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.
CHAPTER 40
An Affair of State
The cardinal, on passing into his cabinet, found the Comte
de la Fere, who was waiting for him, engaged in admiring a
very fine Raphael placed over a sideboard covered with
plate. His eminence came in softly, lightly, and 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.
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“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 Fere,” 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 majesty Charles
II. to the throne of his ancestors.”
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 hot-house 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