He drummed with his fingers, a sign that he was contemplating something disagreeable.
"Monsieur, when did you arrive ?" he asked.
"At six this evening, Monseigneur," answered the Chevalier listlessly.

.

.

He had entered Paris with joy in his heart, but now everything seemed to be going wrong.
"Take care, Monsieur," said Mazarin, lifting a warning finger.

"You arrived yesterday, secretly." "I?
Why, Monseigneur, this is the twentieth of February, the evening we agreed upon.