"Well, Sire, you have work for me?" inquired the official, with badly concealed irritation. De Berryer had been forced to leave certain matters relative to the farmers-general in a distressingly unfinished state in Paris, had been harassed all through his ride with details of the King's anger, and finally arrived at Versailles tired, nervous, and out of sorts, to be summoned instantly before Louis, who would probably occupy him till seven with his usual tiresome and fussy budget of Court intrigue, gossip, and grievances. And at such times there was certainly one minister of France who cordially hated his position.
"You have work for me?" repeated de Berryer again.
"Yes, yes, yes. I want a lettre-de-cachet at once, and you to deliver it," was the reply.
The poor servant groaned inwardly as he drew from his pocket an ever-ready bunch of these conveniences, prepared for filling out. "What name, Sire? It is immediate?"
"Yes. No. Wait. I will tell you about it," responded the King, leaning comfortably back in his chair and munching a gâteau purlaine.
De Berryer passed the back of his hand over his forehead and resigned himself. Louis began to speak, recounting in a leisurely but not unentertaining fashion the last developments of the affaire de Mailly, as it was called at Court. Presently, despite himself, de Berryer grew interested in the tale. He remembered his last conversation with Claude at the assembly, perceived that the young man had not taken his advice, but had gone along upon his own career of audacious fidelity to a foolish cause. On the whole, de Berryer rather admired him, and certainly regretted his approaching fall. Besides this, there was that other amusing phase of the matter—that of Louis' furious jealousy of this two-penny Count for whom the favorite doubtless cared not the least in the world, save for the fresh fires of royal devotion that she could kindle at his hands. All things considered, de Berryer had spent duller hours than this in his Majesty's presence.
"And now, my good de Berryer," finished Louis, more comfortably than ever, "you know all. What shall I do? Shall it be the Bastille for a couple of years? Hein?"
"No—no, your Majesty," returned the King's companion, calmly.
"What!"
"Listen, Sire, I beg of you, to my reasons. In the first place, la Bastille is no longer what it once was as a place of retirement for rash members of the younger nobility. It is generally crowded to the doors. It is by no means strictly kept. The apartments on the east side fairly reek with a Court atmosphere. All day long there is a continual stream of visitors for the prisoners, who keep quite as much in touch with the times as though they dwelt in the Œil-de-Bœuf. I assure you the reputation of a Court gallant is not complete till he has lived a month or two in that old fortress. M. de Mailly's fame would be greatly enhanced during his residence there, and it would be by no means unusual were Mme. de Châteauroux herself to visit him."