“What, do you still doubt, sire?” said the cardinal. “Well, here is a proof of what I said.”
And Mazarin drew from under his bolster the paper covered with figures, which he presented to the king, who turned away his eyes, his vexation was so deep.
“Therefore, as it is a million you want, sire, and that million is not set down here, it is forty-six millions your majesty stands in need of. Well I don’t think that any Jews in the world would lend such a sum, even upon the crown of France.”
The king, clenching his hands beneath his ruffles, pushed away his chair.
“So it must be then!” said he, “my brother the king of England will die of hunger.”
“Sire,” replied Mazarin, in the same tone, “remember this proverb, which I give you as the expression of the soundest policy: ‘Rejoice at being poor when your neighbor is poor likewise.’”
Louis meditated for a few moments, with an inquisitive glance directed to the paper, one end of which remained under the bolster.
“Then,” said he, “it is impossible to comply with my demand for money, my lord cardinal, is it?”
“Absolutely, sire.”
“Remember, this will secure me a future enemy, if he succeed in recovering his crown without my assistance.”