nights
before she could find another place of embarkation.

Madame de Chevreuse rode with one attendant from Paris to Madrid, fleeing
from Richelieu, remaining day and night on her horse, attracting perilous
admiration by the womanly loveliness which no male attire could obscure.
From Spain she went to England, organizing there the French exiles into a
strength which frightened Richelieu; thence to Holland, to conspire nearer
home; back to Paris, on the minister's death, to form the faction of the
Importants; and when the Duke of Beaufort was imprisoned, Mazarin said,
"Of what use to cut off the arms while the head remains?" Ten years from
her first perilous escape, she made a second, dashed through La Vendee,
embarked at St. Malo for Dunkirk, was captured by the fleet of the
Parliament, was released by the Governor of the Isle of Wight, unable to
imprison so beautiful a butterfly, reached her port at last, and in a few
weeks was intriguing at Liege again.

The Duchess de Bouillon, Turenne's sister, purer than those we have named,
but not less daring or determined, after charming the whole population of
Paris by her rebel beauty at the Hotel de Ville, escaped from her sudden
incarceration by walking through the midst of her guards at dusk,
crouching in the shadow of her little daughter, and afterwards allowed
herself to be recaptured, rather than desert that child's sick-bed.

Then there was Clemence de Maille, purest and noblest of all, niece of
Richelieu and hapless wife of the cruel ingrate Conde, his equal in daring
and his superior in every other high quality. Married a child still
playing with her dolls, and sent at once to a convent to learn to read and
write, she became a woman the instant her husband became a captive; while
he watered his pinks in the garden at Vincennes, she went through France
and raised an army for his relief. Her means were as noble as her ends.
She would not surrender the humblest of her friends to an enemy, or suffer
the massacre of her worst enemy by a friend. She threw herself between the
fire of two hostile parties at Bordeaux, and, while men were falling each
side of her, compelled them to peace. Her deeds rang through Europe. When
she sailed from Bordeaux for Paris at last, thirty thousand people
assembled to bid her farewell. She was loved and admired by all the world,
except that husband for whom she dared so much,--and the Archbishop of
Taen. The respectable Archbishop complaine