Bernouin took the gentleman by the arm, and whilst ascending the staircase,—“In confidence,” said he, in a low voice, “his eminence looks for success in the affair. I know very well we shall have war with Spain; but, bah! war will please the nobles. My lord cardinal, besides, can endow his niece royally, nay, more than royally. There will be money, festivities, and fireworks—everybody will be delighted.” “Well, for my part,” replied the gentleman, shaking his head, “it appears to me that this letter is very light to contain all that.” “My friend,” replied Bernouin, “I am certain of what I tell you. M. d’Artagnan related all that passed to me.” “Ay, ay! and what did he tell you? Let us hear.” “I accosted him by asking him, on the part of the cardinal, if there were any news, without discovering my designs, observe, for M. d’Artagnan is a cunning hand. ‘My dear Monsieur Bernouin,’ he replied, ‘the king is madly in love with Mademoiselle de Mancini, that is all I have to tell you.’ And then I asked him ‘Do you think, to such a degree that it will urge him to act contrary to the designs of his eminence?’ ‘Ah! don’t ask me,’ said he; ‘I think the king capable of anything; he has a will of iron, and what he wills he wills in earnest. If he takes it into his head to marry Mademoiselle de Mancini, he will marry her, depend upon it.’ And thereupon he left me and went straight to the stables, took a horse, saddled it himself, jumped upon its back, and set off as if the devil were at his heels.” “So that you believe, then——” “I believe that monsieur the lieutenant of the guards knew more than he was willing to say.” “In your opinion, then, M. d’Artagnan——” “Is gone, according to all probability, after the exiles, to carry out all that can facilitate the success of the king’s love.” Chatting thus, the two confidants arrived at the door of his eminence’s apartment. His eminence’s gout had left him; he was walking about his chamber in a state of great anxiety, listening at doors and looking out of windows. Bernouin entered, followed by the gentleman, who had orders from the king to place the letter in the hands of the cardinal himself. Mazarin took the letter, but before opening it, he got up a ready smile, a smile of circumstance, able to throw a veil over emotions of whatever sort they might be. So prepared, whatever was the impression received from the letter, no reflection of that impression was allowed to transpire upon his countenance. “Well,” said he, when he had read and reread the letter, “very well, monsieur. Inform the king that I thank him for his obedience to the wishes of the queen-mother, and that I will do everything for the accomplishment of his will.” The gentlemen left the room. The door had scarcely closed before the cardinal, who had no mask for Bernouin, took off that which had so recently covered his face, and with a most dismal expression,—“Call M. de Brienne,” said he. Five minutes afterward the secretary entered.