“My memory, recalls to me all that his munificence:  has done for my talent in a thousand instances,” went on the painter; “but his edicts, his cruel decrees, have upset my heart, and the persecutor of the true Christians no longer merits my consideration or good-will.”

I had been ignorant hitherto of the faith which this able man professed; he informed me that he worshipped God in another fashion than ours, and made common cause with the Protestants.

“Well,” said I to him then, “what have you to complain of in the new edicts and decrees?  They only concern, so far, your ministers,—­I should say, your priests; you are not one, and are never likely to be; what do these new orders of the Council matter to you?”

“Madame,” resumed Petitot, “our ministers, by preaching the holy gospel, fulfil the first of their duties.  The King forbids them to preach; then, he persecutes them and us.  In the thousand and one religions which exist, the cause of the priests and the sanctuary becomes the cause of the faithful.  Our priests are not imbecile Trappists and Carthusians, to be reduced to inaction and silence.  Since their tongues are tied, they are resolved to depart; and their departure becomes an exile which it is our duty to share.  If you will entrust me with your portraits which have been commenced, with the exception of that of Heliogabalus, I will finish them in a hospitable land, and shall have the honour of sending them to you, already fired and in all their perfection.”

Petitot, until this political crisis, had only exhibited himself to me beneath an appearance of simplicity and good-nature.  Now his whole face was convulsed and almost threatening; when I looked at him he made me afraid.  I did not amuse myself by discussing with him matters upon which we were, both of us, more or less ignorant.  I did all that could be done to introduce a little calm into his superstitious head, and to gain the necessary time for the completion of my five portraits.  I was careful not to confide to the King this qualification of Heliogabalus; but as his intervention was absolutely necessary to me, I persuaded him to come and spend half an hour at this chateau of Clagny, which he had deserted for a long time past.

“Your presence,” I said to him, “will perhaps take the edge off the theological irritation of your fanatical painter.  A little royal amenity, a little conversation and blandishment, a la Louis XIV., will seduce his artistic vanity.  At the cost of that, your portrait, Sire, will be terminated.  It would not be without.”

The surprise of his Majesty was extreme when he had to learn and comprehend that the prodigious talent of Petitot was joined to a Huguenot conscience, and this talent spoke of expatriating itself.  “I will go to Clagny to-morrow,” replied the prince to me; and he went there, in fact, accompanied by the Marquise de Montchevreuil and Madame la Dauphine, in an elaborate neglige.