"not yet forty
millions! I must, however, attain that sum, which I had set down for
myself. But who knows whether I shall have time? I sink, I am going,
I shall never reach it! And yet, who knows that I may not find two or
three millions in the pockets of my good friends the Spaniards? They
discovered Peru, those people did, and--what the devil! they must have
something left."

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. "The king
here! the king at this hour! I thought he was in bed long ago. What is
the matter, then?"

The king could hear these last words, and see the terrified gesture of
the cardinal rising up in his bed, for he entered the chamber at that
moment.

"It is nothing, monsieur le cardinal, or at least nothing which can
alarm you. It is an important communication which I wish to make to your
eminence to-night--that is all."

Mazarin immediately thought of that marked attention which the king
had given to his words concerning Mademoiselle de Mancini, and the
communication appeared to him probably to refer to this source. He
recovered his serenity then instantly, and assumed his most agreeable
air, a change of countenance which inspired the king with the greatest
joy; and when Louis was seated,--

"Sire," said the cardinal, "I ought certainly to listen to your majesty
standing, but the violence of my complaint----"

"No ceremony between us, my dear monsieur le cardinal," said Louis
kindly: "I am your pupil, and not the king, you know very well, and this
evening in particular, as I come to you as a petitioner, as a solicitor,
and one very humble, and desirous to be kindly received, too."

Mazarin, seeing the heightened color of the king, was confirmed in his
first idea; that is to say, that love thoughts were hidden under all
these fine words. This time, political cunning, keen as it was, made
a mistake; this color was not caused by the bashfulness of a juvenile
passion, but only by the painful contraction of the royal pride.

Like a good uncle, Mazarin felt disposed to facilitate the confidence.

"Speak, sire," said he, "and since your majest