raying the extent of her grief. Mazarin saw all this, and
fearing that Louis XIV. might repent his decision, in order to draw
attention another way he began to cry out, as, at a later period, Scapin
was to cry out, in that sublime piece of pleasantry with which the
morose and grumbling Boileau dared to reproach Moliere. His cries,
however, by degrees, became fainter; and when Anne of Austria left the
apartment, they ceased altogether.

"Monsieur le cardinal," said the king, "have you any recommendations to
make to me?"

"Sire," replied Mazarin, "you are already wisdom itself, prudence
personified; of your generosity I shall not venture to speak; that which
you have just done exceeds all that the most generous men of antiquity
or of modern times have ever done."

The king received this praise coldly.

"So you confine yourself," said he, "to your thanks--and your
experience, much more extensive than my wisdom, my prudence, or my
generosity, does not furnish you with a single piece of friendly advice
to guide my future."

Mazarin reflected for a moment. "You have just done much for me, sire,"
said he, "that is, for my family."

"Say no more about that," said the king.

"Well!" continued Mazarin, "I shall give you something in exchange for
these forty millions you have refused so royally."

Louis XIV. indicated by a movement that these flatteries were
displeasing to him. "I shall give you a piece of advice," continued
Mazarin; "yes, a piece of advice--advice more precious than the forty
millions."

"My lord cardinal!" interrupted Louis.

"Sire, listen to this advice."

"I am listening."

"Come nearer, sire, for I am weak!--nearer, sire, nearer!"

The king bent over the dying man. "Sire," said Mazarin, in so low a tone
that the breath of his words arrived only like a recommendation from
the tomb in the attentive ears of the king--"Sire, never have a prime
minister."

Louis drew back astonished. The advice was a confession--a treasure, in
fact, was that sincere confession of Mazarin. The legacy of the cardinal
to the young king was composed of six words only, but those six words,
as Mazarin had said, were worth forty millions. Louis remained for
an instant bewildered. As for Mazarin, he appeared only to have said
something quite natural. A little scratching was heard along the
curtains of the alcove. Mazarin understood: "Yes, yes!" cried he warmly,
"yes, sire, I recommend to you a wise man, an honest man, a