aged with her in rebellion overpowered at the
Faubourg Saint-Antoine, secured their retreat by ordering the guns of
the Bastille to cannonade the royal forces, although that cannonade
should slay the husband of whom she still dreamed; that daughter, too,
when she heard of the disgraceful scenes of the 4th of July, 1652,
boldly did what no one else dare do,--she flew to the assistance of the
victims of the Hotel de Ville, without bestowing a thought of the
imminent danger she thereby ran.

But it is in the Princess's own Memoirs that the curious epopee must be
read; and to which a dry abridgment does injustice. Whether she hold
council of war with her fair _Marechales de Camp_, without allowing the
men folks to give her their ready cut-and-dried advice,--whether she be
thrust into Orleans through the gap of an old gateway, and, covered with
mud, be seen carried along its streets in an old arm-chair, laughing
heartily,--or when hastening to arrest the massacre at the Hotel de
Ville, she stops to look at Madame Riche, the ribbon-vendor, talking in
her chemise to her gossip, the beadle of St. Jacques, who has nothing
on but his drawers,--the reader is always reminded that he sees and
hears the granddaughter of Henry IV.--a Parisian with a touch of the
princess in all she says and does, and he cannot help asking himself
momentarily whether it be all incorrigible frivolity, or some quaint
species of natural heroism which speaks and acts thus strangely.

Heroic or frivolous, Mademoiselle expiated her pranks by an exile of
four years in her manor of Saint-Fargeau. The rupture with her father,
who drove her out of doors, and denied her permission to take refuge
under any other roof he owned, her consequent wanderings, at times not a
little affecting, and at others comical, when directing her steps
towards her place of banishment, her arrival at the ruinous chateau
which has neither doors nor windows, and which is haunted by ghosts, and
the attempts to embellish the tumble-down place, and people it with
gaiety, animation, and life, are so many scenes to which the piquant
style of Mademoiselle gives singular attractiveness. Whilst avenues were
being planted and a theatre built, matrimonial negotiations went on as
briskly as ever, and pretenders to her hand abounded--the Elector of
Bavaria, the Duke of Savoy, the nephew of the Duke of Lorraine, the Duke
de Neuborg. The reception of M. de Neuborg's envoy, an honest Jesuit,
who draw