“Well, my lord, of what are you thinking?”

“Alas, Joseph, of what should we all think, but of our future happiness in a better life?  For many days I have been reflecting that human interests have too much diverted me from this great thought; and I repent me of having spent some moments of my leisure in profane works, such as my tragedies, ‘Europe’ and ‘Mirame,’ despite the glory they have already gained me among our brightest minds—­a glory which will extend unto futurity.”

Father Joseph, full of what he had to say, was at first surprised at this opening; but he knew his master too well to betray his feelings, and, well skilled in changing the course of his ideas, replied: 

“Yes, their merit is very great, and France will regret that these immortal works are not followed by similar productions.”

“Yes, my dear Joseph; but it is in vain that such men as Boisrobert, Claveret, Colletet, Corneille, and, above all, the celebrated Mairet, have proclaimed these tragedies the finest that the present or any past age has produced.  I reproach myself for them, I swear to you, as for a mortal sin, and I now, in my hours of repose, occupy myself only with my ‘Methode des Controverses’, and my book on the ‘Perfection du Chretien.’  I remember that I am fifty-six years old, and that I have an incurable malady.”

“These are calculations which your enemies make as precisely as your Eminence,” said the priest, who began to be annoyed with this conversation, and was eager to talk of other matters.

The blood mounted to the Cardinal’s face.

“I know it!  I know it well!” he said; “I know all their black villainy, and I am prepared for it.  But what news is there?”

“According to our arrangement, my lord, we have removed Mademoiselle d’Hautefort, as we removed Mademoiselle de la Fayette before her.  So far it is well; but her place is not filled, and the King—­”

“Well!”

“The King has ideas which he never had before.”

“Ha! and which come not from me?  ’Tis well, truly,” said the minister, with an ironic sneer.

“What, my lord, leave the place of the favorite vacant for six whole days?  It is not prudent; pardon me for saying so.”

“He has ideas—­ideas!” repeated Richelieu, with a kind of terror; “and what are they?”

“He talks of recalling the Queen-mother,” said the Capuchin, in a low voice; “of recalling her from Cologne.”

“Marie de Medicis!” cried the Cardinal, striking the arms of his chair with his hands.  “No, by Heaven, she shall not again set her foot upon the soil of France, whence I drove her, step by step!  England has not dared to receive her, exiled by me; Holland fears to be crushed by her; and my kingdom to receive her!  No, no, such an idea could not have originated with himself!  To recall my enemy! to recall his mother!  What perfidy!  He would not have dared to think of it.”