."

"He is young," said my father doubtfully.

"He will be killed," cried my mother, while I stood upright against the
wall and looked at Roland gratefully.

It was in 1650, in the days of the Regency, and all France was in an
uproar. Our most gracious monarch, Louis XIV., was then a boy of
twelve, and his Queen-Mother, Anne of Austria, ruled the country. She
had a host of enemies, and only one friend, Cardinal Mazarin, a wily
Italian priest, who was perhaps the actual master of France.

Roland Belloc, who was the Cardinal's man, had been staying for a day
or two in my father's company. He was a real soldier of fortune,
strong as a bull, a fine swordsman, and afraid of no man living. He
told us many startling tales of Paris.

According to him, everything in the city, from the throne to the
gutter, was in a state of unrest: no man knew what an hour would bring
forth. One day people feasted and sang and danced in feverish
merriment: the next the barricades were up, and the denizens of the
filthy courts and alleys, eager for pillage, swarmed into the light.

"Mazarin is like a wild boar," said he, "with a pack of hounds baying
round him. There is the Duke of Orleans, the king's uncle, who snaps
and runs away; Conde is waiting to get a good bite; while the priest,
De Retz, is the most mischievous of all."

"It is almost as bad as war," said my father.

"It is war, and nothing else. But," with a laugh, "the green scarf of
Mazarin will be uppermost at the finish. What do you say, Albert? Are
you willing to don the Cardinal's colours?"

"I know little of these things, monsieur, but my sympathies are for the
Queen-Mother."

"Of course they are!" cried he, giving me a resounding slap on the
back; "so are mine, but Anne of Austria would never hold her own
without the Cardinal. Come, De Lalande, let the youngster go. You
will not regret it, I promise. He may not get Vancey back, but there
are other estates to be won by a strong arm. Shake yourself, boy, and
come out into the daylight. You are moping here like a barn-owl."

"The simile is good, Roland, for he lives in a barn. If I thought----"

"If you thought! Why, man, there is no thinking in it; the thing is as
plain as the Castle yonder from the bridge over the river. He is a
strapping lad, and knows how to handle a sword I'll warrant. Eh,
Albert? What will he do here? Take root and grow into a turnip as
likely as not. Pah! I have no patience