“I have brought Monsieur de Villar to your majesty,” he said as he entered the queen’s apartment.  “He has just reached Paris with despatches from the Viscount Turenne.  He has only this instant arrived, and I thought I might venture to bring him at once to you.”

“’Tis a long time since we have seen you, monsieur,” the queen said graciously, “but we have heard of you from the marshal’s despatches, and were glad to see that your regiment bore itself as well in the field of battle as in the park of Versailles.  What news do you bring?  Nothing of importance, I hope, for there can hardly be good news when the marshal has so scanty a force with which to guard the frontier.”

“The Viscount de Turenne is too zealous in your service, madam, to remain idle, however small his force.  He started suddenly the day I left with his cavalry and a small body of infantry to march to Treves, with two or three regiments he has persuaded the Duc d’Enghien to send him from Metz with some guns, and he hoped to capture the city and clear the electorate of the enemy before they can receive strong reinforcements, seeing that they are all scattered in their winter quarters.”

“A bold stroke indeed, cardinal,” the queen said, much gratified.  “It has touched our honour that the elector should so long have suffered for his fidelity to France; and, moreover, its possession in his hands will relieve us of much anxiety and give us the Moselle as a barrier against the incursions of the enemy in that corner of our dominions.  He is indefatigable, this good viscount, cardinal; and he is not one of those who look for great rewards for every service.  He has indeed carried on the war largely on his own resources, which has been of no slight advantage to us, seeing that our exchequer is but too often strained to meet demands from other quarters.  If he succeeds in this enterprise, you must write in our name and bid him come hither to receive our thanks in person, and to rest for a while from his labours in our service.

“You have changed somewhat, Monsieur de Villar, since we last saw you.  The ladies of the court called you then the little colonel —­ not because of your size, for you already overtopped the greater portion of our courtiers, but from your age.  Now you look all over a soldier, and a weatherbeaten one.”

Hector had indeed aged during the past two years.  He was now nearly two-and-twenty, his moustache had grown, and, as was the custom of the time, he wore a small imperial.  The habit of command had given to his face an expression of decision and resolution unusual at his age, and a life spent in the open air, and for the most part sleeping without cover, had bronzed his skin, and had counteracted the youthful appearance caused by his fair complexion.

“’Tis but some three months since we heard of you as a prisoner, having been captured while with your regiment covering the retreat after the unfortunate battle of Marienthal.  The cardinal told me that he had written to the field marshal to try and arrange an exchange for you if possible.  We had not heard that he had done so when the Duc d’Enghien’s report of the battle of Nordlingen spoke of you as doing good service with your regiment there.  I suppose Turenne, in the press of business, omitted to say that you had been exchanged.”