The King passed across to the window, and stood with his hand on the sill, looking out across the court at the lights in the opposite rooms. "D'Argenson, have you, beside the Choisy list, one of the entire Court and all the families here represented?"
"There is such a list, Sire, but it is in the keeping of M. de Berryer. At your command, I will obtain it from him."
The King hesitated, seemed to reflect for a moment, and then, with his eyes still fixed outside the room, answered: "Yes, that were as well. De Berryer is in Paris, I believe. And, well, Monsieur le Comte—" the King turned and faced him—"I have a mission for you to-morrow."
D'Argenson bowed.
"You will leave for Paris, at an hour as early as you find convenient. Arrived at the city, go at once to the Prefecture, obtain the written list of the Court from de Berryer—I will send you an order to-night—and proceed with that to the Rue du Bac, numéro—."
In the candle-light young d'Argenson started violently.
His Majesty smiled. "Yes. You will find there Mme. de Châteauroux; and to her you will present the list. She will be so gracious as to read it through and to strike from it the names of those who have not the happiness to please her. In the afternoon you will return to me with the revised list, which—um—I shall put into execution on Wednesday, probably. That is all, monsieur. I wish you good-evening."
The Count was about to leave the apartment, when the King himself turned upon his red heel and abruptly left the room. D'Argenson, with a new horizon to his world, moved weakly to the side of the room, and sank upon a tabouret just as the door opposite to him swung open, and Richelieu, his task completed, appeared from the King's bedroom.
"Hola, Marc! What is the matter? You need rouge," he said, wearily.
"I should prefer a glass of Berkley's English gin," responded the Count, without animation.