"Come here, gentlemen; they are talking of nothing else but death here this morning, and that is your business. Which of you will find us the Fountain of Youth? 'Twould be a wondrous fine discovery, and I guarantee him a fortune for life. Are you the man by any chance, Bordeu? Nay, Æsculapius as you are to Venus, I see you have not had occasion to think of these little renewals yet."
"I crave pardon, Sire; on the contrary I have a system that should bring us back to the Golden Age of history."
"Of fable, you mean," interrupted Bounard tartly.
"You think so," went on the King. "You think so, my poor Bounard? The fact is that, but for your care, my youth is nothing else but a sorry fable, and the man who would make me young again now should be historiographer of France into the bargain; for indeed he would have tread the finest pages of my reign. Do it, Bordeu,—a cure worthy of immortal fame indeed. Meanwhile, just feel Monsieur de Chauvelin's pulse. There he stands all pale and sad. Give me your opinion as to his health, which is very precious to our pleasures . . . and to my heart," he added rapidly.
Chauvelin smiled bitterly as he offered his wrist to the doctors.
"Which of you two is it to be, gentlemen?" he asked.
"Both of them," said the King, laughing;" but not Lamartini^re; he would as likely as not threaten you with apoplexy, as he did me."
"Well, you first, Monsieur Bounard; the past comes before the future. W^hat is your opinion?"
"Monsieur le Marquis is very ill; there is plethora, congestion of the vessels of the brain, He would do well to be bled, and that without the smallest delay."
"And you, Monsieur Bordeu, what say you? "
"I pray my learned colleague to pardon me; but I am not in agreement with what his experience suggests. If I were talking to a pretty woman, I should say he had the vapours. What he wants is cheerfulness, rest, no worries, no anxieties, a life of perfect ease,—in one word all he enjoys as the friend of the august Sovereign whom he has the honour to serve. I prescribe a continuation of the self-same treatment."
"Verily two very instructive opinions! Monsieur de Chauvelin must needs feel much enlightened! My poor Marquis, if you die, Bordeu is a dishonoured man."
"Not at all. Sire, the vapours prove fatal, when not attended to."
"Sire, if I die, I ask God to grant it may be at your feet."
"Heaven forfend! you would give me a horrid fright. But is it not time for mass? Here I think come my lord the Bishop of Seéez and the Curé of SaintLouis, our parish. Now at any rate I shall get some satisfaction. ' Good-day, Monsieur le Cure, how goes it with your flock? Are there many sick, many poor? ' "
"Alas, yes! Sire, very many."
"But are not alms abundant? Is bread dearer? Is the number of those in want increased."
"Ah, yes! Sire."
"How does that come about? Where do they come from? "
"Why, Sire, the very footmen of your Palace come to me asking charity."
"I can well believe it; they don't pay them their wages. Do you hear. Monsieur de Richelieu? Cannot this be set right? Deuce take it, you are First Gentleman of the Bedchamber for the year."
"Sire, the footmen are out of my department; they come under the regulation of the General Interdance."
"And the General Interdance will refer them on to someone else!" cried the King, moved to pity for a moment; "but after all I cannot see to everything myself. We will to mass," he added, turning to the Abbé de Beauvais, Bishop of Séez, who was preaching his Lenten sermons before the Court,
"I am at Your Majesty's orders," replied the Bishop with a bow. "But I have heard very grave and solemn words here. The talk has been of death; yet no one thinks of it seriously; no one thinks how it comes at its appointed hour, when least expected; how it surprises us in the midst of our pleasures, and mows down small and great alike with its inexorable scythe. No one thinks how there comes an age when repentance and penitence are no less a necessity than a duty, when the fires of concupiscence must burn low before the great thought of salvation."
"Richelieu," broke in the King, smiling, " methinks the Bishop is throw-
