[In 1638, Prince Thomas having raised the siege of Hesdin, the Cardinal was much vexed at it.  A nun of the convent of Mount Calvary had said that the victory would be to the King and Father Joseph, thus wishing it to be believed that Heaven protected the minister.—­Memoires pour l’histoire du Cardinal de Richelieu.]

“This is another of your absurdities, sir,” said the Cardinal; “you will make me as ridiculous as yourself, if you go on so; I am too powerful to need the assistance of Heaven.  Do not let that happen again.  Occupy yourself only with the people I consign to you.  I traced your part before.  When the master of the horse is taken, you will see him tried and executed at Lyons.  I will not be known in this.  This affair is beneath me; it is a stone under my feet, upon which I ought not to have bestowed so much attention.”

Joseph was silent; he could not understand this man, who, surrounded on every side by armed enemies, spoke of the future as of a present over which he had the entire control, and of the present as a past which he no longer feared.  He knew not whether to look upon him as a madman or a prophet, above or below the standard of human nature.

His astonishment was redoubled when Chavigny hastily entered, and nearly falling, in his heavy boots, over the Cardinal’s footstool, exclaimed in great agitation: 

“Sir, one of your servants has just arrived from Perpignan; and he has beheld the camp in an uproar, and your enemies in the saddle.”

“They will soon dismount, sir,” replied Richelieu, replacing his footstool.  “You appear to have lost your equanimity.”

“But—­but, Monseigneur, must we not warn Monsieur de Fabert?”

“Let him sleep, and go to bed yourself; and you also, Joseph.”

“Monseigneur, another strange event has occurred—­the King has arrived.”

“Indeed, that is extraordinary,” said the minister, looking at his watch.  “I did not expect him these two hours.  Retire, both of you.”

A heavy trampling and the clattering of arms announced the arrival of the Prince; the folding-doors were thrown open; the guards in the Cardinal’s service struck the ground thrice with their pikes; and the King appeared.

He entered, supporting himself with a cane on one side, and on the other leaning upon the shoulder of his confessor, Father Sirmond, who withdrew, and left him with the Cardinal; the latter rose with difficulty, but could not advance a step to meet the King, because his legs were bandaged and enveloped.  He made a sign that they should assist the King to a seat near the fire, facing himself.  Louis XIII fell into an armchair furnished with pillows, asked for and drank a glass of cordial, prepared to strengthen him against the frequent fainting-fits caused by his malady of languor, signed to all to leave the room, and, alone with Richelieu, he said in a languid voice: 

“I am departing, my dear Cardinal; I feel that I shall soon return to God.  I become weaker from day to day; neither the summer nor the southern air has restored my strength.”