Ah, it is one more lesson that a king can trust least of all those who have his own blood in their veins.

What writing is this?
It is the good Cardinal de Bouillon.
One may not have faith in one's own kin, but this sainted man loves me, not only because I have placed him where he is, but because it is his nature to look up to and love those whom God has placed above him.
I will read you his letter, Louvois, to show you that there is still such a thing as loyalty and gratitude in France.

'My dear Prince de la Roche-sur-Yon.' Ah, it is to him he writes.

'I promised when you left that I would let you know from time to time how things were going at court, as you consulted me about bringing your daughter up from Anjou, in the hope that she might catch the king's fancy.' What! What! Louvois! What villainy is this?
'The sultan goes from bad to worse.
The Fontanges was at least the prettiest woman in France, though between ourselves there was just a shade too much of the red in her hair--an excellent colour in a cardinal's gown, my dear duke, but nothing brighter than chestnut is permissible in a lady.

The Montespan, too, was a fine woman in her day, but fancy his picking up now with a widow who is older than himself, a woman, too, who does not even try to make herself attractive, but kneels at her _prie-dieu_ or works at her tapestry from morning to night.