“Yes, madame; and as his servant, I will not allow you to be concerned in plots against the safety of the state, or to serve the intrigues of a woman who is not French and who has a Spanish heart. Fortunately we have the great cardinal; his vigilant eye watches over and penetrates to the bottom of the heart.” Bonacieux was repeating, word for word, a sentence which he had heard from the Comte de Rochefort; but the poor wife, who had reckoned on her husband, and who, in that hope, had answered for him to the queen, did not tremble the less, both at the danger into which she had nearly cast herself and at the helpless state to which she was reduced. Nevertheless, knowing the weakness of her husband, and more particularly his cupidity, she did not despair of bringing him round to her purpose. “Ah, you are a cardinalist, then, monsieur, are you?” cried she; “and you serve the party of those who maltreat your wife and insult your queen?” “Private interests are as nothing before the interests of all. I am for those who save the state,” said Bonacieux, emphatically. “And what do you know about the state you talk of?” said Mme. Bonacieux, shrugging her shoulders. “Be satisfied with being a plain, straightforward citizen, and turn to that side which offers the most advantages.” “Eh, eh!” said Bonacieux, slapping a plump, round bag, which returned of sound a money; “what do you think of this, Madame Preacher?” “Whence comes that money?” “You do not guess?” “From the cardinal?” “From him, and from my friend the Comte de Rochefort.” “The Comte de Rochefort! Why, it was he who carried me off!” “That may be, madame!” “And you receive silver from that man?” “Have you not said that that abduction was entirely political?” “Yes; but that abduction had for its object the betrayal of my mistress, to draw from me by torture confessions that might compromise the honor, and perhaps the life, of my august mistress.” “Madame,” replied Bonacieux, “your august mistress is a perfidious Spaniard, and what the cardinal does is well done.” “Monsieur,” said the young woman, “I know you to be cowardly, avaricious, and foolish, but I never till now believed you infamous!” “Madame,” said Bonacieux, who had never seen his wife in a passion, and who recoiled before this conjugal anger, “madame, what do you say?” “I say you are a miserable creature!” continued Mme. Bonacieux, who saw she was regaining some little influence over her husband. “You meddle with politics, do you—and still more, with cardinalist politics? Why, you sell yourself, body and soul, to the demon, the devil, for money!” “No, to the cardinal.” “It’s the same thing,” cried the young woman. “Who calls Richelieu calls Satan.” “Hold your tongue, hold your tongue, madame! You may be overheard.” “Yes, you are right; I should be ashamed for anyone to know your baseness.” “But what do you require of me, then? Let us see.”