“I should say I am altogether of the marshal’s advice if I knew it was your Majesty’s opinion.”
During a pause the monarch looked complaisantly on the last speaker.
“Gentlemen,” he said, “I should snap at your advice were I thirty; but I am a little too old now to be credulous about my inspiring a flame.”
“Oh, Sire,” said Richelieu, “I did think up to the time being that your Majesty was the most polite gentleman in the realm; but I see with profound grief that I was wrong; for I am old as Mathusaleh, for I was born in ‘94. Just think of it, I am sixteen years older than your Majesty.”
This was adroit flattery. Louis always admired the lusty old age of this man who had outlived so many promising youngsters in his service; for with such an example he might hope to reach the same age.
“Granted: but I suppose you do not still fancy you can be loved for your own sake?”
“If I thought that aloud, I should be in disgrace with two ladies who told me the contrary this very morning.”
“Ha, ha! but we shall see, my lords! Nothing like youthful society to rejuvenate a man.”
“Yea, my lord, and noble blood is a salutary infusion, to say nothing of the gain to the mind.”
“Still, I can remember that my grandfather, when he was getting on in years, never courted with the same dash as earlier.”