“He is dead, sir; a great loss.  His devotion to the queen was boundless; men of loyalty are scarce.”

“I think so, forsooth,” said Rochefort, “and when you find any of them, you march them off to the Bastile.  However, there are plenty in the world, but you don’t look in the right direction for them, my lord.”

“Indeed! explain to me.  Ah! my dear Monsieur de Rochefort, how much you must have learned during your intimacy with the late cardinal!  Ah! he was a great man.”

“Will your eminence be angry if I read you a lesson?”

“I! never! you know you may say anything to me.  I try to be beloved, not feared.”

“Well, there is on the wall of my cell, scratched with a nail, a proverb, which says, `Like master, like servant.’”

“Pray, what does that mean?”

“It means that Monsieur de Richelieu was able to find trusty servants, dozens and dozens of them.”

“He! the point aimed at by every poniard!  Richelieu, who passed his life in warding off blows which were forever aimed at him!”

“But he did ward them off,” said De Rochefort, “and the reason was, that though he had bitter enemies he possessed also true friends.  I have known persons,” he continued —­ for he thought he might avail himself of the opportunity of speaking of D’Artagnan —­ “who by their sagacity and address have deceived the penetration of Cardinal Richelieu; who by their valor have got the better of his guards and spies; persons without money, without support, without credit, yet who have preserved to the crowned head its crown and made the cardinal crave pardon.”

“But those men you speak of,” said Mazarin, smiling inwardly on seeing Rochefort approach the point to which he was leading him, “those men were not devoted to the cardinal, for they contended against him.”

“No; in that case they would have met with more fitting reward.  They had the misfortune to be devoted to that very queen for whom just now you were seeking servants.”

“But how is it that you know so much of these matters?”

“I know them because the men of whom I speak were at that time my enemies; because they fought against me; because I did them all the harm I could and they returned it to the best of their ability; because one of them, with whom I had most to do, gave me a pretty sword-thrust, now about seven years ago, the third that I received from the same hand; it closed an old account.”

“Ah!” said Mazarin, with admirable suavity, “could I but find such men!”

“My lord, there has stood for six years at your very door a man such as I describe, and during those six years he has been unappreciated and unemployed by you.”

“Who is it?”

“It is Monsieur d’Artagnan.”

“That Gascon!” cried Mazarin, with well acted surprise.

“`That Gascon’ has saved a queen and made Monsieur de Richelieu confess that in point of talent, address and political skill, to him he was only a tyro.”