From his chair, Charles surveyed the great man. Tall, elegant, a handsome, finely drawn face, his small beard neatly pointed, his eyes always thoughtful. As so often in times past, thought de Cygne, God had given France exactly the right person in her hour of need.

When that likable old rascal King Henry IV had been killed by a lunatic back in 1610, his heir was only a little boy, and Henry’s widow, Marie de Médicis, had ruled the Regency council for young Louis XIII. It was strange, Charles thought, that an Italian Médicis should be stupid, but the Queen Mother certainly was, and she’d ruled badly. Indeed, as far as Charles de Cygne was concerned, she’d done only three good things for France: She’d been the patron of the great artist Rubens, she’d built a delightful little palace for herself, called the Luxembourg, about half a mile south of the river, and west of the university. And she and her council had first brought Richelieu into the royal government.

It had taken young Louis XIII a while to get power away from his mother. But though he dealt quite effectively with some rebellions, the daily administration of his kingdom seemed to bore him, and he’d entrusted more and more administration to Richelieu. It was the best thing he could have done. For nearly two decades they had made a wonderful team.

The cardinal finished his letter. Before sealing it, he carefully read it over. He looked tired.

As Charles gazed at him with admiration, he wondered: What would happen when the cardinal left the scene? Not that he was old. He was only in his early fifties, but his health was not good. Something he’d said the other day had indicated that he himself had his earthly end in mind.

“You know, de Cygne, I have already left this palace to the king in my will. It seemed the sensible thing to do.” Then he sighed. “We have achieved much, but there has never been time to tackle the country’s finances properly. That is the great task for the future.”

Yet who could take his place? There was no obvious candidate yet, but the man who had impressed the cardinal most in recent years was a young Italian with a gift for diplomacy. Mazarini was his name, though he’d changed it to Mazarin now, which sounded more French. He wasn’t noble. It was even rumored that he was partly Jewish. But it was his intelligence that impressed Richelieu, who considered him a future statesman.

It turn, Charles had noticed, Mazarin seemed to model himself on the cardinal, cutting his hair and beard in exactly the same way. He had his own personality though. He liked to gamble. He had already made himself popular with both King Louis and his wife.