“So it must be then!” said he, “my brother the king of England will die of hunger.” “Sire,” replied Mazarin, in the same tone, “remember this proverb, which I give you as the expression of the soundest policy: ‘Rejoice at being poor when your neighbor is poor likewise.’” Louis meditated for a few moments, with an inquisitive glance directed to the paper, one end of which remained under the bolster. “Then,” said he, “it is impossible to comply with my demand for money, my lord cardinal, is it?” “Absolutely, sire.” “Remember, this will secure me a future enemy, if he succeed in recovering his crown without my assistance.” “If your majesty only fears that, you may be quite at ease,” replied Mazarin, eagerly. “Very well, I say no more about it,” exclaimed Louis XIV. “Have I at least convinced you, sire?” placing his hand upon that of the young king. “Perfectly.” “If there be anything else, ask it, sire, I shall be most happy to grant it to you, having refused this.” “Anything else, my lord?” “Why yes, am I not devoted body and soul to your majesty? Hola! Bernouin!—lights and guards for his majesty! His majesty is returning to his own chamber.” “Not yet, monsieur: since you place your good-will at my disposal, I will take advantage of it.” “For yourself, sire?” asked the cardinal, hoping that his niece was at length about to be named. “No, monsieur, not for myself,” replied Louis, “but still for my brother Charles.” The brow of Mazarin again became clouded, and he grumbled a few words that the king could not catch. CHAPTER 11. Mazarin’s Policy Instead of the hesitation with which he had accosted the cardinal a quarter of an hour before, there might be read in the eyes of the young king that will against which a struggle might be maintained, and which might be crushed by its own impotence, but which, at least, would preserve, like a wound in the depth of the heart, the remembrance of its defeat. “This time, my lord cardinal, we have to deal with something more easily found than a million.” “Do you think so, sire?” said Mazarin, looking at the king with that penetrating eye which was accustomed to read to the bottom of hearts. “Yes, I think so; and when you know the object of my request——” “And do you think I do not know it, sire?” “You know what remains for me to say to you?” “Listen, sire; these are King Charles’s own words——” “Oh, impossible!” “Listen. ‘And if that miserly, beggarly Italian,’ said he——” “My lord cardinal!” “That is the sense, if not the words. Eh! Good heavens! I wish him no ill on that account, one is biased by his passions. He said to you: ‘If that vile Italian refuses the million we ask of him, sire,—if we are forced, for want of money, to renounce diplomacy, well, then, we will ask him to grant us five hundred gentlemen.’” The king started, for the cardinal was only mistaken in the number.