The Three Musketeers. Alexandre Dumas

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      This individual was Armand-Jean Duplessis, Cardinal de Richelieu; not as he is represented—broken down like an old man, suffering like a martyr, his body shattered, his voice extinguished, buried in an enormous easy-chair, no longer living but by the power of his genius, and no longer supporting the struggle against Europe but by the eternal energy of his extraordinary mind—but such as he really was at this period; that is, a skilful and gallant cavalier, already feeble in body, but upheld by that moral force which made him one of the most unparalleled of mankind, and now preparing, after sustaining the Duc de Nevers in his duchy of Mantua, and taking Nismes, Castres, and Elzes, to drive the English from the Isle of Rhé, and to undertake the siege of La Rochelle.

      At first sight, nothing denoted that it was the cardinal, and it was impossible for those who were unacquainted with his appearance to guess in whose presence they were.

      The poor mercer remained standing at the door, whilst the eyes of the person we have been describing fixed themselves upon him as if they would penetrate his most secret thoughts.

      “Is that this Bonancieux?” he demanded, after a moment’s pause.

      “Yes, my lord!” replied the officer.

      “Very well; give me those papers, and leave us.”

      The officer took the papers indicated, gave them to him who asked for them, bowed to the very ground, and left the room.

      In these papers Bonancieux recognised his examinations at the Bastile. From time to time the man by the chimney-piece lifted his eyes from the papers, and plunged them, like two poniards, into the very heart of the poor mercer.

      At the end of ten minutes’ reading, and ten seconds’ scrutiny of Bonancieux, he had made up his mind.

      “That head has never conspired,” murmured the cardinal; “but never mind, let us see.” Then he said slowly, “You are accused of high treason.”

      “That is what they have already told me, my lord!” said Bonancieux, giving his interrogator the same title that he had heard the officer give him; “but I give you my oath, that I knew nothing about it.”

      The cardinal suppressed a smile.

      “You have conspired with your wife, with Madame de Chevreuse, and with my Lord Duke of Buckingham.”

      “I admit, my lord,” replied the mercer, “I have heard all those names mentioned by her.”

      “And on what occasion?”

      “She said that the Cardinal de Richelieu had enticed the Duke of Buckingham to Paris, to destroy him and the queen.”

      “She said that, did she?” cried the cardinal, with great violence.

      “Yes, my lord; but I told her that she was wrong in saying such a thing, and that his eminence was incapable———”

      “Hold your tongue—you are a fool!” replied the cardinal.

      “That is exactly what my wife said to me, my lord.”

      “Do you know who carried off your wife?”

      “No, my lord.”

      “But you had some suspicions?”

      “Yes, my lord; but as these suspicions appeared to displease the commissary, I have them no longer.”

      “Your wife has escaped: did you know that?”

      “Not at the time, my lord; I learned it, since I have been in prison, from the commissary, who is a most amiable man.”

      The cardinal suppressed another smile.

      “Then you do not know what has become of your wife since her escape?”

      “Not positively, my lord; but she has probably returned to the Louvre.”

      “At one o’clock this morning she had not yet returned there.”

      “Ah! good God! but what can have become of her?”

      “Have no fear—it will soon be known; nothing escapes the cardinal; the cardinal knows everything.”

      “In that case, my lord, do you believe that the cardinal will tell me what has become of my wife?”

      “Perhaps so; but it is necessary, first, that you should tell me all you know in relation to the connection of your wife with Madame de Chevreuse.”

      “But, my lord, I know nothing about it; I never saw her.”

      “When you went to fetch your wife from the Louvre, did she return directly to your house?”

      “Scarcely ever. She had business to transact with the queen’s drapers, to whom I convoyed her.”

      “And how many linen-drapers were there?”

      “Two, my lord.”

      “Where do they live?”

      “One in the Rue Vaugirard, and the other in the Rue de la Harpe.”

      “Did you accompany your wife into these houses?”

      “Never, my lord. I always waited for her at the door.”

      “And what excuse did she make for entering alone?”

      “None: she told me to wait, and I waited.”

      “You are a most accommodating husband, my dear M. Bonancieux,” said the cardinal.

      “He has called me ‘my dear monsieur,’” said the mercer to himself. “‘Pon my faith, things are taking a good turn.”

      “Should you know those doors again?”

      “Yes.”

      “Do you know the numbers?”

      “Yes.”

      “What are they?”

      “No. 25 in the Rue Vaugirard, and No. 75 in the Rue de la Harpe.”

      “Good!” said the cardinal; and, taking a silver bell, he rang it.

      “Go,” said he in a low voice, to the officer who entered—“go and find Rochefort, and tell him to come here directly, if he is within.”

      “The count is already here,” said the officer, “and requests an immediate audience of your eminence.”

      “Your eminence!” muttered Bonancieux, who knew that such was the title ordinarily given to the cardinal; “your eminence!”

      “Let him come in, then, let him come in!” said Richelieu eagerly.

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