rebels and agitators reminded him of schoolboys
slinging--qui frondent--stones from the moats round Paris, young urchins
who run off the moment the constable appears, only to return to their
diversion the instant his back is turned. So they have picked up the
word and the insurrectionists are called 'Frondeurs,' and yesterday
every article sold was 'a la Fronde;' bread 'a la Fronde,' hats 'a la
Fronde,' to say nothing of gloves, pocket-handkerchiefs, and fans; but
listen----"

At that moment a window opened and a man began to sing:

"A tempest from the Fronde
Did blow to-day:
I think 'twill blow
Sieur Mazarin away."

"Insolent wretch!" cried Guitant.

"My lord," said Comminges, who, irritated by his wounds, wished for
revenge and longed to give back blow for blow, "shall I fire off a ball
to punish that jester, and to warn him not to sing so much out of tune
in the future?"

And as he spoke he put his hand on the holster of his uncle's
saddle-bow.

"Certainly not! certainly not," exclaimed Mazarin. "Diavolo! my dear
friend, you are going to spoil everything--everything is going on
famously. I know the French as well as if I had made them myself. They
sing--let them pay the piper. During the Ligue, about which Guitant
was speaking just now, the people chanted nothing except the mass, so
everything went to destruction. Come, Guitant, come along, and let's see
if they keep watch at the Quinze-Vingts as at the Barriere des Sergens."

And waving his hand to Comminges he rejoined D'Artagnan, who instantly
put himself at the head of his troop, followed by the cardinal, Guitant
and the rest of the escort.

"Just so," muttered Comminges, looking after Mazarin. "True, I forgot;
provided he can get money out of the people, that is all he wants."

The street of Saint Honore, when the cardinal and his party passed
through it, was crowded by an assemblage who, standing in groups,
discussed the edicts of that memorable day. They pitied the young king,
who was unconsciously ruining his country, and threw all the odium of
his proceedings on Mazarin. Addresses to the Duke of Orleans and to
Conde were suggested. Blancmesnil and Broussel seemed in the highest
favor.

D'Artagnan passed through the very midst of this discontented mob
just as if his horse and he had been made of iron. Mazarin and Guitant
conversed together in whispers. The musketeers, who had already
discovered who Mazarin was, followed in profo