“More so than you can imagine.  She forgot, in her madness, all that she had been told, committed a thousand blunders in Latin, which we patched up as well as we could; and she even caused an unpleasant scene on the day of the trial, very unpleasant for me and the judges—­there were swoons and shrieks.  Ah, I swear that I would have scolded her well had I not been forced to quit precipitately that, little town of Loudun.  But, you see, it is natural enough that I am attached to her.  She is my nearest relative; for my son has turned out ill, and no one knows what has become of him during the last four years.  Poor little Jeanne de Belfiel!  I made her a nun, and then abbess, in order to preserve all for that scamp.  Had I foreseen his conduct, I should have retained her for the world.”

“She is said to have great beauty,” answered Joseph; “that is a precious gift for a family.  She might have been presented at court, and the King—­Ah! ah!  Mademoiselle de la Fayette—­eh! eh!—­Mademoiselle d’Hautefort—­you understand; it may be even possible to think of it yet.”

“Ah, that is like you, Monseigneur! for we know that you have been nominated to the cardinalate; how good you are to remember the most devoted of your friends!”

Laubardemont was yet talking to Joseph when they found themselves at the end of the line of the camp, which led to the quarter of the volunteers.

“May God and his Holy Mother protect you during my absence!” said Joseph, stopping.  “To-morrow I depart for Paris; and as I shall have frequent business with this young Cinq-Mars, I shall first go to see him, and learn news of his wound.”

“Had I been listened to,” said Laubardemont, “you would not now have had this trouble.”

“Alas, you are right!” answered Joseph, with a profound sigh, and raising his eyes to heaven; “but the Cardinal is no longer the same man.  He will not take advantage of good ideas; he will ruin us if he goes on thus.”

And, making a low bow to the judge, the Capuchin took the road which he had indicated to him.

Laubardemont followed him for some time with his eyes, and, when he was quite sure of the route which he had taken, he returned, or, rather, ran back to the tent of the minister.  “The Cardinal dismisses him, he tells me; that shows that he is tired of him.  I know secrets which will ruin him.  I will add that he is gone to pay court to the future favorite.  I will replace this monk in the favor of the minister.  The moment is propitious.  It is midnight; he will be alone for an hour and a half yet.  Let me run.”

He arrived at the tent of the guards, which was before the pavilion.

“Monseigneur gives audience to some one,” said the captain, hesitating; “you can not enter.”

“Never mind; you saw me leave an hour ago, and things are passing of which I must give an account.”

“Come in, Laubardemont,” cried the minister; “come in quickly, and alone.”