s to secure himself a retreat, let him speak. We will give
him the means of placing himself in safety at once."

Not one would hear of this proposition; and the movement it occasioned
produced a renewal of the oaths of hatred against the minister.

Cinq-Mars, however, proceeded to put the question individually to some of
the persons present, in the election of whom he showed much judgment; for
he ended with Montresor, who cried that he would pass his sword through
his body if he had for a moment entertained such an idea, and with Gondi,
who, rising fiercely on his heels, exclaimed:

"Monsieur le Grand Ecuyer, my retreat is the archbishopric of Paris and
L'Ile Notre-Dame. I'll make it a place strong enough to keep me from
being taken."

"And yours?" he said to De Thou.

"At your side," murmured De Thou, lowering his eyes, unwilling to give
importance to his resolution by the directness of his look.

"You will have it so? Well, I accept," said Cinq-Mars; "and my sacrifice
herein, dear friend, is greater than yours." Then turning toward the
assembly:

"Gentlemen, I see in you the last men of France, for after the
Montmorencys and the Soissons, you alone dare lift a head free and worthy
of our old liberty. If Richelieu triumph, the ancient bases of the
monarchy will crumble with us. The court will reign alone, in the place
of the parliaments, the old barriers, and at the same time the powerful
supports of the royal authority. Let us be conquerors, and France will
owe to us the preservation of her ancient manners and her time-honored
guarantees. And now, gentlemen, it were a pity to spoil the ball on this
account. You hear the music. The ladies await you. Let us go and dance."

"The Cardinal shall pay the fiddlers," added Gondi.

The young men applauded with a laugh; and all reascended to the ballroom
as lightly as they would have gone to the battlefield.

CHAPTER XXI

THE CONFESSIONAL

It was on the day following the assembly that had taken place in the
house of Marion de Lorme. A thick snow covered the roofs of Paris and
settled in its large gutters and streets, where it arose in gray heaps,
furrowed by the wheels of carriages.

It was eight o'clock, and the night was dark. The tumult of the city was
silent on account of the thick carpet the winter had spread for it, and
which deadened the sound of the wheels over the stones, and of the feet
of men and horses. In a narrow street that winds round the ol