dy traced."

"I am there."

"Write seven hundred and sixty thousand livres."

"That is written."

"Upon Lyons----" The cardinal appeared to hesitate.

"Upon Lyons," repeated Bernouin.

"Three millions nine hundred thousand livres."

"Well, monseigneur?"

"Upon Bordeaux seven millions."

"Seven?" repeated Bernouin.

"Yes," said the cardinal, pettishly, "seven." Then, recollecting
himself, "You understand, Bernouin," added he, "that all this money is
to be spent?"

"Eh! monseigneur; whether it be to be spent or put away is of very
little consequence to me, since none of these millions are mine."

"These millions are the king's; it is the king's money I am reckoning.
Well, what were we saying? You always interrupt me!"

"Seven millions upon Bordeaux."

"Ah! yes; that's right. Upon Madrid four millions. I give you to
understand plainly to whom this money belongs, Bernouin, seeing that
everybody has the stupidity to believe me rich in millions. I repel the
silly idea. A minister, besides, has nothing of his own. Come, go on.
Rentrees generales, seven millions; properties, nine millions. Have you
written that, Bernouin?"

"Yes, monseigneur."

"Bourse, six hundred thousand livres; various property, two millions.
Ah! I forgot--the furniture of the different chateaux----"

"Must I put of the crown?" asked Bernouin.

"No, no, it is of no use doing that--that is understood. Have you
written that, Bernouin?"

"Yes, monseigneur."

"And the ciphers?"

"Stand straight under one another."

"Cast them up, Bernouin."

"Thirty-nine millions two hundred and sixty thousand livres,
monseigneur."

"Ah!" cried the cardinal, in a tone of vexation; "there are not yet
forty millions!"

Bernouin recommenced the addition.

"No, monseigneur; there want seven hundred and forty thousand livres."

Mazarin asked for the account, and revised it carefully.

"Yes, but," said Bernouin, "thirty-nine millions two hundred and sixty
thousand livres make a good round sum."

"Ah, Bernouin, I wish the king had it."

"Your eminence told me that this money was his majesty's."

"Doubtless, as clear, as transparent as possible. These thirty-nine
millions are bespoken, and much more."

Bernouin smiled after his own fashion--that is, like a man who believes
no more than he is willing to believe--whilst preparing the cardinal's
night draught, and putting his pillow to rights.

"Oh!" said Mazarin, when the valet had gone out;