to escape by the door of the ruelle. Anne of Austria arose,
and awaited her son, standing. Louis IV. appeared at the
threshold of the door, with his eyes fixed upon the dying
man, who did not even think it worth while to notice that
majesty from whom he thought he had nothing more to expect.
An usher placed an armchair close to the bed. Louis bowed to
his mother, then to the cardinal, and sat down. The queen
took a seat in her turn.
Then, as the king looked behind him, the usher understood
that look and made a sign to the courtiers who filled up the
doorway to go out, which they instantly did. Silence fell
upon the chamber with the velvet curtains. The king, still
very young, and very timid in the presence of him who had
been his master from his birth, still respected him much,
particularly now, in the supreme majesty of death. He did
not dare, therefore, to begin the conversation, feeling that
every word must have its weight not only upon things of this
world, but of the next. As to the cardinal, at that moment
he had but one thought — his donation. It was not physical
pain which gave him that air of despondency, and that
lugubrious look; it was the expectation of the thanks that
were about to issue from the king’s mouth, and cut off all
hope of restitution. Mazarin was the first to break the
silence. “Is your majesty come to make any stay at
Vincennes?” said he.
Louis made an affirmative sign with his head.
“That is a gracious favor,” continued Mazarin, “granted to a
dying man, and which will render death less painful to him.”
“I hope,” replied the king, “I am come to visit, not a dying
man, but a sick man, susceptible of cure.”
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Mazarin replied by a movement of the head.
“Your majesty is very kind; but I know more than you on that
subject. The last visit, sire,” said he, “the last visit.”
“If it were so, monsieur le cardinal,” said Louis, “I would
come a last time to ask the counsels of a guide to whom I
owe everything.”
Anne of Austria was a woman; she could not restrain her
tears. Louis showed himself much affected, and Mazarin still
more than his two guests, but from very different motives.
Here the silence returned. The queen wiped her eyes, and the
king resumed his firmness.
“I was saying,” continued the king, “that I owed much to
your eminence.” The eyes of the cardinal devoured the king,
for he felt the great moment had come. “And,” continued
Louis, “the principal object of my visit was to offer you
very sincere thanks for the last evidence of friendship you
have kindly sent me.”
The cheeks of the cardinal became sunken, his lips partially
opened, and the most lamentable sigh he had ever uttered was
about to issue from his chest.
“Sire,” said he, “I shall have despoiled my poor family; I
shall have ruined all who belong to me, which may be imputed
to me as an error; but, at least, it shall not be said of me
that I have refused to sacrifice everything to my king.”
Anne of Austria’s tears flowed afresh.
“My dear Monsieur Mazarin,” said the king, in a more serious
tone than might have been expected from his youth, “you have
misunderstood me, apparently.”
Mazarin raised himself upon his elbow.
“I have no purpose to despoil your dear family, nor to ruin
your servants. Oh, no, that must never be!”
“Humph!” thought Mazarin, “he is going to restore me some
scraps; let us get the largest piece we can.”
“The king is going to be foolishly affected and play the
generous,” thought the queen; “he must not be allowed to
impoverish himself; such an opportunity for getting a
fortune will never occur again.”
“Sire,” said the cardinal, aloud, “my family is very
numerous, and my nieces will be destitute when I am gone.”
“Oh,” interrupted the queen, eagerly, “have no uneasiness
with respect to your family, dear Monsieur Mazarin; we have
no friends dearer than your friends; your nieces shall be my