“I shall not trouble myself to read them; while the Duc de Bouillon remains in Italy I have nothing to fear in that quarter.  She may have as many petty plots with Gaston in the chimney-corner as she pleases; he never got beyond his excellent intentions, forsooth!  He carries nothing into effect but his withdrawal from the kingdom.  He has had his third dismissal; I will manage a fourth for him whenever he pleases; he is not worth the pistol-shot you had the Comte de Soissons settled with, and yet the poor Comte had scarce more energy than he.”

And the Cardinal, reseating himself in his chair, began to laugh gayly enough for a statesman.

“I always laugh when I think of their expedition to Amiens.  They had me between them, Each had fully five hundred gentlemen with him, armed to the teeth, and all going to despatch me, like Concini; but the great Vitry was not there.  They very quietly let me talk for an hour with them about the hunt and the Fete Dieu, and neither of them dared make a sign to their cut-throats.  I have since learned from Chavigny that for two long months they had been waiting that happy moment.  For myself, indeed, I observed nothing, except that little villain, the Abbe de Gondi,—­[Afterward Cardinal de Retz.]—­who prowled near me, and seemed to have something hidden under his sleeve; it was he that made me get into the coach.”

“Apropos of the Abbe, my lord, the Queen insists upon making him coadjutor.”

“She is mad! he will ruin her if she connects herself with him; he’s a musketeer in canonicals, the devil in a cassock.  Read his ’Histoire de Fiesque’; you may see himself in it.  He will be nothing while I live.”

“How is it that with a judgment like yours you bring another ambitious man of his age to court?”

“That is an entirely different matter.  This young Cinq-Mars, my friend, will be a mere puppet.  He will think of nothing but his ruff and his shoulder-knots; his handsome figure assures me of this.  I know that he is gentle and weak; it was for this reason I preferred him to his elder brother.  He will do whatever we wish.”

“Ah, my lord,” said the monk, with an expression of doubt, “I never place much reliance on people whose exterior is so calm; the hidden flame is often all the more dangerous.  Recollect the Marechal d’Effiat, his father.”

“But I tell you he is a boy, and I shall bring him up; while Gondi is already an accomplished conspirator, an ambitious knave who sticks at nothing.  He has dared to dispute Madame de la Meilleraie with me.  Can you conceive it?  He dispute with me!  A petty priestling, who has no other merit than a little lively small-talk and a cavalier air.  Fortunately, the husband himself took care to get rid of him.”

Father Joseph, who listened with equal impatience to his master when he spoke of his ‘bonnes fortunes’ or of his verses, made, however, a grimace which he meant to be very sly and insinuating, but which was simply ugly and awkward; he fancied that the expression of his mouth, twisted about like a monkey’s, conveyed, “Ah! who can resist your Eminence?” But his Eminence only read there, “I am a clown who knows nothing of the great world”; and, without changing his voice, he suddenly said, taking up a despatch from the table: