“That is all, monsignor,” was the reply.
“You do not know who were your parents?” continued Richelieu, while Condé listened surprised at his interest.
“If I knew my father, monsignor,” Péron said, “I should bear his name.”
“A trite answer,” remarked the cardinal. “Be not over-ambitious, my son; serve the Prince de Condé and strike your good blows for France, not in private brawls or secret conspiracy—and France will reward you.”
With these words he turned away and proceeded along the terrace, accompanied by Condé and followed by an escort of gentlemen.
“I became interested in the boy at the clockmaker’s shop,” Condé said, by way of explanation; “he has, as he says, no name but Péron.”
The cardinal made no immediate reply. He walked on deliberately; the resolute, inscrutable face showed no sign of his secret thoughts. At last, however, he spoke, a slight, sarcastic smile on his lips.
“Péron,” he said; “nay, rather Jehan François.”
“Your pardon, my lord cardinal,” replied Condé, “I do not think I heard you aright.”
The cardinal smiled again. “M. de Condé,” he said deliberately, “give me the boy.”