“Well, then, to-night you must come at dusk to her apartments.” The Cardinal bounded from his chair with delight. “To-night; but not in this sombre, melancholy dress; you must wear a toilette a little _convenable_ to the part you hope to act--something brilliant, gaudy--_un pantalon vert, par exemple_.” The Cardinal started. “At your knees little bells must be fastened. You must have a velvet jacket, scarlet scarf, and, in fact, all the _et cæteras_ of a Spanish dress. It will please the Queen, and pay her a delicate compliment, to which, believe me, she will not be insensible.” All this time Richelieu had listened to the Duchess in an agony of surprise and amazement. “But, madame,” said he, at length, “this is impossible. I, a dignitary of the Church, a Cardinal. Much as I desire to show my devotion to the Queen, she herself cannot expect from me so strange, so extraordinary a proof----” “Certainly, monseigneur, it is an extreme proof of your devotion, and as such the Queen will regard it. She will be gratified, and at the same time will be thoroughly convinced of your sincerity. However, pray do as you please,” and the Duchess shrugged her shoulders; “I merely mention her Majesty’s wishes; you are quite at liberty to refuse. I shall therefore,” and she rose, “report your refusal.” “Stop, Duchess, stop, I entreat you!” interrupted Richelieu, “you are so precipitate! I will--I must! (But what a fearful degradation! I, the prime minister of France, a prince of the Church, to appear in the disguise of a mountebank!) Ah, madame, her Majesty is too hard on me; but I adore, I worship her too much to refuse. Yes,--her wishes are my law; I cannot, I dare not refuse. Tell the Queen, at twilight this evening, I will present myself in her apartments.” The Duchess waited no longer, but flew to acquaint the Queen with her success. Neither could for a long time articulate a single syllable, they were so overcome with laughter. Music was introduced behind the _arras_, for the Cardinal was to be prevailed on to dance a _sarabande_. Then they impatiently awaited the moment of his arrival. At last, enveloped in a Spanish cloak that entirely concealed his dress, the Cardinal entered. He was hastily rushing towards the Queen--Heaven only knows with what intentions--when Madame de Chevreuse interposed: “Not yet, Cardinal--not yet; you must show us your dress first, then you must dance a _sarabande_, a _bolero_--something. Her Majesty has heard of your accomplishments and insists on it.” “Yes,” cried Anne of Austria, “I insist on it, monseigneur, and have provided the music accordingly.”