“Upon Bordeaux, seven millions.”

“Seven?” repeated Bernouin.

“Yes,” said the cardinal, pettishly, “seven.”  Then, recollecting himself, “You understand, Bernouin,” added he, “that all this money is to be spent?”

“Eh! monseigneur; whether it be spent or put away is of very little consequence to me, since none of these millions are mine.”

“These millions are the king’s; it is the king’s money I am reckoning.  Well, what were we saying?  You always interrupt me!”

“Seven millions upon Bordeaux.”

“Ah! yes; that’s right.  Upon Madrid four millions.  I give you to understand plainly to whom this money belongs, Bernouin, seeing that everybody has the stupidity to believe me rich in millions.  I repel the silly idea.  A minister, besides, has nothing of his own.  Come, go on. Rentrees generales, seven millions; properties, nine millions.  Have you written that, Bernouin?”

“Yes, monseigneur.”

“Bourse, six hundred thousand livres; various property, two millions.  Ah!  I forgot — the furniture of the different chateaux — "

“Must I put of the crown?” asked Bernouin.

“No, no; it is of no use doing that — that is understood.  Have you written that, Bernouin?”

“Yes, monseigneur.”

“And the ciphers?”

“Stand straight under one another.”

“Cast them up, Bernouin.”

“Thirty-nine millions two hundred and sixty thousand livres, monseigneur.”

“Ah!” cried the cardinal, in a tone of vexation; “there are not yet forty millions!”

Bernouin recommenced the addition.

“No, monseigneur; there want seven hundred and forty thousand livres.”

Mazarin asked for the account, and revised it carefully.

“Yes, but,” said Bernouin, “thirty-nine millions two hundred and sixty thousand livres make a good round sum.”

“Ah, Bernouin; I wish the king had it.”

“Your eminence told me that this money was his majesty’s.”

“Doubtless, as clear, as transparent as possible.  These thirty-nine millions are bespoken, and much more.”

Bernouin smiled after his own fashion — that is, like a man who believes no more than he is willing to believe — whilst preparing the cardinal’s night draught, and putting his pillow to rights.

“Oh!” said Mazarin, when the valet had gone out; “not yet forty millions!  I must, however, attain that sum, which I had set down for myself.  But who knows whether I shall have time?  I sink, I am going, I shall never reach it!  And yet, who knows that I may not find two or three millions in the pockets of my good friends the Spaniards?  They discovered Peru, those people did, and — what the devil! they must have something left.”

As he was speaking thus, entirely occupied with his ciphers, and thinking no more of his gout, repelled by a preoccupation which, with the cardinal, was the most powerful of all preoccupations, Bernouin rushed into the chamber, quite in a fright.