“Stand straight under one another.” “Cast them up, Bernouin.” “Thirty-nine millions two hundred and sixty thousand livres, monseigneur.” “Ah!” cried the cardinal, in a tone of vexation; “there are not yet forty millions!” Bernouin recommenced the addition. “No, monseigneur; there want seven hundred and forty thousand livres.” Mazarin asked for the account, and revised it carefully. “Yes, but,” said Bernouin, “thirty-nine millions two hundred and sixty thousand livres make a good round sum.” “Ah, Bernouin; I wish the king had it.” “Your eminence told me that this money was his majesty’s.” “Doubtless, as clear, as transparent as possible. These thirty-nine millions are bespoken, and much more.” Bernouin smiled after his own fashion—that is, like a man who believes no more than he is willing to believe—whilst preparing the cardinal’s night draught, and putting his pillow to rights. “Oh!” said Mazarin, when the valet had gone out; “not yet forty millions! I must, however, attain that sum, which I had set down for myself. But who knows whether I shall have time? I sink, I am going, I shall never reach it! And yet, who knows that I may not find two or three millions in the pockets of my good friends the Spaniards? They discovered Peru, those people did, and—what the devil! they must have something left.” As he was speaking thus, entirely occupied with his ciphers, and thinking no more of his gout, repelled by a preoccupation which, with the cardinal, was the most powerful of all preoccupations, Bernouin rushed into the chamber, quite in a fright. “Well!” asked the cardinal, “what is the matter now?” “The king, monseigneur,—the king!” “How?—the king!” said Mazarin, quickly concealing his paper. “The king here! the king at this hour! I thought he was in bed long ago. What is the matter, then?” The king could hear these last words, and see the terrified gesture of the cardinal rising up in his bed, for he entered the chamber at that moment. “It is nothing, monsieur le cardinal, or at least nothing which can alarm you. It is an important communication which I wish to make to your eminence to-night,—that is all.” Mazarin immediately thought of that marked attention which the king had given to his words concerning Mademoiselle de Mancini, and the communication appeared to him probably to refer to this source. He recovered his serenity then instantly, and assumed his most agreeable air, a change of countenance which inspired the king with the greatest joy; and when Louis was seated,— “Sire,” said the cardinal, “I ought certainly to listen to your majesty standing, but the violence of my complaint—” “No ceremony between us, my dear monsieur le cardinal,” said Louis kindly: “I am your pupil, and not the king, you know very well, and this evening in particular, as I come to you as a petitioner, as a solicitor, and one very humble, and desirous to be kindly received, too.”