If all were to go, it would be worse for us than a lost campaign."
"But," remarked Bossuet, "if it were once known that the king's will had been expressed, your Majesty may rest assured that even the worst of his subjects bear him such love that they would hasten to come within the pale of Holy Church. As long as the edict stands, it seems to them that the king is lukewarm, and that they may abide in their error."
The king shook his head. "They have always been stubborn folk," said he.
"Perhaps," remarked Louvois, glancing maliciously at Bossuet, "were the bishops of France to make an offering to the state of the treasures of their sees, we might then do without these Huguenot taxes."
"All that the Church has is at the king's service," answered Bossuet curtly.
"The kingdom is mine and all that is in it," remarked Louis, as they entered the _Grand Salon_, in which the court assembled after chapel, "yet I trust that it may be long before I have to claim the wealth of the Church."
"We trust so, sire," echoed the ecclesiastics.
"But we may reserve such topics for our council-chamber. Where is Mansard? I must see his plans for the new wing at Marly." He crossed to a side table, and was buried in an instant in his favourite pursuit, inspecting the gigantic plans of the great architect, and inquiring eagerly as to the progress of the work.
"I think," said Pere la Chaise, drawing Bossuet aside, "that your Grace has made some impression upon the king's mind."
"With your powerful assistance, father."
"Oh, you may rest assured that I shall lose no opportunity of pushing on the good work."
"If you take it in hand, it is done."
"But there is another who has more weight than I."
"The favourite, De Montespan?"
"No, no; her day is gone. It is Madame de Maintenon."
"I hear that she is very devout."
"Very. But she has no love for my Order. She is a Sulpitian. Yet we may all work to one end. Now if you were to speak to her, your Grace."
"With all my heart."
"Show her how good a service it would be could she bring about the banishment of the Huguenots."
"I shall do so."
"And offer her in return that we will promote--" he bent forward and whispered into the prelate's ear.
"What! He would not do it!"
"And why? The queen is dead."
"The widow of the poet Scarron!"
"She is of good birth. Her grandfather and his were dear friends."
"It is impossible."
"But I know his heart, and I say it is possible."
"You certainly know his heart, father, if any can. But such a thought had never entered my head."
"Then let it enter and remain there. If she will serve the Church, the Church will serve her. But the king beckons, and I must go."
The thin dark figure hastened off through the throng of courtiers, and the great Bishop of Meaux remained standing with his chin upon his breast, sunk in reflection.
By this time all the court was assembled in the _Grand Salon_, and the huge room was gay from end to end with the silks, the velvets, and the brocades of the ladies, the glitter of jewels, the flirt of painted fans, and the sweep of plume or aigrette. The grays, blacks, and browns of the men's coats toned down the mass of colour, for all must be dark when the king was dark, and only the blues of the officers' uniforms, and the pearl and gray of the musketeers of the guard, remained to call back those early days of the reign when the men had vied with the women in the costliness and brilliancy of their wardrobes. And if dresses had changed, manners had done so even more. The old levity and the old passions lay doubtless very near the surface, but grave faces and serious talk were the fashion of the hour. It was no longer the lucky _coup_ at the lansquenet table, the last comedy of Moliere, or the new opera of Lully about which they gossiped, but it was on the evils of Jansenism, on the expulsion of Arnauld from the Sorbonne, on the insolence of Pascal, or on the comparative merits of two such popular preachers as Bourdaloue and Massilon.