“So,” said the king, slowly, “you call your brother of England a better friend than I am?”
“Actions speak for themselves, sire.”
“And you would prefer going to ask assistance there—”
“To my own country!” said she with pride; “yes, sire.”
“You are the grandchild of Henry IV as well as myself, lady. Cousin and brother-in-law, does not that amount pretty well to the title of brother-germain?”
“Then,” said Henrietta, “act!”
“Let us form an alliance.”
“Begin.”
“I have, you say, unjustly exiled de Guiche.”
“Oh! yes,” said she, blushing.
“De Guiche shall return.”28
“So far, well.”
“And now you say that I do wrong in having in your household the Chevalier de Lorraine, who gives Monsieur ill advice respecting you?”
“Remember well what I tell you, sire; the Chevalier de Lorraine some day—Observe, if ever I come to a dreadful end, I beforehand accuse the Chevalier de Lorraine; he has a spirit that is capable of any crime!”
“The Chevalier de Lorraine shall no longer annoy you—I promise you that.”29
“Then that will be a true preliminary of alliance, sire—I sign; but since you have done your part, tell me what shall be mine.”
“Instead of embroiling me with your brother Charles, you must make him a more intimate friend than ever.”
“That is very easy.”
“Oh! not quite so easy as you may suppose, for in ordinary friendship people embrace or exercise hospitality, and that only costs a kiss or a return, profitable expenses; but in political friendship—”
“Ah! it’s a political friendship, is it?”
“Yes, my sister; and then, instead of embraces and feasts, it is soldiers—it is soldiers all alive and well equipped—that we must serve up to our friends; vessels we must offer, all armed with cannons and stored with provisions. It hence results that we have not always coffers in a fit condition for such friendships.”
“Ah! you are quite right,” said Madame; “the coffers of the king of England have been sonorous for some time.”
“But you, my sister, who have so much influence over your brother, you can secure more than an ambassador could ever get the promise of.”
“To effect that I must go to London, my dear brother.”
“I have thought so,” replied the king, eagerly; “and I have said to myself that such a voyage would do your health and spirits good.”
“Only,” interrupted Madame, “it is possible I should fail. The king of England has dangerous counselors.”
“Counselors, do you say?”
“Precisely. If, by chance, Your Majesty had any intention—I am only supposing so—of asking Charles II his alliance in a war—”
“A war?”
“Yes; well! then the king’s counselors, who are in number seven—Mademoiselle Stewart, Mademoiselle Wells, Mademoiselle Gwyn, Miss Orchay, Mademoiselle Zunga, Miss Davies, and the proud Countess of Castlemaine—will represent to the king that war costs a great deal of money; that it is better to give balls and suppers at Hampton Court than to equip ships of the line at Portsmouth and Greenwich.”
“And then your negotiations will fail?”
“Oh! those ladies cause all negotiations to fall through which they don’t make themselves.”
“Do you know the idea that has struck me, sister?”
“No; inform me what it is.”
“It is that, searching well around you, you might perhaps find a female counselor to take with you to your brother, whose eloquence might paralyze the ill-will of the seven others.”
“That is really an idea, sire, and I will search.”
“You will find what you want.”
“I hope so.”
“A pretty ambassadress is necessary; an agreeable face is better than an ugly one, is it not?”
“Most assuredly.”
“An animated, lively, audacious character.”
“Certainly.”
“Nobility; that is, enough to enable her to approach the king without awkwardness—not too lofty, so as not to trouble herself about the dignity of her race.”
“Very true.”
“And who knows a little English.”
“Mon Dieu! why, someone,” cried Madame, “like Mademoiselle de Kéroualle, for instance!”
“Oh! why, yes!” said Louis XIV; “you have hit the mark—it is you who have found, my sister.”
“I will take her; she will have no cause to complain, I suppose.”
“Oh! no, I will name her seductrice plenipotentiaire at once, and will add a dowry to the title.”
“That is well.”
“I fancy you already on your road, my dear little sister, consoled for all your griefs.”
“I will go, on two conditions. The first is, that I shall know what I am negotiating about.”
“That is it. The Dutch, you know, insult me daily in their gazettes, and by their republican attitude. I do not like republics.”
“That may easily be imagined, sire.”
“I see with pain that these kings of the sea—they call themselves so—keep trade from France in the Indies, and that their vessels will soon occupy all the ports of Europe. Such a power is too near me, sister.”
“They are your allies, nevertheless.”
“That is why they were wrong in having the medal you have heard of struck; a medal which represents Holland stopping the sun, as Joshua did, with this legend: The sun had stopped before me
. There is not much fraternity in that, is there?”
“I thought you had forgotten that miserable episode?”
“I never forget anything, sister. And if my true friends, such as your brother Charles, are willing to second me—” The princess remained pensively silent.
“Listen to me; there is the empire of the seas to be shared,” said Louis XIV. “For this partition, which England submits to, could I not represent the second party as well as the Dutch?”
“We have Mademoiselle de Kéroualle to treat that question,” replied Madame.
“Your second condition for going, if you please, sister?”
“The consent of Monsieur, my husband.”
“You shall have it.”
“Then consider me already gone, brother.”
On hearing these words, Louis XIV turned round towards the corner of the room in which d’Artagnan, Colbert, and Aramis stood, and made an affirmative sign to his minister. Colbert then broke in on the conversation suddenly, and said to Aramis:
“Monsieur l’Ambassadeur, shall we talk about business?”
D’Artagnan immediately withdrew, from politeness. He directed his steps towards the fireplace, within hearing of what the king was about to say to Monsieur, who, evidently uneasy, had
