Louis XIV. made no reply.
“Condemned is the word; for I will never solicit him who left my mother and sister to die with cold and hunger—the daughter and grand-daughter of Henry IV.—if M. de Retz and the parliament had not sent them wood and bread.”
“To die?” murmured Louis XIV.
“Well!” continued the king of England, “poor Charles II., grandson of Henry IV. as you are, sire, having neither parliament nor Cardinal de Retz to apply to, will die of hunger, as his mother and sister had nearly done.”
Louis knitted his brow, and twisted violently the lace of his ruffles.
This prostration, this immobility, serving as a mark to an emotion so visible, struck Charles II., and he took the young man’s hand.
“Thanks!” said he, “my brother. You pity me, and that is all I can require of you in your present situation.”
“Sire,” said Louis XIV., with a sudden impulse, and raising his head, “it is a million you require, or two hundred gentlemen, I think you say?”
“Sire, a million would be quite sufficient.”
“That is very little.”