emoiselle herself
had even ordered the cannon of the Bastille to be fired upon the royal
army, exclaimed, "With that cannon-shot she has slain her husband,"
making allusion to the ambition which the Princess d'Orleans always had
to espouse the youthful Louis XIV. True, on that same day, Mademoiselle
destroyed with her own hand her dearest hopes; but that trait of
generosity and greatness of soul has for ever honoured her memory, and
shields it from many errors and much ridicule. After having solemnly
pledged itself to Conde, it would have been the height of opprobrium for
the House of Orleans to let Conde fall before their eyes: better to have
perished with him, and at least saved its honour.

Mademoiselle has related in what condition she found Conde, when having
placed herself at the window of a little dwelling near the Bastille, in
order to see the troops pass as they entered the city, the Prince
hurried for a moment from the gate to speak to her. He neither thought
of himself, all covered with blood as he was, nor even of his cause,
very nearly hopeless: he thought only of the friends he had lost. It
did not occur to him that they were those who had embarked him in
negotiations the results of which had proved so fatal: he thought only
that they had died for him, and his anguish grew insupportable. "He
was," says Mademoiselle, "in a most pitiable state; he was not wounded
himself, yet he was covered from head to foot with dust and blood, his
hair all disordered, his face flushed with exertion, his cuirass
battered with blows, and having lost the scabbard of his sword in the
fight, he held the blade naked in his hand." As he entered, the memory
of all those he had seen fall around him seemed to rush suddenly upon
Conde, and casting himself upon a seat, he burst into tears. "Forgive
me," said the great soldier, "I have lost all my friends--the gallant
young hearts that loved me." "No, they are only wounded," said his
cousin, "and many of them not dangerously; they will recover and love
you still." Conde sprang up at the good news, and rushed back into the
fight. At the head of all his effective cavalry, he made one desperate,
long-continued charge, and drove the enemy backward for a mile. In the
meantime, the gates were opened wide, and, file after file, the weary
soldiers marched into the city; and dashing homeward after his brilliant
assault, Conde and his squadron galloped in the last: but when the
ponderous bars we