still lives. Alas! in these days the
throne is too dangerous a place for me to wish him to retain it. But my
lord, tell me," she continued, "hide nothing from me--what is, in truth,
the king's position? Is it as hopeless as he thinks?"

"Alas! madame, more hopeless than he thinks. His majesty has so good
a heart that he cannot understand hatred; is so loyal that he does not
suspect treason! England is torn in twain by a spirit of disturbance
which, I greatly fear, blood alone can exorcise."

"But Lord Montrose," replied the queen, "I have heard of his great and
rapid successes of battles gained. I heard it said that he was marching
to the frontier to join the king."

"Yes, madame; but on the frontier he was met by Lesly; he had tried
victory by means of superhuman undertakings. Now victory has abandoned
him. Montrose, beaten at Philiphaugh, was obliged to disperse the
remains of his army and to fly, disguised as a servant. He is at Bergen,
in Norway."

"Heaven preserve him!" said the queen. "It is at least a consolation to
know that some who have so often risked their lives for us are safe. And
now, my lord, that I see how hopeless the position of the king is, tell
me with what you are charged on the part of my royal husband."

"Well, then, madame," said De Winter, "the king wishes you to try and
discover the dispositions of the king and queen toward him."

"Alas! you know that even now the king is but a child and the queen a
woman weak enough. Here, Monsieur Mazarin is everything."

"Does he desire to play the part in France that Cromwell plays in
England?"

"Oh, no! He is a subtle, conscienceless Italian, who though he very
likely dreams of crime, dares not commit it; and unlike Cromwell, who
disposes of both Houses, Mazarin has had the queen to support him in his
struggle with the parliament."

"More reason, then, he should protect a king pursued by parliament."

The queen shook her head despairingly.

"If I judge for myself, my lord," she said, "the cardinal will do
nothing, and will even, perhaps, act against us. The presence of my
daughter and myself in France is already irksome to him; much more so
would be that of the king. My lord," added Henrietta, with a melancholy
smile, "it is sad and almost shameful to be obliged to say that we have
passed the winter in the Louvre without money, without linen, almost
without bread, and often not rising from bed because we wanted fire."

"Horrible!" cried De