ated her as if
she were his humble servant: when he pressed her hand, it was a pressure
that almost made her scream. When he ought to have ridden by the side of
her coach, he set off, on seeing a hare start from her form; then he
talked to her of partridges when he should have been laying himself at
her feet. Both these affairs ended as might have been expected.
Mademoiselle de St. Germain was diverted by Grammont, yet he could not
touch her heart. Her aim was to marry; his was merely to attach himself
to a reigning beauty. They parted without regret; and he left the then
remote court of Turin for the gayer scenes of Paris and Versailles. Here
he became as celebrated for his alertness in play as for his readiness
in repartee; as noted for his intrigues, as he afterwards was for his
bravery.

Those were stirring days in France. Anne of Austria, then in her
maturity, was governed by Mazarin, the most artful of ministers, an
Italian to the very heart's core, with a love of amassing wealth
engrafted in his supple nature that amounted to a monomania. The whole
aim of his life was gain. Though gaming was at its height, Mazarin never
played for amusement; he played to enrich himself; and when he played,
he cheated.

The Chevalier de Grammont was now rich, and Mazarin worshipped the rich.
He was witty; and his wit soon procured him admission into the clique
whom the wily Mazarin collected around him in Paris. Whatever were De
Grammont's faults, he soon perceived those of Mazarin; he detected, and
he detested, the wily, grasping, serpent-like attributes of the Italian;
he attacked him on every occasion on which a 'wit combat' was possible:
he gracefully showed Mazarin off in his true colours. With ease he
annihilated him, metaphorically, at his own table. Yet De Grammont had
something to atone for: he had been the adherent and companion in arms
of Conde; he had followed that hero to Sens, to Nordlingen, to Fribourg,
and had returned to his allegiance to the young king, Louis XIV., only
because he wished to visit the court at Paris. Mazarin's policy,
however, was that of pardon and peace--of duplicity and treachery--and
the Chevalier seemed to be forgiven on his return to Paris, even by Anne
of Austria. Nevertheless, De Grammont never lost his independence; and
he could boast in after-life that he owed the two great cardinals who
had governed France nothing that they could have refused. It was true
that Richelieu had left him h