
to you? Are they not fops and gallants whom you meet at the house of this
woman? Do not courtesans go there?"

"Heavens! no, Sire; I often go there with one of my friends--a gentleman
of Touraine, named Rene Descartes."

"Descartes! I know that name! Yes, he is an officer who distinguished
himself at the siege of Rochelle, and who dabbles in writing; he has a
good reputation for piety, but he is