The Abbé gave it to Villequier, and the Minister only replied by signing and sealing the paper which the Abbé had drawn up.
"Now, quick! Monsieur l'Abbé," said the Minister. "Go for a few minutes to your own apartments, and then join us at supper, which I hear is already served, as if we had not met during the evening. You will not need your ring, I can assure you."
The Abbé bowed low and retired in silence; but in his heart he said, "And this, the fool Henry holds to be a great politician."
No knave can be a great politician; but every knave thinks himself so. The mistake they make is between wisdom and cunning. The knave prides himself on deceiving others, the wise man on not deceiving himself.
[CHAP. VI.]
When the Abbé de Boisguerin on the following morning entered the presence of Charles of Montsoreau, his mind was prepared for every thing he was to say and do, for every thing he was to assert or to imply. But there was one thing for which his mind was not prepared--all shrewd, keen, politic, and experienced as it was.
There are points in the deep study of human nature which those who would use that mighty science for selfish purposes almost always overlook. Amongst these are the changes, both sudden and progressive, which take place in themselves and in others, and the changes in relative situations which they produce. In this respect it was that the Abbé de Boisguerin, thoughtful and calculating as he was, had not prepared himself for the meeting with Charles of Montsoreau. The time was short since they had parted. Not above six weeks had elapsed, if so much; and the Abbé had come ready to deal with a youth of keen and penetrating mind, of quick perceptions and extensive powers; of all whose feelings and thoughts he fancied that he knew the scope and quality; whose mind he believed that he had gauged and tested as if it were some material substance. But he knew not at all, what an effect the space of six weeks may have when spent in communication with great minds, and in dealing with great events; and the moment he entered the room he saw a change which he had never dreamt of--a change which through the mind affected the body, the countenance, and the demeanour.
Charles of Montsoreau, in short, had left him a youth high-spirited, feeling, intelligent, graceful,--he stood before him a man, calm, thoughtful, grave, dignified. There were even lines of care already upon his brow, which gave it a degree of sternness not natural to it; and the whole look and aspect of his former pupil was so powerfully intellectual, that the Abbé felt he must be more cautious and careful than he had prepared to be; that his words, his thoughts, and his looks would not alone be tested by old affection, nor even by the simple powers of an undoubting mind, but would be tried by experience likewise, and tried moreover with that degree of suspicion which is more active within us when we first learn the painful lessons taught by human deceit, than it is when we learn fully our own powers of separating truth from falsehood.
He saw that it would be necessary to be more cautious than he had proposed to be, and that, consequently, he must change much that he had intended to say and do. The very caution affected his manner, and his alteration of purposes caused occasional hesitation. Charles of Montsoreau, who remembered his whole character and demeanour during many years, found, without seeking it, a touchstone in the past by which to try the present, and the conclusion in his own heart was, "This man is not true."
The explanation given by the Abbé of all that had occurred on their route did not satisfy his hearer. He told him that he had remained with Mademoiselle de Clairvaut and the carriage till the reiters had passed, and then had caused the horses to be turned into a bye-road, in the hope of escaping any returning parties: they had thus accidentally met with the King's troops, whose offered protection, of course, they could not refuse. But he touched vaguely and lightly upon the mission of Colombel to the young Marquis de Montsoreau; and the Count de Logères did not press him upon the subject, for he felt sufficiently upon his guard, and had a repugnance openly to convict one whom he had loved of falseness and treachery.