“You wanted to be revenged yesterday, did you not? you aimed to humble your nephew because he was likely to be the Premier instead of your grace—well, such revenge costs dear. But you are rich and can afford to pay.”
“What would you have done in my place, you knowing dog?”
“Nothing; you could not but show your spite because the Dubarry woman thought your nephew was younger than yourself.”
A growl from the old marshal was all the comment.
“Parliament was egged on by you to do what it has done; knowing the decree would be issued, you offered your services to your unsuspecting nephew.”
“I admit I was wrong. You ought to have given me a warning.”
“I, prevent you doing ill? you are always saying that I am of your making and I should be little after your model if I was not joyful at your making a mistake, or bringing about evil.”
“Oh, you think evil will come of it?”
“Certainly; you are obstinate and will keep open the breach—Aiguillon will be the bridge between Dubarry and Parliament on which all the fighting will take place. After he shall have been very well trampled upon, he will suffer the fate of used-up wood—they will cast him away into the lumber-room—that is, into the Bastile. He will be minister first, but you will be exiled all the same.”
“Bastile?” repeated Richelieu, shrugging his shoulders so sharply that he spilt half his snuff on the carpet. “Is our Louis the Fourteenth one?”