the Capuchin, laughing.

"All with her; nothing without her--that was my desire."

"It is from obstinacy and vanity that you persist; it is impossible,"
replied Joseph. "It is not in nature."

"Thou who wouldst deny the spirit of self-sacrifice," answered Cinq-Mars;
"dost thou understand that of my friend?"

"It does not exist; he follows you because--"

Here the Capuchin, slightly embarrassed, reflected an instant.

"Because--because--he has formed you; you are his work; he is attached to
you by the self-love of an author. He was accustomed to lecture you; and
he felt that he should not find another pupil so docile to listen to and
applaud him. Constant habit has persuaded him that his life was bound to
yours; it is something of that kind. He will accompany you mechanically.
Besides, all is not yet finished; we shall see the end and the
examination. He will certainly deny all knowledge of the conspiracy."

"He will not deny it!" exclaimed Cinq-Mars, impetuously.

"He knew it, then? You confess it," said Joseph, triumphantly; "you have
not said as much before."

"O Heaven, what have I done!" gasped Cinq-Mars, hiding his face.

"Calm yourself; he is saved, notwithstanding this avowal, if you accept
my offer."

D'Effiat remained silent for a short time.

The Capuchin continued:

"Save your friend. The King's favor awaits you, and perhaps the love
which has erred for a moment."

"Man, or whatever else thou art, if thou hast in thee anything resembling
a heart," answered the prisoner, "save him! He is the purest of created
beings; but convey him far away while yet he sleeps, for should he awake,
thy endeavors would be vain."

"What good will that do me?" said the Capuchin, laughing. "It is you and
your favor that I want."

The impetuous Cinq-Mars rose, and, seizing Joseph by the arm, eying him
with a terrible look, said:

"I degraded him in interceding with thee for him." He continued, raising
the tapestry which separated his apartment from that of his friend,
"Come, and doubt, if thou canst, devotion and the immortality of the
soul. Compare the uneasiness and misery of thy triumph with the calmness
of our defeat, the meanness of thy reign with the grandeur of our
captivity, thy sanguinary vigils to the slumbers of the just."

A solitary lamp threw its light on De Thou. The young man was kneeling on
a cushion, surmounted by a large ebony crucifix. He seemed to have fallen
asleep while praying. His hea