On the other hand, Fontrailles, short in stature, and mean in appearance, was in countenance equally unprepossessing. He had but one redeeming feature, in the quick grey eye, that, with the clear keenness of its light, seemed to penetrate the deepest thoughts of those upon whom it was turned. Such is the description that history yields of these two celebrated men; and I will own that my hankering after physiognomy has induced me to transcribe it here, inasmuch as the mind of each was like his person. In the heart of Cinq Mars dwelt a proud nobility of spirit, which, however he might be carried away by the fiery passions of his nature, ever dignified his actions with something of great and generous. But the soul of Fontrailles, ambitious, yet mean, wanted all the wild ardour of his companion, but wanted also all his better qualities; possessing alone that clear, piercing discernment, which, more like instinct than judgment, showed him always the exact moment of danger, and pointed out the means of safety. And yet, though not friends, they were often (as I have said) companions; for Cinq Mars was too noble to suspect, and Fontrailles too wary to be known--besides, in the present instance, he had a point to carry, and therefore was doubly disguised. "You have heard the news, doubtless, Cinq Mars," said Fontrailles, leading the way from the great Avenue de Luzarches into one of the smaller alleys, where they were less liable to be watched; for he well knew that the conversation he thus broached would lead to those wild starts and gestures in his companion, which might call upon them some suspicion, if observed. Cinq Mars made no reply, and he proceeded. "The Cardinal is ill!" and he fixed his eye upon the Master of the Horse, as if he would search his soul. But Cinq Mars still was silent, and, apparently deeply busied with other thoughts, continued beating the shrubs on each side of the path with his sheathed sword, without even a glance towards his companion. After a moment or two, however, he raised his head with an air of careless abstraction: "What a desert this place has become!" said he; "look how all these have grown up, between the trees. One might really be as well in a forest as a royal park now-a-days." "But you have made me no answer," rejoined Fontrailles, returning perseveringly to the point on which his companion seemed unwilling to touch: "I said, the Cardinal is ill." "Well, well! I hear," answered Cinq Mars, with a peevish start, like a restive horse forced forward on a road he is unwilling to take. "What is it you would have me say?--That I am sorry for it? Well, be it so--I am sorry for it--sorry that a trifling sickness, which will pass away in a moon, should give France hopes of that liberation, which is yet far off."