ons, and Baro, the continuer of Astree--all academicians."

"Ah! now, indeed, here are men of real merit," said Louis; "there
is nothing to be said against them. One can not but gain from their
society. Theirs are settled reputations; they're men of weight. Come,
let us make up; shake hands, child. I permit you to go there sometimes,
but do not deceive me any more; you see I know all. Look at this."

So saying, the King took from a great iron chest set against the wall
enormous packets of paper scribbled over with very fine writing. Upon
one was written, Baradas, upon another, D'Hautefort, upon a third,
La Fayette, and finally, Cinq-Mars. He stopped at the latter, and
continued:

"See how many times you have deceived me! These are the continual faults
of which I have myself kept a register during the two years I have known
you; I have written out our conversations day by day. Sit down."

Cinq-Mars obeyed with a sigh, and had the patience for two long hours
to listen to a summary of what his master had had the patience to write
during the course of two years. He yawned many times during the reading,
as no doubt we should all do, were it needful to report this dialogue,
which was found in perfect order, with his will, at the death of the
King. We shall only say that he finished thus:

"In fine, hear what you did on the seventh of December, three days ago.
I was speaking to you of the flight of the hawk, and of the knowledge of
hunting, in which you are deficient. I said to you, on the authority of
La Chasse Royale, a work of King Charles IX, that after the hunter has
accustomed his dog to follow a beast, he must consider him as of himself
desirous of returning to the wood, and the dog must not be rebuked or
struck in order to make him follow the track well; and that in order to
teach a dog to set well, creatures that are not game must not be allowed
to pass or run, nor must any scents be missed, without putting his nose
to them.

"Hear what you replied to me (and in a tone of ill-humor--mind that!)
'Ma foi! Sire, give me rather regiments to conduct than birds and dogs.
I am sure that people would laugh at you and me if they knew how we
occupy ourselves.' And on the eighth--wait, yes, on the eighth--while
we were singing vespers together in my chambers, you threw your book
angrily into the fire, which was an impiety; and afterward you told
me that you had let it drop--a sin, a mortal sin. See, I have written
below, l