At the moment of his appearance Louis was seated in a huge chair of crimson velvet with a scroll of parchment before him, and a pen already in his hand; while Marie de Medicis stood beside him, the tears chasing each other down her cheeks, and her whole frame trembling with excitement.

“Per Dio!” was the first exclamation of the Queen, as she hurriedly snatched the scroll from the table, and forming it into a roll, thrust it into her girdle; “are you here, Cardinale?”

“I am here, Madame,” replied Richelieu with perfect composure; “and I am here because your Majesties were speaking of me.”

“You are wrong, Monseigneur,” murmured the King.

“Nay, Sire,” persisted the minister, turning towards Marie de Medicis; “your august mother will, I am convinced, own that such was the case.”

“You are right, Sir,” admitted the Tuscan Princess, no longer able or anxious to restrain her resentment; “we were speaking of you, and you had just cause to dread the results of such a conversation.  We were expatiating upon your treachery, your ingratitude, and your vices; and the subject was a copious one.”

“Ah, Madame!” expostulated Richelieu, as he fell upon his knees before his irritated mistress.  “What have I done to forfeit your favour?  How have I sacrificed your esteem?”

“Miserabile! miserabile!” cried the Queen-mother; “dare you ask how?  But it is idle to bandy words with such as you; teme mia vendetta!”

“At least, Madame, suffer M. le Ministre to justify himself,” stammered out Louis; “he may perhaps convince you that you have wronged him.”

“Wronged him!” echoed Marie with a contemptuous gesture.  “Even his ready eloquence must prove powerless beside the experience of the past.  Henceforward there can be no trust or fellowship between the widow of Henry the Great and her discarded servant.”

“In that case, Sire,” said the Cardinal, rising from his abject posture at the feet of the Queen-mother, and throwing himself at those of the King, “I can no longer offer my unworthy services to your Majesty, as it is not for me to contend against the will of my royal mistress.”

Terrified by this threat, which renewed his sense of utter helplessness, Louis faintly endeavoured to intercede in behalf of the man upon whom he had so long leant for support; but Marie impetuously interposed.

“You have heard my decision, Sir,” she said haughtily; “and it is now for you to choose between your mother and your valet.” [137]

Finding that all interference on his part must prove ineffectual, the King suddenly rose, remarking that it was late, and that as he had resolved to return to Versailles he had no time to lose.  Richelieu, who had not yet recovered sufficient self-possession to entreat a continuance of his intercession, remained motionless as he left the room; while the indignation of the Queen-mother at so undignified a retreat rendered her equally unable to expostulate; and meanwhile Louis, delighted to escape from all participation in so dangerous a contention, sprang into the carriage which was awaiting him, and beckoning his new favourite M. de Saint-Simon to take his place beside him, set off at full speed for the suburban palace where he had taken up his temporary abode.