The landlady promised devoutly to comply, and having seen her guests depart, entered the public room, where several of the peasantry had by this time assembled, and told every one in a whisper that the tall gentleman they had seen get on horseback was the Père Alexis, _directeur_ of the Jesuits of Alençon, and that the lady was Mademoiselle Louise de Crackmagnole, _sa penitente_. Immediately, they all ran in different directions, some to the door, some to the window, to see so wonderful a pair as the Père Alexis and his _penitente_. The bustle, rushing, and chattering which succeeded, and which the landlady could no way abate, called the attention of the Sieur Marteville, who, not particularly in a good humour at being contradicted by Louise, was so much excited into anger by the gaping of the multitude, that he had well nigh drawn the portentous Toledo which hung by his side, and returned to satisfy their curiosity by presenting his person rather nearer than they might have deemed agreeable. He bridled in his wrath, however, or rather, to change the figure, kept it in store for some future occasion; and consoling himself with a few internal curses, in which Louise had her share, he rode on, and soon arrived at that part of the wood which we have already said was named the Sorcerer's Grove. Of the unheard of adventures which there befel, the giants that he slew, and the monsters that he overcame, we shall treat in a future chapter, turning our attention at present to other important subjects which call loudly for detail. CHAPTER IV. Being a Chapter of Explanations, which the reader has no occasion to peruse if he understands the story without it. "Great news! Cinq Mars!" exclaimed Fontrailles. "Great news! the Cardinal is sick to the death, and goes without loss of time to Tarascon: he trembles upon the brink of the grave." Cinq Mars was stretched upon three chairs, the farthest of which he kept balanced on its edge by the weight of his feet, idly rocking it backwards and forwards, while his mind was deeply buried in one of the weak romances of the day, the reading which was a favourite amusement with the Master of the Horse, at those periods when the energies of his mind seemed to sleep. "Too good news to be true, Fontrailles," he replied, hardly looking up; "take my word for it, the Devil never dies." "That may be," answered Fontrailles, "but nevertheless the Cardinal, as I said, is dying, and goes instantly to Tarascon to try another climate." "Why, where hast thou heard all this? and when didst thou come from Spain?" demanded Cinq Mars, rousing himself. "Thou hast made good speed." "Had I not good reason?" asked the other. "But they tell me that I must question you for news; for that it is something in regard to your friend, the young Count de Blenau, which has so deeply struck the Cardinal."