And rising from her seat with this decisive remark, the old duchesse plunged M. Colbert into a disagreeable perplexity. To bargain any further was out of the question; and not to bargain was to pay a great deal too dearly for them. “Madame,” he said, “I shall have the pleasure of handing over a hundred thousand crowns; but how shall I get the actual letters themselves?”
“In the simplest manner in the world, my dear Monsieur Colbert—whom will you trust?”
The financier began to laugh, silently, so that his large eyebrows went up and down like the wings of a bat, upon the deep lines of his yellow forehead. “No one,” he said.
“You surely will make an exception in your own favor, Monsieur Colbert?”
“In what way, Madame?”
“I mean that, if you would take the trouble to accompany me to the place where the letters are, they would be delivered into your own hands, and you would be able to verify and check them.”
“Quite true.”
“You would bring the hundred thousand crowns with you at the same time, for I, too, do not trust anyone.”
Colbert colored to the tips of his ears. Like all eminent men in the art of figures, he was of an insolent and mathematical probity. “I will take with me, Madame,” he said, “two orders for the amount agreed upon, payable at my treasury. Will that satisfy you?”
“Would that the orders on your treasury were for two millions, Monsieur l’Intendant! I shall have the pleasure of showing you the way, then?”
“Allow me to order my carriage?”
“I have a carriage below, Monsieur.”
Colbert coughed like an irresolute man. He imagined, for a moment, that the proposition of the duchesse was a snare; that perhaps someone was waiting at the door; and that she whose secret had just been sold to Colbert for a hundred thousand crowns, had already offered it to Fouquet for the same sum. As he still hesitated, the duchesse looked at him full in the face.
“You prefer your own carriage?” she said.
“I admit I do.”
“You suppose I am going to lead you into a snare or trap of some sort or other?”
“Madame la Duchesse, you have the character of being somewhat inconsiderate at times, as I am reputed a sober, solemn character, a jest or practical joke might compromise me.”
“Yes; the fact is, you are afraid. Well, then, take your own carriage, as many servants as you like, only think well of what I am going to say. What we two may arrange between ourselves, we are the only persons who will know—if a third person is present we might as well tell the whole world about it. After all, I do not make a point of it; my carriage shall follow yours, and I shall be satisfied to accompany you in your own carriage to the queen.”
“To the queen?”
“Have you forgotten that already? Is it possible that one of the clauses of the agreement of so much importance to me, can have escaped you so soon? How trifling it seems to you, indeed; if I had known it I should have asked double what I have done.”
“I have reflected, Madame, and I shall not accompany you.”
“Really—and why not?”
“Because I have the most perfect confidence in you.”
“You overpower me. But—provided I receive the hundred thousand crowns?”
“Here they are, Madame,” said Colbert, scribbling a few lines on a piece of paper, which he handed to the duchesse, adding, “You are paid.”
“The trait is a fine one, Monsieur Colbert, and I will reward you for it,” she said, beginning to laugh.
Madame de Chevreuse’s laugh was a very sinister sound; a man with youth, faith, love, life itself, throbbing in his heart, would prefer a sob to such a lamentable laugh. The duchesse opened the front of her dress and drew forth from her bosom, somewhat less white than it once had been, a small packet of papers, tied with a flame-colored ribbon, and, still laughing, she said, “There, Monsieur Colbert, are the originals of Cardinal Mazarin’s letters; they are now your own property,” she added, refastening the body of her dress; “your fortune is secured. And now accompany me to the queen.”
“No, Madame; if you are again about to run the chance of Her Majesty’s displeasure, and it were known at the Palais Royal that I had been the means of introducing you there, the queen would never forgive me while she lived. No; there are certain persons at the palace who are devoted to me, who will procure you an admission without my being compromised.”
“Just as you please, provided I enter.”
“What do you term those religious women at Bruges who cure disorders?”
“Béguines.”
“Good; are you one?”
“As you please—but I must soon cease to be one.”
“That is your affair.”
“Excuse me, but I do not wish to be exposed to a refusal.”
“That is again your own affair, Madame. I am going to give directions to the head valet of the gentleman in waiting on the queen to allow admission to a Béguine, who brings an effectual remedy for Her Majesty’s sufferings. You are the bearer of my letter, you will undertake to be provided with the remedy, and will give every explanation on the subject. I admit a knowledge of a Béguine, but I deny all knowledge of Madame de Chevreuse. Here, Madame, then, is your letter of introduction.”
182
The Skin of the Bear
Colbert handed the duchesse the letter, and gently drew aside the chair behind which she was standing; Madame de Chevreuse, with a very slight bow, immediately left the room. Colbert, who had recognized Mazarin’s handwriting, and had counted the letters,
