"Get up, sir!" he commanded.
"Get up!" The lad sought to obey him with an alacrity that merited a kinder fate.
Had he been in less haste perchance he had been more successful.

As it was, he had got no farther than his knees when his right leg slid from under him, and he fell prone among the shattered tableware, mumbling curses and apologies in a breath.
Mazarin stood gazing at him with an eye that was eloquent in scorn, then bending down he spoke quickly to him in Italian.

What he said I know not, being ignorant of their mother tongue; but from the fierceness of his utterance I'll wager my soul 't was nothing sweet to listen to.

When he had done with him, he turned to his valet.
"Bernouin," said he, "summon M.de Mancini's servant and assist him to get my nephew to bed.

M.de Luynes, be good enough to take Bernouin's taper and light me back to my apartments." Unsavoury as was the task, I had no choice but to obey, and to stalk on in front of him, candle in hand, like an acolyte at Notre Dame, and in my heart the profound conviction that I was about to have a bad quarter of an hour with his Eminence.