You are the Regent, my son, and it is under your rule that this has happened. There will be many to say that Louis is in hands unfit to have charge of him. Take care.’
Orléans saw the point of this. As for himself, he was too old for such revelries now, and that made it easier to believe that this time they had gone too far.
Villeroi was stumping through the Palace. He would not have his beloved King exposed to such dangers. He was going to ask the Council what they thought of a Regent under whose rule such things were possible.
It gave Orléans great joy to discover that two of Villeroi’s grandsons had participated in the adventure.
‘Such scandal,’ he said slyly. ‘Grandsons of the King’s own Governor! It will not do, Maréchal. It will not do.’
‘If they have done wrong, they should be punished,’ said the Maréchal. ‘They were not the ringleaders, however, and they are young.’
‘In a matter such as this, Maréchal,’ said the Regent, ‘we should favour none. Do you not agree with me?’
‘Is is the ringleaders who should be punished . . .’ muttered Villeroi.
‘We will send them to the Bastille, but all’ – Orléans paused and smiled into the old man’s face – ‘all who took part in this disgraceful display shall be banished.’
It was no use pleading for them, the Maréchal knew. Better by far to let the matter pass off as quietly as possible. But it was not in the nature of the Maréchal to show tact. He continued to storm about the Palace.
‘All very well to blame these young people. But who sets the pace, eh? Tell me that – who sets the pace?’
‘I would speak with the King,’ said the Regent to the Maréchal when he called on Louis who was, as always, in the company of his Governor. ‘And I would see him alone.’
‘But Monsieur le Duc!’ Villeroi’s smile was bland. ‘It is the duty of His Majesty’s Governor to attend him on all occasions.’
‘His Majesty is no longer a child.’
‘But twelve!’
‘Old enough to take counsel of his ministers without the attendance of his . . . nurse.’
Villeroi was scarlet with rage. ‘I shall not allow it,’ he cried.
Louis looked from one to the other and realised that he had been mistaken in thinking that this enmity between them was a game.
Orléans had recovered himself first. He bowed his head and proceeded to speak to Louis while Villeroi stood by, his wig tilted a little too far over his forehead, his rage subsiding to give place to triumph.
But afterwards the Maréchal felt uneasy. The most important man in the country was Orléans and it had been somewhat foolish to oppose his wishes so openly.
Villeroi knew that Orléans would not let the slight pass without some retaliation, and after a great deal of consideration he had come to the conclusion that his wisest plan would be to humble himself and apologise to the Regent. He decided to do this without delay, and called upon him.
As he entered the Regent’s apartments, the Captain of the Musketeers, the Comte d’Artagnan, intercepted him.
Villeroi looked at the man haughtily. ‘Conduct me at once to the Duc d’Orléans,’ he commanded.
‘Sir, he is engaged at this moment.’
Villeroi did not like the insolence of this man and he made as though to pass him.
‘Sir,’ said the Comte d’Artagnan, ‘you are under arrest. I must ask you to give me your sword.’
‘You forget, sir, to whom you speak.’
‘Sir, I am fully aware to whom I speak, and my orders are to take your sword.’
‘That you shall not do,’ blustered Villeroi; but when d’Artagnan lifted his hand several of his musketeers came forward and surrounded the old man. In a few moments they had seized him and dragged him out of the Palace.
There a carriage was waiting, and d’Artagnan forced him to enter it.
‘Whip up the horses,’ cried d’Artagnan.
‘This is monstrous,’ spluttered Villeroi. ‘I have my work at the Palace. Where are you taking me?’
‘To your
Orléans saw the point of this. As for himself, he was too old for such revelries now, and that made it easier to believe that this time they had gone too far.
Villeroi was stumping through the Palace. He would not have his beloved King exposed to such dangers. He was going to ask the Council what they thought of a Regent under whose rule such things were possible.
It gave Orléans great joy to discover that two of Villeroi’s grandsons had participated in the adventure.
‘Such scandal,’ he said slyly. ‘Grandsons of the King’s own Governor! It will not do, Maréchal. It will not do.’
‘If they have done wrong, they should be punished,’ said the Maréchal. ‘They were not the ringleaders, however, and they are young.’
‘In a matter such as this, Maréchal,’ said the Regent, ‘we should favour none. Do you not agree with me?’
‘Is is the ringleaders who should be punished . . .’ muttered Villeroi.
‘We will send them to the Bastille, but all’ – Orléans paused and smiled into the old man’s face – ‘all who took part in this disgraceful display shall be banished.’
It was no use pleading for them, the Maréchal knew. Better by far to let the matter pass off as quietly as possible. But it was not in the nature of the Maréchal to show tact. He continued to storm about the Palace.
‘All very well to blame these young people. But who sets the pace, eh? Tell me that – who sets the pace?’
‘I would speak with the King,’ said the Regent to the Maréchal when he called on Louis who was, as always, in the company of his Governor. ‘And I would see him alone.’
‘But Monsieur le Duc!’ Villeroi’s smile was bland. ‘It is the duty of His Majesty’s Governor to attend him on all occasions.’
‘His Majesty is no longer a child.’
‘But twelve!’
‘Old enough to take counsel of his ministers without the attendance of his . . . nurse.’
Villeroi was scarlet with rage. ‘I shall not allow it,’ he cried.
Louis looked from one to the other and realised that he had been mistaken in thinking that this enmity between them was a game.
Orléans had recovered himself first. He bowed his head and proceeded to speak to Louis while Villeroi stood by, his wig tilted a little too far over his forehead, his rage subsiding to give place to triumph.
But afterwards the Maréchal felt uneasy. The most important man in the country was Orléans and it had been somewhat foolish to oppose his wishes so openly.
Villeroi knew that Orléans would not let the slight pass without some retaliation, and after a great deal of consideration he had come to the conclusion that his wisest plan would be to humble himself and apologise to the Regent. He decided to do this without delay, and called upon him.
As he entered the Regent’s apartments, the Captain of the Musketeers, the Comte d’Artagnan, intercepted him.
Villeroi looked at the man haughtily. ‘Conduct me at once to the Duc d’Orléans,’ he commanded.
‘Sir, he is engaged at this moment.’
Villeroi did not like the insolence of this man and he made as though to pass him.
‘Sir,’ said the Comte d’Artagnan, ‘you are under arrest. I must ask you to give me your sword.’
‘You forget, sir, to whom you speak.’
‘Sir, I am fully aware to whom I speak, and my orders are to take your sword.’
‘That you shall not do,’ blustered Villeroi; but when d’Artagnan lifted his hand several of his musketeers came forward and surrounded the old man. In a few moments they had seized him and dragged him out of the Palace.
There a carriage was waiting, and d’Artagnan forced him to enter it.
‘Whip up the horses,’ cried d’Artagnan.
‘This is monstrous,’ spluttered Villeroi. ‘I have my work at the Palace. Where are you taking me?’
‘To your
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