We may be allowed to believe that the reconciliation was not deep.

We know that he did not cease to contrast the new marks of Royal favour with the kindly courtesy of his old master, who had known so well how to allow the King to be forgotten in the friend.
As the years went on, he became ever more lonely.

His wife was dead, and his brother.

Solitude, the curse of greatness, had fallen on him.

He had no friends, for we cannot call by that name the men, so inferior to himself, by whom he was surrounded--men who did not scruple to betray his confidence and make a market of his infirmities.