A slight flush passed over Richelieu's cheek. "You may chance to fall into less scrupulous hands than even their's," replied he. "I am certainly informed, Sir, that you, on the part of the Queen, have been carrying on a treasonable intercourse with Spain--a country at war with France, to whose crown you are a born subject and vassal; and I have to tell you, that the punishment of such a crime is death. Yes, Sir, you may knit your brow. But no consideration shall stay me from visiting, with the full severity of the law, such as do so offend; and though the information I want be but small, depend upon it, I shall not hesitate to employ the most powerful means to wring it from you." De Blenau had no difficulty in comprehending the nature of those means, to which the Cardinal alluded; but his mind was made up to suffer the worst. "My Lord Cardinal," replied he, "what your intentions are, I know not; but be sure, that to whatever extremes you may go, you can wring nothing from me but what you have already heard. I once more assure you, that I know of no treasonable correspondence whatsoever; and firm in my own innocence, I equally despise all attempts to bribe or to intimidate me." "Sir, you are insolent!" replied the Cardinal rising: "Use no such language to me!--Are you not an insect I can sweep from my path in an instant? Ho, a guard there without! We shall soon see, whether you know aught of Philip of Spain." Had the Cardinal's glance been directed towards De Blenau, he would have seen, that at the name of Philip of Spain, a degree of paleness came over his cheek; but another object had caught Richelieu's eye, and he did not observe it. It was the entrance of the attendant whom he had despatched with the death-warrants, which now drew his notice; and well pleased to show De Blenau the dreadful means he so unscrupulously employed to extort confession from those he suspected, he eagerly demanded, "What news?" "May it please your Eminence," said the attendant, "Caply died under the torture. In truth, it was soon over with him, for he did not bear it above ten minutes." "But the confession, the confession!" exclaimed Richelieu. "Where is the _procès verbal_?" "He made no confession, Sir," replied the man. "He protested, to the last, his innocence, and that he knew nothing." "Pshaw!" said Richelieu; "they let him die too soon; they should have given him wine to keep him up. Foolish idiot," he continued, as if meditating over the death of his victim; "had he but told what he was commanded, he would have saved himself from a death of horror. Such is the meed of obstinacy." "Such," thought De Blenau, "is, unhappily, often the reward of firmness and integrity. But such a death is honourable in itself."