By the hand of my personal friend, General Swaffham, I send this; and in all requisites he will stand for "Sir, "Your Eminency’s "Most Humble Servant, "OLIVER P." When this letter was sealed, he sent for Israel, and telling him all that he had heard, bade him take twelve of their own troop, go to Paris, and bring back Cluny with them. Israel was very willing. He had always believed Mazarin had, at least, guilty knowledge of Cluny’s murder; and all he asked was, that his daughter might be kept in ignorance until hope became a certainty, either of life or death. Cromwell’s summons affected Mazarin like thunder out of a clear sky. He had forgotten Lord Neville. It was necessary to bring to him the papers relating to the mission on which he had come, and even then he was confused, or else cleverly simulated confusion. But he had to do with a man, in many respects, more inflexible than Cromwell. "I will make inquiries," he said to Israel. "In two or three days—or a week——" "I must be on my way back to London, sir, in two or three days." "I cannot be hurried,—I have much other business." "I have only this business in Paris, sir; but it is a business of great haste. This very hour, if it please your Eminence, I would make inquiries at the Bastile." "It does not please me. You must wait." "Waiting is not in my commission, sir. I am to work, or to return to London without an hour’s delay. Lord Neville is particularly dear to his Highness; and if my inquiries meet not with attention,—on the moment,—I am instructed to waste no time. We must then conclude the envoy of the Commonwealth of England has been robbed and slain, and it will be the duty of England to take redress at once." "You talk beyond your commission." "Within it, sir." "Retire to the anteroom. They will serve you with bread and wine while I make some inquiries." "It is beyond my commission to eat or drink until I have had speech with Lord Neville. I will wait in this presence, the authority of your Eminence," and Israel let his sword drop and leaned upon it, gazing steadfastly the while into the face of the Cardinal. The twelve troopers with him, followed as one man, his attitude, and even Mazarin’s carefully tutored composure could not long endure this silent battery of determined hearts and fixed eyes. He gave the necessary order for the release of Lord Cluny Neville,—"if such a prisoner was really in the Bastile,"—and sending a body of his own Musketeers with it, directed Israel to accompany them.