eans and assumed command against the forces
of the king? What if Monsieur de Retz issued orders from the Palais
Royal, using the same-pen with which Mazarin had demanded his
resignation as Archbishop of Paris? In fact, what if Madame de
Longueville, aided by the middle class, had once more taken up quarters
in the Hotel de Ville? Oh! so many things happened in Paris in thirty
days that the Chevalier would not have been surprised to learn that the
boy Louis had declared to govern his kingdom without the assistance of
ministers, priests, and old women. Ah, that Fronde! Those had been
gallant days, laughable, it is true; but every one seemed to be able to
pluck a feather from the golden goose of fortune. He was eighteen
then, and had followed the royal exodus to Germain.

The Chevalier sighed as he continued to absorb the genial heat of the
water. The captain at the Porte Saint Antoine had told him that the
Grande Mademoiselle was still in exile at Blois, writing lampoons
against the court and particularly against Mazarin; that De Retz was
biting his nails, full of rage and impotence against those fetters
which banishment casts around men of action; that Madame de Longueville
was conducting a love-intrigue in Normandy; and that Louis had to
borrow or beg his pocket-money. Strange as it seemed to the Chevalier,
Paris was unchanged.

But what warmed the Chevalier's heart, even as the water warmed his
body, was the thought of that adorable mystery, that tantalizing,
haunting mystery, the woman unknown. This very room was made precious
by the fact that its air had once embraced her with a familiarity such
as he had never dared assume. What a night that had been! She had
come, masked; she had dined; at his protestations of love she had
laughed, as one laughs who hears a droll story; and in the attempt to
put his arm around her waist, the cold light flashing from her
half-hidden eyes had stilled and abashed him. Why did she hold him,
yet repel? What was her object? Was she some princess who had been
hidden away during her girlhood, to appear only when the bud opened
into womanhood, rich, glorious, and warm? Like a sunbeam, like a
shadow, she flitted through the corridors and galleries of the Louvre
and the Palais Royal, and whenever he had sought to point her out to
some one, to discover her name, lo, she was gone! Tormenting mystery!
Ah, that soft lisp of hers, those enchanting caprices, those amazing
extravag