“So I would suppose,” answered Madame de Chevreuse, primly, almost bursting with suppressed laughter. “Do you think, then, madame, that her Majesty might be induced to lay aside her silence, her reserve? Are you authorised to admit me to her presence?” “I am, Cardinal.” Richelieu’s face flushed deep, his eyes glistened. “To a certain extent,” continued the Duchess, “the Queen is gratified by your homage. Her Majesty has noted your slim yet manly form, your expressive eyes. She admires your great talents.” “Do I dream?” exclaimed Richelieu. “You, madame, are indeed magnanimous. I feared that you might be indignant at what you might consider my inconstancy.” “No, Cardinal, you could not be inconstant, for you were never loved.” Richelieu started. “By me--I mean to say, your eminence. You really should spare me,” added she, affectedly; “but I suppose I must speak. Anne of Austria, the daughter of a hundred kings, the wife of your Sovereign, secretly loves you, monseigneur. It is astonishing your extraordinary penetration never discovered this before. Since you went into the Church you must have grown modest; but love is blind, says the motto,” and the Duchess was obliged to hold her handkerchief to her face to hide her laughter. “What words of ecstacy do you utter, adorable Duchess! But you must be aware of the coldness, the insulting scorn which the lovely Queen has hitherto shown towards me. How could I venture to guess----” “Ah, Cardinal, it is easy to see you are not so advanced in the art of love as of politics. Let me advise you to read Ovid--a little of _The Art of Love_--_pour vous remettre_. Did you learn so little, then, from her late Majesty, Marie de’ Medici, as not to know that where most Cupid triumphs he most conceals his wicked little person? That very coldness and scorn you speak of are but proofs of the Queen’s passion. But let me tell you one thing: the Queen fears you may deceive--betray her; and you must excuse her in this, when you remember, monseigneur, certain tales of treachery--all utterly false, of course--but then pardon a woman’s fears. You must, to speak plainly, give her some undoubted proof of your love.” “Madame, you cannot doubt after what I have just heard that I can hesitate in promising to do all and everything my royal mistress can desire.” The Duchess confessed afterwards to the Queen, that it was with the utmost difficulty she could keep her countenance, so absolutely farcical were his transports. “Have a care what you promise,” said the Duchess to the Cardinal; “the Queen is very _bizarre_, and perhaps may require something impracticable.” “Madame,” replied Richelieu, “to _me_ nothing in this realm is impracticable; speak only her Majesty’s wishes, and I hasten to obey them.”