“Deuce take it, friend, if he’s one of thy friends thou wilt ruin him in saying so.” “Why?” “Because he may be tried for it.” “Ah! absurd! they don’t burn sorcerers nowadays.” “No? ’Tis not a long time since the late cardinal burnt Urban Grandier, though.” “My friend, Urban Grandier wasn’t a sorcerer, he was a learned man. He didn’t predict the future, he knew the past—often a more dangerous thing.” Mazarin nodded an assent, but wishing to know what this prediction was, about which they disputed, he remained in the same place. “I don’t say,” resumed the guard, “that Coysel is not a sorcerer, but I say that if his prophecy gets wind, it’s a sure way to prevent it’s coming true.” “How so?” “Why, in this way: if Coysel says loud enough for the cardinal to hear him, on such or such a day such a prisoner will escape, ’tis plain that the cardinal will take measures of precaution and that the prisoner will not escape.” “Good Lord!” said another guard, who might have been thought asleep on a bench, but who had lost not a syllable of the conversation, “do you suppose that men can escape their destiny? If it is written yonder, in Heaven, that the Duc de Beaufort is to escape, he will escape; and all the precautions of the cardinal will not prevent it.” Mazarin started. He was an Italian and therefore superstitious. He walked straight into the midst of the guards, who on seeing him were silent. “What were you saying?” he asked with his flattering manner; “that Monsieur de Beaufort had escaped, were you not?” “Oh, no, my lord!” said the incredulous soldier. “He’s well guarded now; we only said he would escape.” “Who said so?” “Repeat your story, Saint Laurent,” replied the man, turning to the originator of the tale. “My lord,” said the guard, “I have simply mentioned the prophecy I heard from a man named Coysel, who believes that, be he ever so closely watched and guarded, the Duke of Beaufort will escape before Whitsuntide.” “Coysel is a madman!” returned the cardinal. “No,” replied the soldier, tenacious in his credulity; “he has foretold many things which have come to pass; for instance, that the queen would have a son; that Monsieur Coligny would be killed in a duel with the Duc de Guise; and finally, that the coadjutor would be made cardinal. Well! the queen has not only one son, but two; then, Monsieur de Coligny was killed, and——” “Yes,” said Mazarin, “but the coadjutor is not yet made cardinal!” “No, my lord, but he will be,” answered the guard. Mazarin made a grimace, as if he meant to say, “But he does not wear the cardinal’s cap;” then he added: “So, my friend, it’s your opinion that Monsieur de Beaufort will escape?” “That’s my idea, my lord; and if your eminence were to offer to make me at this moment governor of the castle of Vincennes, I should refuse it. After Whitsuntide it would be another thing.”