Cinq-Mars looked steadfastly at him; and a tear stole slowly down his
cheek.

"Virtuous friend," said he, "may your fault fall only on my head! But
let us hope that God, who pardons those who love, will be for us; for we
are criminal--I through love, you through friendship."

Then suddenly looking at the watch, he took the long pistol in his hand,
and gazed at the smoking match with a fierce air. His long hair fell
over his face like the mane of a young lion.

"Do not consume," said he; "burn slowly. Thou art about to light a flame
which the waves of ocean can not extinguish. The flame will soon light
half Europe; it may perhaps reach the wood of thrones. Burn slowly,
precious flame! The winds which fan thee are violent and fearful; they
are love and hatred. Reserve thyself! Thy explosion will be heard afar,
and will find echoes in the peasant's but and the king's palace.

Burn, burn, poor flame! Thou art to me a sceptre and a thunderbolt!"

De Thou, still holding his ivory crucifix in his hand, said in a low
voice:

"Lord, pardon us the blood that will be shed! We combat the wicked and
the impious." Then, raising his voice, "My friend, the cause of virtue
will triumph," he said; "it alone will triumph. God has ordained that
the guilty treaty should not reach us; that which constituted the crime
is no doubt destroyed. We shall fight without the foreigners, and
perhaps we shall not fight at all. God will change the heart of the