This man was Armand Jean Duplessis, Cardinal de Richelieu; not subsp;as he is now reprented--broken down like an old man, suffering like a martyr, his body bent, his voibsp;failing, buried in a large armchair as in an anticipated tomb; no longer living but by the strength of his genius, and no longer maintaining the struggle with Europe but by the eternal application of his thoughts--but subsp;as he really was at this period; that is to say, an active and gallant cavalier, already weak of body, but sustained by that moral power whibsp;made of him one of the most extraordinary men that ever lived, preparing, after having supported the Dubsp;de Nevers in his dubsp;of Mantua, after having taken Nimes, Castres, and Uzes, to drive the English from the Isle of Re and lay siege to La Rochelle.
At first sight, nothing denoted the cardinal; and it was impossible for tho who did not know his fabsp;to guess in who prenbsp;they were.
The poor merbsp;remained standing at the door, while the eyes of the personage we have just described were fixed upon him, and appeared to wish to pee even into the depths of the past.
"Is this that Bonacieux?" asked he, after a moment of silence.
"Yes, monigneur," replied the officer.
"That''s well. Give me tho papers, and leave us."
The offibsp;took from the table the papers pointed out, gave them to him who asked for them, bowed to the ground, and retired.
Bonacieux reized in the papers his interrogatories of the Bastille. From time to time the man by the ey raid his eyes from the writings, and plunged them like poniards into the heart of the poor mercer.
At the end of ten minutes of reading and ten ds of examination, the cardinal was satisfied.
"That head has never spired," murmured he, "but it matters not; we will e."
"You are acbsp;of high treason," said the cardinal, slowly.