Laubardemont was a kind of bird of prey, whom the Cardinal always let
loose when he required a prompt and sure agent for his vengeance; and on
this occasion he fully justified the choice that had been made of him.
He committed but one error--that of allowing a public trial, contrary to
the usual custom; his object had been to intimidate and to dismay. He
dismayed, indeed, but he created also a feeling of indignant horror.

The throng without the gates had waited there two hours, during which
time the sound of hammers indicated that within the great hall they were
hastily completing their mysterious preparations. At length the archers
laboriously turned upon their hinges the heavy gates opening into the
street, and the crowd eagerly rushed in. The young Cinq-Mars was carried
along with the second enormous wave, and, placed behind a thick column,
stood there, so as to be able to see without being seen. He observed
with vexation that the group of dark-clad citizens was near him; but the
great gates, closing, left the part of the court where the people stood
in such darkness that there was no likelihood of his being recognized.
Although it was only midday, the hall was lighted with torches; but they
were nearly all placed at the farther end, where rose the judges' bench
behind a long table. The chairs, tables, and steps were all covered with
black cloth, and cast a livid hue over the faces of those near them. A
seat reserved for the prisoner was placed upon the left, and on the crape
robe which covered him flames were represented in gold embroidery to
indicate the nature of the offence. Here sat the accused, surrounded by
archers, with his hands still bound in chains, held by two monks, who,
with simulated terror, affected to start from him at his slightest
motion, as if they held a tiger or enraged wolf, or as if the flames
depicted on his robe could communicate themselves to their clothing.
They also carefully kept his face from being seen in the least degree by
the people.