repeated, almost choking, his face becoming scarlet, and the tears rising
to his eyes; "My poor child! they will destroy him! Ah, mon Dieu! what
part would they have him play there? What would they do with him? Ah,
who will protect thee, my son, in that dangerous place?" he continued,
reseating himself, and again taking his pupil's hands in his own with a
paternal solicitude, as he endeavored to read his thoughts in his
countenance.

"Why, I do not exactly know," said Cinq-Mars, looking up at the ceiling;
"but I suppose it will be the Cardinal de Richelieu, who was the friend
of my father."

"Ah, my dear Henri, you make me tremble; he will ruin you unless you
become his docile instrument. Alas, why can not I go with you? Why must
I act the young man of twenty in this unfortunate affair? Alas, I should
be perilous to you; I must, on the contrary, conceal myself. But you
will have Monsieur de Thou near you, my son, will you not?" said he,
trying to reassure himself; "he was your friend in childhood, though
somewhat older than yourself. Heed his counsels, my child, he is a wise
young man of mature reflection and solid ideas."

"Oh, yes, my dear Abbe, you may depend upon my tender attachment for him;
I never have ceased to love him."

"But you have ceased to write to him, have you not?" asked the good
Abbe, half smilingly.

"I beg your pardon, my dear Abbe, I wrote to him once, and again
yesterday, to inform him that the Cardinal has invited me to court."