ms with the Duc de Bouillon; and
besides, though he may not be very necessary to you, it is a mark of
deference which you owe him."

"Is it, then, to the siege of Perpignan that you are going, my boy?"
asked the old Marechal, who began to think that he had been silent a
long time. "Ah! it is well for you. Plague upon it! a siege! 'tis an
excellent opening. I would have given much had I been able to assist the
late King at a siege, upon my arrival in his court; it would have been
better to be disembowelled then than at a tourney, as I was. But we were
at peace; and I was compelled to go and shoot the Turks with the Rosworm
of the Hungarians, in order that I might not afflict my family by my
idleness. For the rest, may his Majesty receive you as kindly as his
father received me! It is true that the King is good and brave; but they
have unfortunately taught him that cold Spanish etiquette which arrests
all the impulses of the heart. He restrains himself and others by an
immovable presence and an icy look; as for me, I confess that I am
always waiting for the moment of thaw, but in vain. We were accustomed
to other manners from the witty and simple-hearted Henri; and we were at
least free to tell him that we loved him."

Cinq-Mars, with eyes fixed upon those of Bassompierre, as if to force
himself to attend to his discourse, asked him what was the manner of the
late king in conversation.

"Lively and frank," said he. "Some time after my arrival in France, I
played with him and with the Duchesse de Beaufort at Fontainebleau; for
he wished, he said, to win my gold-pieces, my fine Portugal money. He
asked me the reason why I came into this country. 'Truly, Sire,' said I,
frankly, 'I came with no intention of enlisting myself in your service,
but only to pass some time at your court, and afterward at that of
Spain; but you have charmed me so much that, instead of going farther,
if you desire my service, I will devote myself to you till death.' Then
he embraced me, and assured me that I could not find a better master, or
one who would love me more. Alas! I have found it so. And for my part, I
sacrificed everything to him, even my love; and I would have done
more, had it been possible to do more than renounce Mademoiselle de
Montmorency."

The good Marechal had tears in his eyes; but the young Marquis d'Effiat
and the Italians, looking at one another, could not help smiling to
think that at present the Princesse de Conde was