“With all respect to the Church, sire, I would say that the devil has given these men such cunning of hand and of brain that they are the best workers and traders in your Majesty’s kingdom.  I know not how the state coffers are to be filled if such tax-payers go from among us.  Already many have left the country and taken their trades with them.  If all were to go, it would be worse for us than a lost campaign.”

“But,” remarked Bossuet, “if it were once known that the king’s will had been expressed, your Majesty may rest assured that even the worst of his subjects bear him such love that they would hasten to come within the pale of Holy Church.  As long as the edict stands, it seems to them that the king is lukewarm, and that they may abide in their error.”

The king shook his head.  “They have always been stubborn folk,” said he.

“Perhaps,” remarked Louvois, glancing maliciously at Bossuet, “were the bishops of France to make an offering to the state of the treasures of their sees, we might then do without these Huguenot taxes.”

“All that the Church has is at the king’s service,” answered Bossuet curtly.

“The kingdom is mine and all that is in it,” remarked Louis, as they entered the Grand Salon, in which the court assembled after chapel, “yet I trust that it may be long before I have to claim the wealth of the Church.”

“We trust so, sire,” echoed the ecclesiastics.

“But we may reserve such topics for our council-chamber.  Where is Mansard?  I must see his plans for the new wing at Marly.”  He crossed to a side table, and was buried in an instant in his favourite pursuit, inspecting the gigantic plans of the great architect, and inquiring eagerly as to the progress of the work.

“I think,” said Pere la Chaise, drawing Bossuet aside, “that your Grace has made some impression upon the king’s mind.”

“With your powerful assistance, father.”

“Oh, you may rest assured that I shall lose no opportunity of pushing on the good work.”

“If you take it in hand, it is done.”

“But there is another who has more weight than I.”

“The favourite, De Montespan?”

“No, no; her day is gone.  It is Madame de Maintenon.”

“I hear that she is very devout.”

“Very.  But she has no love for my Order.  She is a Sulpitian.  Yet we may all work to one end.  Now if you were to speak to her, your Grace.”

“With all my heart.”

“Show her how good a service it would be could she bring about the banishment of the Huguenots.”

“I shall do so.”

“And offer her in return that we will promote—­” he bent forward and whispered into the prelate’s ear.

“What!  He would not do it!”

“And why?  The queen is dead.”

“The widow of the poet Scarron!”

“She is of good birth.  Her grandfather and his were dear friends.”