“Condemned is the word; for I will never solicit him who left my mother and sister to die with cold and hunger—the daughter and grand-daughter of Henry IV.—if M. de Retz and the parliament had not sent them wood and bread.” “To die?” murmured Louis XIV. “Well!” continued the king of England, “poor Charles II., grandson of Henry IV. as you are, sire, having neither parliament nor Cardinal de Retz to apply to, will die of hunger, as his mother and sister had nearly done.” Louis knitted his brow, and twisted violently the lace of his ruffles. This prostration, this immobility, serving as a mark to an emotion so visible, struck Charles II., and he took the young man’s hand. “Thanks!” said he, “my brother. You pity me, and that is all I can require of you in your present situation.” “Sire,” said Louis XIV., with a sudden impulse, and raising his head, “it is a million you require, or two hundred gentlemen, I think you say?” “Sire, a million would be quite sufficient.” “That is very little.” “Offered to a single man it is a great deal. Convictions have been purchased at a much lower price; and I should have nothing to do but with venalities.” “Two hundred gentlemen! Reflect!—that is little more than a single company.” “Sire, there is in our family a tradition, and that is, that four men, four French gentlemen, devoted to my father, were near saving my father, though condemned by a parliament, guarded by an army and surrounded by a nation.” “Then if I can procure you a million, or two hundred gentlemen, you will be satisfied; and you will consider me your well-affectioned brother?” “I shall consider you as my saviour; and if I recover the throne of my father, England will be, as long as I reign at least, a sister to France, as you will have been a brother to me.” “Well, my brother,” said Louis, rising, “what you hesitate to ask for, I will myself demand; that which I have never done on my own account, I will do on yours. I will go and find the king of France—the other—the rich, the powerful one, I mean. I will myself solicit this million, or these two hundred gentlemen; and—we will see.” “Oh!” cried Charles, “you are a noble friend, sire—a heart created by God! You save me, my brother; and if you should ever stand in need of the life you restore me, demand it.” “Silence, my brother,—silence!” said Louis, in a suppressed voice. “Take care that no one hears you! We have not obtained our end yet. To ask money of Mazarin—that is worse than traversing the enchanted forest, each tree of which inclosed a demon. It is more than setting out to conquer a world.” “But yet, sire, when you ask it——” “I have already told you that I never asked,” replied Louis with a haughtiness that made the king of England turn pale.