artly protected by a coat of mail, so that three or four strokes
delivered there had slight effect. Finally, however, a long, narrow
sword was thrust into his side, after which the marquis made no sound.

Father Le Bel at once left the Galerie des Cerfs and went into the
queen's apartment, with the smell of blood in his nostrils. He found
her calm and ready to justify herself. Was she not still queen over all
who had voluntarily become members of her suite? This had been agreed
to in her act of abdication. Wherever she set her foot, there, over her
own, she was still a monarch, with full power to punish traitors at her
will. This power she had exercised, and with justice. What mattered it
that she was in France? She was queen as truly as Louis XIV. was king.

The story was not long in getting out, but the truth was not wholly
known until a much later day. It was said that Sentanelli had slapped
the marquis in a fit of jealousy, though some added that it was done
with the connivance of the queen. King Louis, the incarnation of
absolutism, knew the truth, but he was slow to act. He sympathized with
the theory of Christina's sovereignty. It was only after a time that
word was sent to Christina that she must leave Fontainebleau. She took
no notice of the order until it suited her convenience, and then she
went forth with all the honors of a reigning monarch.

This was the most striking episode in all the strange story of her
private life. When her cousin Charles, whom she had made king, died
without an heir she sought to recover her crown; but the estates of the
realm refused her claim, reduced her income, and imposed restraints
upon her power. She then sought the vacant throne of Poland; but the
Polish nobles, who desired a weak ruler for their own purposes, made
another choice. So at last she returned to Rome, where the Pope
received her with a splendid procession and granted her twelve thousand
crowns a year to make up for her lessened Swedish revenue.

From this time she lived a life which she made interesting by her
patronage of learning and exciting by her rather unseemly quarrels with
cardinals and even with the Pope. Her armed retinue marched through the
streets with drawn swords and gave open protection to criminals who had
taken refuge with her. She dared to criticize the pontiff, who merely
smiled and said:

"She is a woman!"

On the whole, the end of her life was pleasant. She was much admired
for her saga