agitation in the depth of his heart had warned him indeed that, the hour passed, all the burden of the State would fall upon himself alone; but he talked in order to divert the troublesome thought, and, concealing from himself the doubt he had of his own inability to reign, he set his imagination to work upon the result of his enterprises, thus forcing himself to forget the tedious roads which had led to them.  Rapid phrases succeeded one another on his lips.

“We shall soon take Perpignan,” he said to Fabert, who stood at some distance.

“Well, Cardinal, Lorraine is ours,” he added to La Vallette.  Then, touching Mazarin’s arm: 

“It is not so difficult to manage a State as is supposed, eh?”

The Italian, who was not so sure of the Cardinal’s disgrace as most of the courtiers, answered, without compromising himself: 

“Ah, Sire, the late successes of your Majesty at home and abroad prove your sagacity in choosing your instruments and in directing them, and—­”

But the Duc de Beaufort, interrupting him with that self-confidence, that loud voice and overbearing air, which subsequently procured him the surname of Important, cried out, vehemently: 

“Pardieu!  Sire, it needs only to will.  A nation is driven like a horse, with spur and bridle; and as we are all good horsemen, your Majesty has only to choose among us.”

This fine sally had not time to take effect, for two ushers cried, simultaneously, “His Eminence!”

The King’s face flushed involuntarily, as if he had been surprised en flagrant delit.  But immediately gaining confidence, he assumed an air of resolute haughtiness, which was not lost upon the minister.

The latter, attired in all the pomp of a cardinal, leaning upon two young pages, and followed by his captain of the guards and more than five hundred gentlemen attached to his house, advanced toward the King slowly and pausing at each step, as if forced to it by his sufferings, but in reality to observe the faces before him.  A glance sufficed.

His suite remained at the entrance of the royal tent; of all those within it, not one was bold enough to salute him, or to look toward him.  Even La Vallette feigned to be occupied in a conversation with Montresor; and the King, who desired to give him an unfavorable reception, greeted him lightly and continued a private conversation in a low voice with the Duc de Beaufort.

The Cardinal was therefore forced, after the first salute, to stop and pass to the side of the crowd of courtiers, as if he wished to mingle with them, but in reality to test them more closely; they all recoiled as at the sight of a leper.  Fabert alone advanced toward him with the frank, brusque air habitual with him, and, making use of the terms belonging to his profession, said: 

“Well, my lord, you make a breach in the midst of them like a cannon-ball; I ask pardon in their name.”