ncealed the walls of the prison;
a bed hung with red damask was prepared, but it was unoccupied. Seated
near a high chimney in a large armchair, attired in a long gray robe,
similar in form to that of a priest, his head bent down, and his eyes
fixed upon a little cross of gold by the flickering light of a lamp, he
was absorbed in so deep a meditation that the Capuchin had leisure to
approach him closely, and confront the prisoner before he perceived him.
Suddenly, however, Cinq-Mars raised his head and exclaimed, "Wretch, what
do you here?"

"Young man, you are violent," answered the mysterious intruder, in a low
voice. "Two months' imprisonment ought to have been enough to calm you. I
come to tell you things of great importance. Listen to me! I have thought
much of you; and I do not hate you so much as you imagine. The moments
are precious. I will tell you all in a few words: in two hours you will
be interrogated, tried, and condemned to death with your friend. It can
not be otherwise, for all will be finished the same day."

"I know it," answered Cinq-Mars; "and I am prepared."

"Well, then, I can still release you from this affair. I have reflected
deeply, as I told you; and I am here to make a proposal which can but
give you satisfaction. The Cardinal has but six months to live. Let us
not be mysterious; we must speak openly. You see where I have brought you
to serve him; and you can judge by that the point to which I would
conduct him to serve you. If you wish it, we can cut short the six months
of his life which still remain. The King loves you, and will recall you
with joy when he finds you still live. You may long live, and be powerful
and happy, if you will protect me, and make me cardinal."

Astonishment deprived the young prisoner of speech. He could not
understand such language, and seemed to be unable to descend to it from
his higher meditations. All that he could say was:

"Your benefactor, Richelieu?"

The Capuchin smiled, and, drawing nearer, continued in an undertone:

"Policy admits of no benefits; it contains nothing but interest. A man
employed by a minister is no more bound to be grateful than a horse whose
rider prefers him to others. My pace has been convenient to him; so much
the better. Now it is my interest to throw him from the saddle. Yes, this
man loves none but himself. I now see that he has deceived me by
continually retarding my elevation; but once again, I possess the sure
means f