What annoyed Louvois most was, that this scene passed not only before all the officers of the buildings, but in presence of all who followed the King in his promenades, nobles, courtiers, officers of the guard, and others, even all the rolete.  The dressing given to Louvois was smart and long, mixed with reflections upon the fault of this window, which, not noticed so soon, might have spoiled all the facade, and compelled it to be re-built.

Louvois, who was not accustomed to be thus treated, returned home in fury, and like a man in despair.  His familiars were frightened, and in their disquietude angled to learn what had happened.  At last he told them, said he was lost, and that for a few inches the King forgot all his services, which had led to so many conquests; he declared that henceforth he would leave the trowel to the King, bring about a war, and so arrange matters that the King should have good need of him!

He soon kept his word.  He caused a war to grow out of the affair of the double election of Cologne, of the Prince of Bavaria, and of the Cardinal of Furstenberg; he confirmed it in carrying the flames into the Palatinate, and in leaving, as I have said, all liberty to the project upon England; he put the finishing touch to his work by forcing the Duke of Savoy into the arms of his enemies, and making him become, by the position of his country, our enemy, the most difficult and the most ruinous.  All that I have here related was clearly brought to light in due time.

Boisseuil died shortly after D’Avaux.  He was a tall, big man, warm and violent, a great gambler, bad tempered,—­who often treated M. le Grand and Madame d’Armagnac, great people as they were, so that the company were ashamed,—­and who swore in the saloon of Marly as if he had been in a tap-room.  He was feared; and he said to women whatever came uppermost when the fury of a cut-throat seized him.  During a journey the King and Court made to Nancy, Boisseuil one evening sat down to play in the house of one of the courtiers.  A player happened to be there who played very high.  Boisseuil lost a good deal, and was very angry.  He thought he perceived that this gentleman, who was only permitted on account of his play, was cheating, and made such good use of his eyes that he soon found this was the case, and all on a sudden stretched across the table and seized the gambler’s hand, which he held upon the table, with the cards he was going to deal.  The gentleman, very much astonished, wished to withdraw his hand, and was angry.  Boisseuil, stronger than he, said that he was a rogue, and that the company should see it, and immediately shaking his hand with fury put in evidence his deceit.  The player, confounded, rose and went away.  The game went on, and lasted long into the night.  When finished, Boisseuil went away.  As he was leaving the door he found a man stuck against the wall—­it was the player—­who called him to account for the insult he had received.  Boisseuil replied that he should give him no satisfaction, and that he was a rogue.