“Good! at midnight, my lord.”
“At midnight, my dear Monsieur Louvieres.”
When once more alone Gondy sent to summon all the curates with whom he had any connection to his house. Two hours later, thirty officiating ministers from the most populous, and consequently the most disturbed parishes of Paris had assembled there. Gondy related to them the insults he had received at the Palais Royal and retailed the jests of Beautin, the Count de Villeroy and Marechal de la Meilleraie. The curates asked him what was to be done.
“Simply this,” said the coadjutor. “You are the directors of all consciences. Well, undermine in them the miserable prejudice of respect and fear of kings; teach your flocks that the queen is a tyrant; and repeat often and loudly, so that all may know it, that the misfortunes of France are caused by Mazarin, her lover and her destroyer; begin this work to-day, this instant even, and in three days I shall expect the result. For the rest, if any one of you have further or better counsel to expound, I will listen to him with the greatest pleasure.”
Three curates remained—those of St. Merri, St. Sulpice and St. Eustache. The others withdrew.
“You think, then, that you can help me more efficaciously than your brothers?” said Gondy.
“We hope so,” answered the curates.
“Let us hear. Monsieur de St. Merri, you begin.”
“My lord, I have in my parish a man who might be of the greatest use to you.”
“Who and what is this man?”