During this storm, Gondy, who had it in his power to make it most unpleasant for the jesters, remained calm and stern.
The queen at last asked him if he had anything to add to the fine discourse he had just made to her.
"Yes, madame," replied the coadjutor; "I have to beg you to reflect twice ere you cause a civil war in the kingdom."
The queen turned her back and the laughing recommenced.
The coadjutor bowed and left the palace, casting upon the cardinal such a glance as is best understood by mortal foes.
That glance was so sharp that it penetrated the heart of Mazarin, who, reading in it a declaration of war, seized D'Artagnan by the arm and said:
"If occasion requires, monsieur, you will remember that man who has just gone out, will you not?"
"Yes, my lord," he replied. Then, turning toward Porthos, "The devil!" said he, "this has a bad look. I dislike these quarrels among men of the church."
Gondy withdrew, distributing benedictions on his way, and finding a malicious satisfaction in causing the adherents of his foes to prostrate themselves at his feet.
"Oh!" he murmured, as he left the threshold of the palace:
"ungrateful court! faithless court! cowardly court! I will teach you how to laugh to-morrow -- but in another manner."
But whilst they were indulging in extravagant joy at the Palais Royal, to increase the hilarity of the queen, Mazarin, a man of sense, and whose fear, moreover, gave him foresight, lost no time in ****** idle and dangerous jokes; he went out after the coadjutor, settled his account, locked up his gold, and had confidential workmen to contrive hiding places in his walls.
On his return home the coadjutor was informed that a young man hail come in after his departure and was waiting for him; he started with delight when, on demanding the name of this young man, he learned that it was Louvieres. He hastened to his cabinet. Broussel's son was there, still furious, and still bearing bloody marks of his struggle with the king's officers. The only precaution he had taken in coming to the archbishopric was to leave his arquebuse in the hands of a friend.
The coadjutor went to him and held out his hand. The young man gazed at him as if he would have read the secret of his heart.
"My dear Monsieur Louvieres," said the coadjutor, "believe me, I am truly concerned for the misfortune which has happened to you."
"Is that true, and do you speak seriously?" asked Louvieres.
"From the depth of my heart," said Gondy.
"In that case, my lord, the time for words has passed and the hour for action is at hand; my lord, in three days, if you wish it, my father will be out of prison and in six months you may be cardinal."
The coadjutor started.
"Oh! let us speak frankly," continued Louvieres, "and act in a straightforward manner. Thirty thousand crowns in alms is not given, as you have done for the last six months, out of pure Christian charity; that would be too grand. You are ambitious -- it is natural; you are a man of genius and you know your worth. As for me, I hate the court and have but one desire at this moment -- vengeance. Give us the clergy and the people, of whom you can dispose, and I will bring you the citizens and the parliament; with these four elements Paris is ours in a week; and believe me, monsieur coadjutor, the court will give from fear what it will not give from good-will."
It was now the coadjutor's turn to fix his piercing eyes on Louvieres.
"But, Monsieur Louvieres, are you aware that it is simply civil war you are proposing to me?"
"You have been preparing long enough, my lord, for it to be welcome to you now."
"Never mind," said the coadjutor; "you must be well aware that this requires reflection."
"And how many hours of reflection do you ask?"
"Twelve hours, sir; is it too long?"
"It is now noon; at midnight I will be at your house."
"If I should not be in, wait for me."
"Good! at midnight, my lord."
"At midnight, my dear Monsieur Louvieres."
When once more alone Gondy sent to summon all the curates with whom he had any connection to his house. Two hours later, thirty officiating ministers from the most populous, and consequently the most disturbed parishes of Paris had assembled there. Gondy related to them the insults he had received at the Palais Royal and retailed the jests of Beautin, the Count de Villeroy and Marechal de la Meilleraie. The curates asked him what was to be done.
"Simply this," said the coadjutor. "You are the directors of all consciences. Well, undermine in them the miserable prejudice of respect and fear of kings; teach your flocks that the queen is a tyrant; and repeat often and loudly, so that all may know it, that the misfortunes of France are caused by Mazarin, her lover and her destroyer; begin this work to-day, this instant even, and in three days I shall expect the result. For the rest, if any one of you have further or better counsel to expound, I will listen to him with the greatest pleasure."
Three curates remained -- those of St. Merri, St. Sulpice and St. Eustache. The others withdrew.
"You think, then, that you can help me more efficaciously than your brothers?" said Gondy.
"We hope so," answered the curates.
"Let us hear. Monsieur de St. Merri, you begin."
"My lord, I have in my parish a man who might be of the greatest use to you."
"Who and what is this man?"
"A shopkeeper in the Rue des Lombards, who has great influence upon the commerce of his quarter."
"What is his name?"
"He is named Planchet, who himself also caused a rising about six weeks ago; but as he was searched for after this emeute he disappeared."
"And can you find him?"
"I hope so. I think he has not been arrested, and as I am his wife's confessor, if she knows where he is I shall know it too."
"Very well, sir, find this man, and when you have found him bring him to me."
"We will be with you at six o'clock, my lord."
"Go, my dear curate, and may God assist you!"
"And you, sir?" continued Gondy, turning to the curate of St. Sulpice.