The Maréchal smiled and waited.
“If I sign, will you help me with La Chateauroux?” asked Louis at length.
M. de Richelieu lifted his shoulder with an expressive gesture.
“What do you want me to do with her?” he demanded, putting letter and pen on the mantelpiece.
“Do with her?” repeated the King impatiently. “Get her into a convent, send her back to her husband, find her another, banish her to the country, promise her anything, as long as you get her out of the palace. The Marquise absolutely refuses to allow her to remain.”
“If I make Madame de Chateauroux leave the Louvre peaceably I shall want more than your Majesty’s signature to that paper,” replied the Marshal.
“You promised yesterday you would see her for me,” protested Louis.
“When I was not sober,” said M. de Richelieu; “and afterwards you told her she should stay.”
“Well, I was not sober either,” responded the King sullenly. “Can you not accuse her of treason and get her into the Bastille? Nothing less will stop her tongue. Get rid of her so that I never see her again, and I will make your Vauvenargues anything you wish.”
“Mon Dieu,” responded the Marshal, “your Majesty drives a hard bargain; if Madame la Duchesse was to hear you she would buy us both a potion from the old witch in the Rue du Bac.”