ary bowed, and Mazarin conducted me by a private staircase,
the very existence of which was known only to a few people, to the
courtyard of the Palace.

"You do not ask where we are going," said he, as we walked along.

"It is not my business, your Eminence," I answered, but I could not
help reflecting that Mazarin did not know himself. If the groups of
citizens had guessed who my companion was, it is likely that his
evening walk would have come to a sudden end.

Now, I have heard Mazarin called a coward who would faint at the sight
of blood, but those who said these things spoke without knowledge.
Being a man of peace, he disliked bloodshed, but many a boasting
gallant would have held back from dangers which the Cardinal faced
without hesitation.

On this eventful night he strolled quietly along, brushing shoulders
with men who would gladly have slain him, and displaying no sign of
nervousness. At the corner of the Pont Neuf he actually stopped to
listen to the conversation of some citizens who were holding a kind of
open-air parliament, and settling the affairs of the kingdom to their
liking.

One fellow especially, dressed like a prosperous shopkeeper, was
exceedingly loud in describing his plan to do away with the troubles,
and I must admit that the first part of his remedy--the hanging of
Mazarin--met with the hearty approval of the crowd.

"A beggarly foreigner!" said one.

"A miserable Italian priest!"

"A grasping, covetous miser!"

"He fancies that the French people were made for the purpose of keeping
his nieces like princesses!"

"Well, that is settled!" interrupted the first speaker. "Then, after
hanging Mazarin, I would put the Queen in a convent--she has done the
country enough mischief."

"That's a grand idea," exclaimed one of the group. "How can a woman
rule a country? And, besides, Anne of Austria is only a foreigner!"

I marvelled that Mazarin continued to listen to such stuff, especially
as he was risking his life, but he seemed in no hurry to depart, and,
indeed, craned his neck forward quite eagerly.

"Next," continued the orator, "we shall require a new regent until the
little King is able to take the reins into his own hands."

"True," interrupted one of his listeners, "and who better than the Duke
of Orleans?"

"Pouf! Gaston is no use! He blows hot and cold with the same breath.
He would send the Queen to a convent, and alter his mind while they
were unlocking the gate