By degrees the chamber was deserted, and Mazarin was left alone, a prey to suffering which he could no longer dissemble. “Bernouin! Bernouin!” cried he in a broken voice.

“What does monseigneur want?”

“Guenaud — let Guenaud be sent for,” said his eminence. “I think I’m dying.”

Bernouin, in great terror, rushed into the cabinet to give the order, and the piqueur, who hastened to fetch the physician, passed the king’s carriage in the Rue Saint Honore.