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The gentleman left the room. The door had scarcely closed before the cardinal, who had no mask for Bernouin, took off that which had so recently covered his face, and with a most dismal expression, "Call M. de Brienne," said he. Five minutes afterward the secretary entered. "Monsieur," said Mazarin, "I have just rendered a great service to the monarchy, the greatest I have ever rendered it.
As he was speaking thus, entirely occupied with his ciphers, and thinking no more of his gout, repelled by a preoccupation which, with the cardinal, was the most powerful of all preoccupations, Bernouin rushed into the chamber, quite in a fright. "Well!" asked the cardinal, "what is the matter now?" "The king, monseigneur, the king!" "How? the king!" said Mazarin, quickly concealing his paper.
"Two soldiers," said D'Artagnan, seeming to remember something, "two soldiers, yes; that, then, is why I hear two men called every evening and see them walking sometimes for half an hour, under my window." "That is it; they are waiting for the cardinal, or rather for Bernouin, who comes to call them when the cardinal goes out." "Fine-looking men, upon my word!" said D'Artagnan.
Bernouin entered, followed by the gentleman, who had orders from the king to place the letter in the hands of the cardinal himself. Mazarin took the letter, but before opening it, he got up a ready smile, a smile of circumstance, able to throw a veil over emotions of whatever sort they might be.
"Had I such a uniform as your eminence possesses, I protest I should be mightily content, and I would take an oath never to wear any other costume " "Yes, but for to-night's adventure I don't suppose my dress would have been a very safe one. Give me my felt hat, Bernouin." The valet instantly brought to his master a regimental hat with a wide brim. The cardinal put it on in military style.
There is likewise no doubt that Bernouin, who was on good terms with everybody, approached so near to the secretary as to be able to read the letter over his shoulder; so that the news spread with such activity through the castle, that Mazarin might have feared it would reach the ears of the queen-mother before M. de Brienne could convey Louis XIV.'s letter to her.
She was dressed, that is to say, in dishabille, wrapped in a long, warm dressing-gown. "It is you, Bernouin," she said. "Is Monsieur d'Artagnan there?" "Yes, madame, in your oratory. He is waiting till your majesty is ready." "I am. Go and tell Laporte to wake and dress the king, and then pass on to the Marechal de Villeroy and summon him to me." Bernouin bowed and retired.
Mazarin rummaged a long time in his somewhat troubled memory to recall the name he ought to give to this icy figure, but he did not succeed. "I am told," said he, at length, "you have a message from England for me." And he sat down, dismissing Bernouin, who, in his quality of secretary, was getting his pen ready. "On the part of his majesty, the king of England, yes, your eminence."
I remember drawing down upon my bedraggled person the curious gaze of the numerous clients who thronged the Cardinal's ante-chamber, as I followed Bernouin to the door which opened on to the corridor, and which he held for me. And thus, for the second time within twenty-four hours, did I leave the Palais Royal to wend my way home to the Rue St. Antoine with grim despondency in my heart.
"On the contrary, I have come to a decision." Bernouin came into the room. "Call an officer of justice," he said; "and stay close to me," he added, in a low tone. The officer entered. Mazarin wrote a few words, which he gave to this man; then he bowed. "Adieu, Monsieur de Rochefort," he said. Rochefort bent low. "I see, my lord, I am to be taken back to the Bastile." "You are sagacious."
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