The valet hurried off, and the father and son were left alone together. The former lay gasping with his head flung back on a cushion; the latter watched him closely, but without the merest appearance of sympathy or interest.
After a pause, he spoke: "Father, have you forgotten my presence?"
Louvois opened his eyes wearily. "No; I have not forgotten it."
"You do not ask me about the result of my expedition," said
Barbesieur.
"Nor do you seem to think it incumbent upon you to ask wherefore I suffer, or why I am here instead of being where I ought to be, at the fiancailles of Mademoiselle de Blois," replied Louvois, whom his son's indifference had stung to returning energy.
"What care I for the fiancailles of Mademoiselle de Blois?" answered Barbesieur. "And as regards your indisposition, it is not the first time that I have seen you similarly affected. These congestions invariably leave you stronger than they find you; so let us pass on to affairs more momentous. I have to inform you that my expedition to Italy has resulted in a disastrous failure. Have you seen my courier?"
"No, I have not seen him, but I know that you were guilty of sending me written dispatches on a subject which pen should never have recorded."
"Oh!" sneered the dutiful son, "you are better, I see, for you grow abusive. Then I suppose my courier has been arrested?"
"Ay, and your letters are in the hands of Louis XIV."
"Can it be possible?" cried Barbesieur, anxiously. "How came he in possession of them?"