“He has no soldiers,” interrupted the Chevalier de Lorraine.
“The king of Holland, his ally, will give him some. I would willingly have given him some if I had been king of France.”
Louis XIV blushed excessively. Mazarin affected to be more attentive to his game than ever.
“By this time,” resumed the Comte de Guiche, “the fortune of this unhappy prince is decided. If he has been deceived by Monck, he is ruined. Imprisonment, perhaps death, will finish what exiles, battles, and privations have commenced.”
Mazarin’s brow became clouded.
“It is certain,” said Louis XIV, “that His Majesty Charles II, has quitted the Hague?”
“Quite certain, Your Majesty,” replied the young man; “my father has received a letter containing all the details; it is even known that the king has landed at Dover; some fishermen saw him entering the port; the rest is still a mystery.”
“I should like to know the rest,” said Philip, impetuously. “You know—you, my brother.”
Louis XIV colored again. That was the third time within an hour. “Ask my Lord Cardinal,” replied he, in a tone which made Mazarin, Anne of Austria, and everybody else open their eyes.
“That means, my son,” said Anne of Austria, laughing, “that the king does not like affairs of state to be talked of out of the council.”
Philip received the reprimand with good grace, and bowed, first smiling at his brother, and then at his mother. But Mazarin saw from the corner of his eye that a group was about to be formed in the corner of the room, and that the Duc d’Anjou, with the Comte de Guiche, and the Chevalier de Lorraine, prevented from talking aloud, might say, in a whisper, what it was not convenient should be said. He was beginning then to dart at them glances full of mistrust and uneasiness, inviting Anne of Austria to throw perturbation in the midst of the unlawful assembly, when, suddenly, Bernouin, entering from behind the tapestry of the bedroom, whispered in the ear of Mazarin, “Monseigneur, an envoy from His Majesty, the king of England.”
Mazarin could not help exhibiting a slight emotion, which was perceived by the king. To avoid being indiscreet, rather than to appear useless, Louis XIV rose immediately, and approaching His Eminence, wished him good night. All the assembly had risen with a great noise of rolling of chairs and tables being pushed away.
“Let everybody depart by degrees,” said Mazarin in a whisper to Louis XIV, “and be so good as to excuse me a few minutes. I am going to dispatch an affair about which I wish to converse with Your Majesty this very evening.”
“And the queens?” asked Louis XIV.
“And M. le Duc d’Anjou,” said His Eminence.
At the same time he turned round in his ruelle, the curtains of which, in falling, concealed the bed. The cardinal, nevertheless, did not lose sight of the conspirators.
“M. le Comte de Guiche,” said he, in a fretful voice, whilst putting on, behind the curtain, his dressing-gown, with the assistance of Bernouin.
“I am here, my lord,” said the young man, as he approached.
“Take my cards, you are lucky. Win a little money for me of these gentlemen.”
“Yes, my lord.”
The young man sat down at the table from which the king withdrew to talk with the two queens. A serious game was commenced between the comte and several rich courtiers. In the meantime Philip was discussing the questions of dress with the Chevalier de Lorraine, and they had ceased to hear the rustling of the cardinal’s silk robe from behind the curtain. His Eminence had followed Bernouin into the closet adjoining the bedroom.
40
An Affair of State
The cardinal, on passing into his cabinet, found the Comte de la Fère, who was waiting for him, engaged in admiring a very fine Raphael placed over a sideboard covered with a plate. His Eminence came in softly, lightly, and as silently as a shadow, and surprised the countenance of the comte, as he was accustomed to do, pretending to divine by the simple expression of the face of his interlocutor what would be the result of the conversation.
But this time Mazarin was foiled in his expectation: he read nothing upon the face of Athos, not even the respect he was accustomed to see on all faces. Athos was dressed in black, with a simple lacing of silver. He wore the Holy Ghost, the Garter, and the Golden Fleece, three orders of such importance, that a king alone, or else a player, could wear them at once.
Mazarin rummaged a long time in his somewhat troubled memory to recall the name he ought to give to this icy figure, but he did not succeed. “I am told,” said he, at length, “you have a message from England for me.”
And he sat down, dismissing Bernouin, who, in his quality of secretary, was getting his pen ready.
“On the part of His Majesty, the King of England, yes, Your Eminence.”
“You speak very good French for an Englishman, Monsieur,” said Mazarin, graciously, looking through his fingers at the Holy Ghost, Garter, and Golden Fleece, but more particularly at the face of the messenger.
“I am not an Englishman, but a Frenchman, Monsieur le Cardinal,” replied Athos.
“It is remarkable that the king of England should choose a Frenchman for his ambassador; it is an excellent augury. Your name, Monsieur, if you please.”
“Comte de la Fère,” replied Athos, bowing more slightly than the ceremonial and pride of the all-powerful minister required.
Mazarin bent his shoulders, as if to say:—
“I do not know that name.”
Athos did not alter his carriage.
“And you come, Monsieur,” continued Mazarin, “to tell me—”
“I come on the part of His Majesty the King of Great Britain to announce to the King of France”—Mazarin frowned—“to announce to the King of France,” continued Athos, imperturbably, “the happy restoration of His
