“Truly not, madame; therefore the horses only await the orders of his majesty to enter the royal stables; and if I allowed myself to try them, it was only for fear of offering to the king anything that was not positively wonderful.”

The king became quite red.

“You know, Monsieur Fouquet,” said the queen, “that at the court of France it is not the custom for a subject to offer anything to his king.”

Louis started.

“I hoped, madame,” said Fouquet, much agitated, “that my love for his majesty, my incessant desire to please him, would serve to compensate the want of etiquette.  It was not so much a present that I permitted myself to offer, as the tribute I paid.”

“Thank you, Monsieur Fouquet,” said the king politely, “and I am gratified by your intention, for I love good horses; but you know I am not very rich; you, who are my superintendent of finances, know it better than any one else.  I am not able, then, however willing I may be, to purchase such a valuable set of horses.”

Fouquet darted a haughty glance at the queen-mother, who appeared to triumph at the false position in which the minister had placed himself, and replied:  —

“Luxury is the virtue of kings, sire:  it is luxury which makes them resemble God; it is by luxury they are more than other men.  With luxury a king nourishes his subjects, and honors them.  Under the mild heat of this luxury of kings springs the luxury of individuals, a source of riches for the people.  His majesty, by accepting the gift of these six incomparable horses, would stimulate the pride of his own breeders, of Limousin, Perche, and Normandy; and this emulation would have been beneficial to all.  But the king is silent, and consequently I am condemned.”

During this speech, Louis was, unconsciously, folding and unfolding Mazarin’s paper, upon which he had not cast his eyes.  At length he glanced upon it, and uttered a faint cry at reading the first line.

“What is the matter, my son?” asked the queen, anxiously, and going towards the king.

“From the cardinal,” replied the king, continuing to read; “yes, yes, it is really from him.”

“Is he worse, then?”

“Read!” said the king, passing the parchment to his mother, as if he thought that nothing less than reading would convince Anne of Austria of a thing so astonishing as was conveyed in that paper.

Anne of Austria read in turn, and as she read, her eyes sparkled with joy all the greater from her useless endeavor to hide it, which attracted the attention of Fouquet.

“Oh! a regularly drawn up deed of gift,” said she.

“A gift?” repeated Fouquet.

“Yes,” said the king, replying pointedly to the superintendent of finances, “yes, at the point of death, monsieur le cardinal makes me a donation of all his wealth.”