nited."

Paris, in short, was on the eve of a revolution, and the queen could not
be made to see it. Cardinal Mazarin, who was present, and who had been
severely dealt with in the speeches, some of the orators telling him, in
mockery, that if he would only go as far as the Pont Neuf he would learn
for himself how things were, now joined the others in entreating Anne of
Austria to give way. She did so at length, consenting to the release of
Broussel, though "not without a deep sigh, which showed what violence
she did her feelings in the struggle."

It is an interesting spectacle to see this woman, moved by sheer pride
and obstinacy, conjoined with ignorance of the actual situation, seeking
to set her single will against that of a city in revolt, and endangering
the very existence of the monarchy by her sheer lack of reason. Her
consent, for the time being, settled the difficulty, though the passions
which had been aroused were not easily to be set at rest. Broussel was
released and took his seat again in the Parliament, and the people
returned to their homes, satisfied, for the time, with their victory
over the queen and the cardinal.

In truth, a contest had arisen which was yet to yield important
consequences. The Prince of Conde had arrived in Paris during these
events. He had the prestige of a successful general; he did not like the
cardinal, and he looked on the Parliament as imprudent and insolent.

"If I should join hands with them," he said to De Retz, "it might be
best for my interests, but my name is Louis de Bourbon, and I do not
wish to shake the throne. These devils of square-caps, are they mad
about bringing me either to commence a civil war, or to put a rope
round their own necks? I will let them see that they are not the
potentates they think themselves, and that they may easily be brought to
reason."

"The cardinal may possibly be mistaken in his measures," answered De
Retz. "He will find Paris a hard nut to crack."

"It will not be taken, like Dunkerque, by mining and assaults," retorted
the prince, angrily; "but if the bread of Gonesse were to fail them for
a week--" He left the coadjutor to imagine the consequences.

The contest continued. In January, 1649, the queen, the boy king, and
the whole court set out by night for the castle of St. Germain. It was
unfurnished, with scarcely a bundle of straw to lie upon, but the queen
could not have been more gay "had she won a battle, taken Paris, and