This shade did not escape his cunning eminence. Mazarin was too much accustomed to mankind, not to see in the cold and almost haughty politeness of Athos, an index of hostility, which was not of the temperature of that hothouse called a court.
“You have powers, I suppose?” asked Mazarin, in a short, querulous tone.
“Yes, Monseigneur.” And the word “Monseigneur” came so painfully from the lips of Athos that it might be said it skinned them.
Athos took from an embroidered velvet bag which he carried under his doublet a dispatch. The cardinal held out his hand for it. “Your pardon, Monseigneur,” said Athos. “My dispatch is for the king.”
“Since you are a Frenchman, Monsieur, you ought to know the position of a prime minister at the court of France.”
“There was a time,” replied Athos, “when I occupied myself with the importance of prime ministers; but I have formed, long ago, a resolution to treat no longer with any but the king.”
“Then, Monsieur,” said Mazarin, who began to be irritated, “you will neither see the minister nor the king.”
Mazarin rose. Athos replaced his dispatch in its bag, bowed gravely, and made several steps towards the door. This coolness exasperated Mazarin. “What strange diplomatic proceedings are these!” cried he. “Have we returned to the times when Cromwell sent us bullies in the guise of charges d’affaires? You want nothing, Monsieur, but the steel cap on your head, and a Bible at your girdle.”
“Monsieur,” said Athos, dryly, “I have never had, as you have, the advantage of treating with Cromwell; and I have only seen his charges d’affaires sword in hand; I am therefore ignorant of how he treated with prime ministers. As for the king of England, Charles II, I know that when he writes to His Majesty King Louis XIV, he does not write to His Eminence the Cardinal Mazarin. I see no diplomacy in that distinction.”
“Ah!” cried Mazarin, raising his attenuated hand, and striking his head, “I remember now!” Athos looked at him in astonishment. “Yes, that is it!” said the cardinal, continuing to look at his interlocutor; “yes, that is certainly it. I know you now, Monsieur. Ah! diavolo! I am no longer astonished.”
“In fact, I was astonished that, with Your Eminence’s excellent memory,” replied Athos, smiling, “you had not recognized me before.”
“Always refractory and grumbling—Monsieur—Monsieur—What do they call you? Stop—a name of a river—Potamos; no—the name of an island—Naxos; no, per Giove!—the name of a mountain—Athos! now I have it. Delighted to see you again, and to be no longer at Rueil, where you and your damned companions made me pay ransom. Fronde! still Fronde! accursed Fronde! Oh, what grudges! Why, Monsieur, have your antipathies survived mine? If anyone has cause to complain, I think it could not be you, who got out of the affair not only in a sound skin, but with the cordon of the Holy Ghost around your neck.”
“My Lord Cardinal,” replied Athos, “permit me not to enter into considerations of that kind. I have a mission to fulfill. Will you facilitate the means of my fulfilling that mission, or will you not?”
“I am astonished,” said Mazarin—quite delighted at having recovered his memory, and bristling with malice—“I am astonished, Monsieur—Athos—that a Frondeur like you should have accepted a mission for the Perfidious Mazarin, as used to be said in the good old times—” And Mazarin began to laugh, in spite of a painful cough, which cut short his sentences, converting them into sobs.
“I have only accepted the mission near the King of France, Monsieur le Cardinal,” retorted the comte, though with less asperity, for he thought he had sufficiently the advantage to show himself moderate.
“And yet, Monsieur le Frondeur,” said Mazarin, gayly, “the affair which you have taken in charge must, from the king—”
“With which I have been given in charge, Monseigneur. I do not run after affairs.”
“Be it so. I say that this negotiation must pass through my hands. Let us lose no precious time, then. Tell me the conditions.”
“I have had the honor of assuring Your Eminence that only the letter of His Majesty King Charles II contains the revelation of his wishes.”
“Pooh! you are ridiculous with your obstinacy, Monsieur Athos. It is plain you have kept company with the Puritans yonder. As to your secret, I know it better than you do; and you have done wrongly, perhaps, in not having shown some respect for a very old and suffering man, who has labored much during his life, and kept the field for his ideas as bravely as you have for yours. You will not communicate your letter to me? You will say nothing to me? Very well! Come with me into my chamber; you shall speak to the king—and before the king.—Now, then, one last word: who gave you the Fleece? I remember you passed for having the Garter; but as to the Fleece, I do not know—”
“Recently, my lord, Spain, on the occasion of the marriage of His Majesty Louis XIV, sent King Charles II a brevet of the Fleece in blank; Charles II immediately transmitted it to me, filling up the blank with my name.”
Mazarin arose, and leaning on the arm of Bernouin, he returned to his ruelle at the moment the name of M. le Prince was being announced. The Prince de Condé, the first prince of the blood, the conqueror of Rocroi, Lens, and Nordlingen, was, in fact, entering the apartment of Monseigneur de Mazarin, followed by his gentlemen, and had already saluted the king, when the prime minister raised his curtain. Athos had time to see Raoul pressing the hand of the Comte de Guiche, and send him a smile in return for his respectful bow. He had time, likewise, to see the radiant countenance of the cardinal, when he perceived before him, upon the table, an enormous heap of gold, which the Comte de Guiche
