D'Artagnan, the King Maker — page 168: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

Thin Threads, but Strong. 157 couched her lance upon Spain ‘had it not been for the car- “erariieets who leveled it, for he hates Anna of Aus- tria !” : “A fine prince of the Church to hate a wife for re- jeciing his addresses!” “Mere chatter of the boudoirs, and musty! Every coin he tells out to relieve Portugal of her bugbear tells me he isa great man! She is an aging coquette!” “The older she grows, the better some like her! [f wish she, too, was our friend! Being our enemy—'let her trot by!’ What have these ambassadors been doing ?” “Ortalegra’s Lord saw the Duke of Savoy, but he is a sorely beaten man; he passed through Holland, but the wary Dutch, hearing that their hereditary foes, the Spanish, are reconstructing their fleet after their own models, want to see the result before they engage them again or engage themselves with others. If these imi- tations swim—well, they will fight them, not in our waters, but in the East Indies. As for England i “Pardon me, these envoys, who have drawn blanks, do you fully trust them?” “Madame, I trust nobody, outside my family!’ and Braganza smiled like an Oriental, rather than a Vandal. “Those gentlemen betray you! ‘You have lost your money!” ! “IT paid them in promises!” “That makes it the more likely you are deceived; where the master’s wage is air, the servants get their sustenance from the guests. What did you really hope from the French Court?” “Little! The king might send me a boar’s head, of his own killing, mounted in silver, on a Palissy platter! In France the king must not kill higher game than boars—here, in Spain, the king tries to kill—princes!”’ The woman shuddered. “Never heed! Thanks to Richelieu—an anchor! we can ride the storm through, at that!’ “What did you expect from England, Luis, from a king besotted and wedded to a bigot ?” ; “Not money! Yet a force of those subjects whom he is so discontenting that they fade away like mists! CORNICE OOOKS (C(O) im