“Nothing, my most gracious mistress,” replies Richelieu, almost submissively, “if your Majesty will deign to be guided by my counsel.” “You call me your mistress, Cardinal,” says Marie bitterly; “but you have left my service, and you disobey my positive commands. How can I treat with such a hypocrite?” “Madame, I beseech you, let not personal animosity towards myself--be I innocent or guilty of what you accuse me--blind you to the danger in which you now stand.” “Danger! What do you mean? To what danger do you allude?” “The danger that threatens you, Madame, in the displeasure of his Majesty.” “Ah, I perceive. My son strikes through you, my creature, that he may crush me. I congratulate your eminence on your triumphant ingratitude.” “Madame,” and the Cardinal wrings his hands and advances a step or two nearer the Queen with an air of earnest entreaty, “hear me, I implore you. Let us not lose precious time in mere words. I have come here in a twofold character, as your friend and as minister of state. Permit me first to address you as the former, Madame, your counsellor and your sincere friend.” As he speaks his voice trembles, his manner is almost humble as he seeks to allay the stormy passions that gather on the brow of his royal mistress. Marie de’ Medici is so much taken aback at this unusual display of feeling in the stern Cardinal, that though her eyes glisten with anger she makes no reply. “Your Majesty, in honour and greatness,” continued Richelieu, “stands next to the throne. Be satisfied, Madame, with the second place in the kingdom. Your own age, Madame,”--Marie starts--“and the increased experience of his Majesty, justify you in committing the reins of government into his hands and into the hands of such ministers as he may appoint.” “Yourself, for instance,” breaks in Marie bitterly. “Madame, I implore you, by the respect and the affection I bear you, not to interrupt me. Withdraw, graciously and cheerfully, from all interference with state affairs. Resign your place at the council. Dismiss those nobles who, by their rebellious conduct, excite his Majesty’s displeasure, specially the Duc d’Epernon.” “Never!” exclaims Marie passionately. “I will not resign my place at the council, nor will I sacrifice my supporter, the Duc d’Epernon. My son is incapable of governing. He has ever been the tool of those about him. I am his best substitute. This is a miserable plot by which you basely seek to disgrace me by my own act--to rise by my fall.” “Oh, Madame, to whom I owe so much,” pleads Richelieu, “whom I would now serve while I can, hear me. I speak from my heart--I speak for the last time. Be warned, I beseech you.” His hands are still clasped, his voice falters, tears flow down his cheeks. Any one less obstinately blind than the Queen would have been warned by the evidence of such unusual emotion in a man ordinarily so cold and impassible as the Cardinal.