to dissuade him the least able to refute it; since the less a
man loved the Jesuits, the more ready he was to allow that the King's
life could not be safe while the edict against them remained in force.
The support which I gave to the King on this occasion exposed me to the
utmost odium of my co-religionists, and was in later times ill-requited
by the Order. But an incident which occurred while the matter was still
in debate, and which I now for the first time make public, proved the
wisdom of my conduct.

Fontainebleau was at this time in the hands of the builders, and the
King had gone to spend his Easter at Chantilly, whither Mademoiselle
d'Entragues had also repaired. During his absence I was seated one
morning in my library at the Arsenal, when I was informed that Father
Cotton, he who at Nancy had presented the petition of the Jesuits, and
who was now in Paris pursuing that business under a safe conduct,
craved leave to wait upon me. I was not surprised, for I had been before
this of some service to him. The pages of the Court while loitering
outside the Louvre, as their custom is, had insulted the father by
shouting after him, "Old Wool! Old Cotton!" in imitation of the Paris
street cry. For this the King at my instigation had caused them to be
whipped. I supposed that the Jesuit desired to thank me for this
support--given in truth out of regard to discipline rather than to him;
and I bade them admit him.

His first words uttered before my secretaries retired, indicated that
this was his errand; and for a few moments I listened to such
statements, and myself made such answers as became our positions. Then,
as he did not go, I conceived the notion that he had come with a further
purpose; and his manner, which seemed strangely lacking in ease,
considering that he was a man of skill and address, confirmed the
notion. I waited therefore with patience, and presently he named his
Majesty with some expressions of devotion to his person. "I trust," said
he, "that the air of Fontainebleau agrees with him, M. de Rosny."

"You mean, good father, of Chantilly?" I answered. "He is there."

"Ay, to be sure!" he rejoined. "I had forgotten. He is, to be sure, at
Chantilly."

He rose after that to depart, but was delayed by the raptures into
which he fell on the subject of the fire, which the weather being cold
for the time of year, I had caused to be lit. "It burns so brightly,"
said he, "that it must be of boxwood, M. de R