“Permit me, messieurs, to present myself.”
“It is unnecessary,” I said; “the Sieur de Richelieu needs no presentation.”
“In a way we are already acquainted,” smiled Jean.
“Ah!” and Richelieu twisted his heavy moustache; “I never thought I could have been so deceived. Your resemblance to the Prince is simply marvellous.”
“Your mistake was fortunate for me, though,” said Marcilly.
Richelieu laughed. “For the first time in my life I thought I had seen a ghost. I confess I was fairly unnerved. But, messieurs, since two at least of us have exchanged a pass together, and since, as I understand, the King has recovered two good swords, I would ask the favor of your joining me at my quarters, after this is over, to empty a skin of Gascony.”
“It is impossible, I regret to say,” replied Marcilly, and I added my excuses.
“We will get le Brusquet to come,” he urged; “the jester sings rarely, and has a merry wit.”
But it was not to be, and Richelieu took our excuses with an air of disappointment and a little annoyance.
I, for one, had my doubts about this sudden geniality on the part of Antony de Richelieu, and these doubts were not set at rest by the chagrin he displayed. My thoughts, however, were diverted from this matter, for, as Richelieu expressed his disappointment to us, the door of the King’s chamber opened as if to let some one pass, and at the same moment we heard a high-pitched, querulous voice: