water breast-deep on the bridge over which they had to ride. Du
Corneau [sic] avowed afterwards that he was quaking with fright; but
Vincent, though wet to the skin, scarcely seemed to notice that all
was not as usual and rode on through the floods in silence. Arrived at
St. Germain, he asked to see the Queen, who, thinking that he had been
sent by the people to make their peace with her, admitted him at once
to her presence.

With the straightforward simplicity that characterized all his
dealings, he proceeded to state his errand. He had come, he said, to
ask the Queen, for the sake of her country and her people, to rid
herself of Mazarin and to forgive the rebels.

Anne of Austria listened in silence and gave no sign of either
sympathy or displeasure. When the speaker had ended, she quietly
referred him to Mazarin himself.

Vincent's hopes must have sunk low indeed at such a suggestion, but he
was determined to go through with what he had begun. Confronted with
the Cardinal, he earnestly represented to him that it was his duty to
sacrifice himself for the good of the country; that his retirement
would be an act of noble unselfishness which could not fail to win the
blessing of Christ; that it would put an end to the sufferings under
which France was groaning and save many innocent people from a fearful
and horrible death. Mazarin had a sense of humor, and it was perhaps
the only thing about him that responded to this appeal to his better
feelings. It no doubt appeared to him sufficiently ludicrous that
anyone should expect him to sacrifice himself for the sake of others,
and probably those around him would have shared his opinion.

Yet Vincent was justified in his experiment. Long as had been his
experience of the sin and misery of men, it had not taught him, any
more than it did his Divine Master, to despair of human nature. He had
only employed his usual methods with Mazarin: methods that had
prevailed with so many souls. He had appealed to the desire for good
which he believed lay hidden in the heart of every man, no matter how
deeply it might be buried under the refuse of a wasted life. He had
appealed and failed--his mission had borne no fruit, yet he could not
regret that he had undertaken it, although the consequences were to be
serious for himself. For during his absence the fact that he had gone
to St. Germain had leaked out among the people, and in one moment of
anger all his claims on their love and gr