'Here comes our devil of a Cardinal! Ah--your Eminence is welcome--we have just got despatches----' 'From the Duke de Rohan and the Chevalier Hepburn,' replied the Cardinal, coldly. 'How know you that?' asked the King, with astonishment. 'I know every man who approaches your Majesty,' replied the Cardinal, with a cold smile: 'you bore letters from our army of the Rhine?' he added, turning abruptly to me. I bowed. Furtively and swiftly, he gave me a fierce and hawk-like glance of hostility, and followed the King into the castle of Versailles. The attendants flocked after them, and I was left standing almost alone in the Cour de Marble. The strange glance of this terrible man startled me. I knew not how to account for its expression; but I feared him, and felt assured that I had incurred his displeasure--that he hated me! While standing irresolute whether or not to retire, M. de Brissac, the kinsman of the Duke de Bouillon, approached, with an intimation that a collation awaited me, after which I was to return to the Louvre, and there, after reporting myself to the officer commanding the archers of the Garde du Corps Ecossais, to await despatches, which I was to convey to the army. CHAPTER XXVII. CLARA'S MINIATURE, AND HOW IT PROVED A TALISMAN. At luncheon M. de Brissac and I were joined by the Earl of Irvine and several young sparks of the French Guards, glittering with jewels, velvets, and cloth of gold. We were attended by servants in the royal livery of France. The collation was luxurious; the wines rare beyond price, and served up in a lofty apartment, the walls of which were painted azure, powdered with silver lilies, and the ceiling was decorated by an allegorical subject, representing France as a beautiful woman, in whose half nude and wholly voluptuous figure, I recognized Clara d'Amboise, seated in a car drawn by white swans, and attended by Ceres, Flora, Pomona, and other goddesses, whose faces were those of Chevreuse, de Guerchi, and other court beauties, who were conducting her to the temple of Virtue. The war, duels, and girls were the usual topics of conversation. I detailed all the particulars of our brilliant charge at Bitche; on which Lord Irvine said, with an air of pique, 'So it was only an affair of horse--a little charivari--nothing more.' 'Rather more successful than your marshal's at Bormio, however!' 'Oh, do not speak of Bormio; we had there a more dreadful day than I shall ever see until the day of doom! There, gentlemen, the best blood in France was battening in the sun upon the Alps, and dying the waters of the Fredolfo purple. My dearest friend was there mortally wounded by my side in dragging me wounded, as you see, from the press, and expired that night placing his wife in my arms as a sacred trust.' 'A pleasant little arrangement,' said De Brissac gaily; 'I hope the lady was handsome.'