A mandate from Richelieu came to De Pontis, prohibiting further exercise of ownership over the property, till the circumstances of the deceased had been made the subject of inquiry. What should the old man do? If he resisted the order, the Bastille stared him in the face, despite the sovereign’s protection. He repaired to the Tuileries, and, knowing the situation of affairs, contrived to gain the ear of majesty without its being known to whom the monarch gave audience. But royalty was at a loss how to advise—he must temporize, go visit the cardinal, plead his services to the State, and endeavor to mollify his eminence—meanwhile relying on the pledged Bourbon word. “Monsieur perceives,” said Louis, with a faint smile, “that our minister expresses, ‘_till the circumstances of the deceased had been made the subject of inquiry_.’ He does not dispute our prerogative.” De Pontis returned home, took horse and rode to Ruel, a country-seat of the cardinal, a few miles from Paris, and where he spent much time. His eminence is descried walking on a verdant, close-shaven lawn, alone and buried in meditation; friends and train have apparently received a hint to leave the great man to himself; they are scattered over the park and gardens. The veteran would rather have marched a battalion of choice infantry against a line of artillery, than attack the solitary and stately priest. He ventured, nevertheless, into the presence, cap in hand and bowing lowly. “Ah! my friend, Monsieur de Pontis,” said the cardinal, glancing one moment at the old soldier and continuing his walk. Our _militaire_ walked by his side, or rather a little to the rearward, cap still in hand, and asking permission to plead his suit. The cardinal made a sign that he should replace his cap, which De Pontis construing into a hint that he had liberty of speech, commenced a peroration of services, alluding to the misfortunes of his career, the necessity of making provision for a daughter, and the gracious wishes of his royal master. Still, as he talked, the minister paced the turf, inclining his head occasionally without once looking the veteran in the face. De Pontis’ speech at length came to an end, and he awaited the illustrious man’s reply. “_Serviteur très-humble!_” said the cardinal, with a low bow, intended for dismissal. The habits and peculiarities of his eminence were well known, and his auditor was aware that these were the words used when it was intended to negative the request of a petitioner; but De Pontis had a more than ordinary interest at stake, and he faltered out, “If Monseigneur would listen—” “_Serviteur très-humble!_” thundered the haughty cardinal, striding with a quicker pace over the green-sward. The unlucky De Pontis started as though he had received a musket shot. He turned from his eminence and rode back to Paris, fancying in each echo of his horse’s hoofs that he heard the words “_Serviteur très-humble!”_ of the cardinal duke.