“Enter, and ask for Monsieur Bernouin,” said the porter, opening the door of the third room.  Whether he only held his usual post or whether it was by accident, Monsieur Bernouin was found standing behind the door and must have heard all that had passed.

“You seek me, sir,” said he.  “From whom may the letter be you bear to his eminence?”

“From General Oliver Cromwell,” said the new comer.  “Be so good as to mention this name to his eminence and to bring me word whether he will receive me —­ yes or no.”

Saying which, he resumed the proud and sombre bearing peculiar at that time to Puritans.  Bernouin cast an inquisitorial glance at the person of the young man and entered the cabinet of the cardinal, to whom he transmitted the messenger’s words.

“A man bringing a letter from Oliver Cromwell?” said Mazarin.  “And what kind of a man?”

“A genuine Englishman, your eminence.  Hair sandy-red —­ more red than sandy; gray-blue eyes —­ more gray than blue; and for the rest, stiff and proud.”

“Let him give in his letter.”

“His eminence asks for the letter,” said Bernouin, passing back into the ante-chamber.

“His eminence cannot see the letter without the bearer of it,” replied the young man; “but to convince you that I am really the bearer of a letter, see, here it is; and kindly add,” continued he, “that I am not a simple messenger, but an envoy extraordinary.”

Bernouin re-entered the cabinet, returning in a few seconds.  “Enter, sir,” said he.

The young man appeared on the threshold of the minister’s closet, in one hand holding his hat, in the other the letter.  Mazarin rose.  “Have you, sir,” asked he, “a letter accrediting you to me?”

“There it is, my lord,” said the young man.

Mazarin took the letter and read it thus: 

“Mr. Mordaunt, one of my secretaries, will remit this letter of introduction to His Eminence, the Cardinal Mazarin, in Paris.  He is also the bearer of a second confidential epistle for his eminence.

“Oliver Cromwell.

“Very well, Monsieur Mordaunt,” said Mazarin, “give me this second letter and sit down.”

The young man drew from his pocket a second letter, presented it to the cardinal, and took his seat.  The cardinal, however, did not unseal the letter at once, but continued to turn it again and again in his hand; then, in accordance with his usual custom and judging from experience that few people could hide anything from him when he began to question them, fixing his eyes upon them at the same time, he thus addressed the messenger: 

“You are very young, Monsieur Mordaunt, for this difficult task of ambassador, in which the oldest diplomatists often fail.”

“My lord, I am twenty-three years of age; but your eminence is mistaken in saying that I am young.  I am older than your eminence, although I possess not your wisdom.  Years of suffering, in my opinion, count double, and I have suffered for twenty years.”