In a short time the astrologer entered the room. He had put on dressing-gown and slippers, and was wearing his black skull-cap. His face, always pale, had become white, there was a constant twitching at the corners of his mouth, and the gray eyes I had thought so calm and powerful, fell beneath the keen gaze of the Cardinal. In spite of his treachery, I pitied the man, and almost found it in my heart to wish I had not observed my cousin and his companion enter the house.
Mazarin, fondling his beard, smiled pleasantly, and begged his host in such soft cooing tones to be seated, that Martin threw off the half-alarmed expression his face had worn.
"So you have been ill, my friend? Per Baccho! One can see it in your face. Ah, now I can breathe more freely and laugh at my fears."
I was standing between the table and the door, but in such a position as to be able to watch the old man's face.
"Fears, my lord?" he murmured questioningly.
"Yes, yes, I was foolish enough to doubt your—vigilance."
He purposely made a long pause between the last two words, during which Martin sat like a man waiting to be hanged; then he recovered himself and actually smiled.
"Something has happened without my knowledge," said he briskly.
"Without your knowledge, truly, my dear Martin, or you would have sent me word. As it is, I have to inform you that Paris has had a distinguished visitor."
Martin went deathly pale again and murmured, "Surely it cannot be——"