“Maréchal,” he said with an air of authority, “I am tired of the subject.”
“Oh, it is as good a subject as another, sire,” returned M. de Richelieu good-humouredly, “and I do not often ask your Majesty for favours.”
“No,” retorted Louis; “you generally take them.”
He yawned, and sighed, and glanced distastefully round the room.
“Come, sire,” urged M. de Richelieu, “it is only a few words to M. Amelot.”
“I tell you he never takes my advice,” answered the King; “and I really know nothing about his business, so I have to be silent when he speaks, which makes our interviews very dull. Besides, I do not like him, and I do not wish to see him.”
“Write him a note, then,” returned M. de Richelieu, coming from the window.
“Mon Dieu, Maréchal,” said Louis peevishly, “I am not sure that I like your protégé either.”
“You do not know him, sire,” replied the Maréchal, surprised.
“Yes, I do. He wandered into my pavilion at Versailles. I think he is a little insane. Besides,” added His Majesty with some touch of animation, “he does not believe in God.”