the forehead, had left a picket in the street and returned
to the Palais Royal, followed by a menacing crowd, to tell
his story.
This account confirmed that of the mayor. The authorities
were not in a condition to cope with serious revolt. Mazarin
endeavored to circulate among the people a report that
troops had only been stationed on the quays and on the Pont
Neuf, on account of the ceremonial of the day, and that they
would soon withdraw. In fact, about four o'clock they were
all concentrated about the Palais Royal, the courts and
ground floors of which were filled with musketeers and Swiss
guards, and there awaited the outcome of all this
disturbance.
Such was the state of affairs at the very moment we
introduced our readers to the study of Cardinal Mazarin --
once that of Cardinal Richelieu. We have seen in what state
of mind he listened to the murmurs from below, which even
reached him in his seclusion, and to the guns, the firing of
which resounded through that room. All at once he raised his
head; his brow slightly contracted like that of a man who
has formed a resolution; he fixed his eyes upon an enormous
clock that was about to strike ten, and taking up a whistle
of silver gilt that stood upon the table near him, he
shrilled it twice.
A door hidden in the tapestry opened noiselessly and a man
in black silently advanced and stood behind the chair on
which Mazarin sat.
"Bernouin," said the cardinal, not turning round, for having
whistled, he knew that it was his valet-de-chambre who was
behind him; "what musketeers are now within the palace?"
"The Black Musketeers, my lord."
"What company?"
"Treville's company."
"Is there any officer belonging to this company in the
ante-chamber?"
"Lieutenant d'Artagnan."
"A man on whom we can depend, I hope."
"Yes, my lord."
"Give me a uniform of one of these musketeers and help me to
put it on."
The valet went out as silently as he had entered and
appeared in a few minutes bringing the dress demanded.
The cardinal, in deep thought and in silence, began to take
off the robes of state he had assumed in order to be present
at the sitting of parliament, and to attire himself in the
military coat, which he wore with a certain degree of easy
grace, owing to his former campaigns in Italy. When he was
completely dressed he said:
"Send hither Monsieur d'Artagnan."
The valet went out of the room, this time by the centre
door, but still as silently as before; one might have
fancied him an apparition.
When he was left alone the cardinal looked at himself in the
glass with a feeling of self-satisfaction. Still young --
for he was scarcely forty-six years of age -- he possessed
great elegance of form and was above the middle height; his
complexion was brilliant and beautiful; his glance full of
expression; his nose, though large, was well proportioned;
his forehead broad and majestic; his hair, of a chestnut
color, was curled slightly; his beard, which was darker than
his hair, was turned carefully with a curling iron, a
practice that greatly improved it. After a short time the
cardinal arranged his shoulder belt, then looked with great
complacency at his hands, which were most elegant and of
which he took the greatest care; and throwing on one side
the large kid gloves tried on at first, as belonging to the
uniform, he put on others of silk only. At this instant the
door opened.
"Monsieur d'Artagnan," said the valet-de-chambre.
An officer, as he spoke, entered the apartment. He was a man
between thirty-nine and forty years of age, of medium height
but a very well proportioned figure; with an intellectual
and animated physiognomy; his beard black, and his hair
turning gray, as often happens when people have found life
either too gay or too sad, more especially when they happen
to be of swart complexion.
D'Artagnan advanced a few steps into the apartment.
How perfectly he remembered his former entrance into that
very room! Seeing, however, no one there except a musketeer
of his own troop, he fixed his eyes upon the supposed
soldier, in whose dress, nevertheless, he recognized at the
first glance the cardinal.
The lieutenant remained standing in a dignified but
respectful posture, such as became a man of good birth, who
had in the course of his life been frequently in the society
of the highest nobles.
The cardinal looked at him with a cunning rather than
serious glance, yet he examined his countenance with
attention and after a momentary silence said:
"You are Monsieur d'Artagnan?"
"I am that individual," replied the officer.
Mazarin gazed once more at a countenance full of
intelligence, the play of which had been, nevertheless,
subdued by age and experience; and D'Artagnan received the
penetrating glance like one who had formerly sustained many
a searching look, very different, indeed, from those which
were inquiringly directed on him at that instant.
"Sir," resumed the cardinal, "you are to come with me, or
rather, I am to go with you."
"I am at your command, my lord," returned D'Artagnan.
"I wish to visit in person the outposts which surround the
Palais Royal; do you suppose that there is any danger in so
doing?"
"Danger, my lord!" exclaimed D'Artagnan with a look of
astonishment, "what danger?"
"I am told that there is a general insurrection."
"The uniform of the king's musketeers carries a certain
respect with it, and even if that were not the case I would
engage with four of my men to put to flight a hundred of
these clowns."
"Did you witness the injury sustained by Comminges?"
"Monsieur de Comminges is in the guards and not in the
musketeers ---- "
"Which means, I suppose, that the musketeers are better
soldiers than the guards." The cardinal smiled as he spoke.
"Every one likes his own uniform best, my lord."
"Myself excepted," and again Mazarin smiled; "for you
perceive that I have left off mine and put on yours."
"Lord bless us! this is modesty indeed!" cried D'Artagnan.
"Had I such a uniform as your eminence possesses, I protest
I should be mightily content, and I would take an oath never
to wear any other costume ---- "
"Yes, but for to-night's adventure I don't suppose my dress
would have been a very safe one. Give me my felt hat,
Bernouin."
The valet instantly brought to his master a regimental hat
with a wide brim. The cardinal put it on in military style.
"Your horses are ready saddled in their stables, are they
not?" he said, turning to D'Artagnan.
"Yes, my lord."
"Well, let us set out."
"How many men does your eminence wish to escort you?"
"You say that with four men you will undertake to disperse a
hundred low fellows; as it may happen that we shall have to
encounter two hundred, take eight ---- "
"As many as my lord wishes."
"I will follow you. This way -- light us downstairs Bernouin.
The valet held a wax-light; the cardinal took a key from his
bureau and opening the door of a secret stair descended into
the court of the Palais Royal.
2
A Nightly Patrol.
In ten minutes Mazarin and his party were traversing the
street "Les Bons Enfants" behind the theatre built by
Richelieu expressly for the play of "Mirame," and in which
Mazarin, who was an amateur of music, but not of literature,
had introduced into France the first opera that was ever
acted in that country.
The appearance of the town denoted the greatest agitation.
Numberless groups paraded the streets and, whatever
D'Artagnan might think of it, it was obvious that the
citizens had for the night laid aside their usual
forbearance, in order to assume a warlike aspect. From time
to time noises came in the direction of the public markets.
The report of firearms was heard near the Rue Saint Denis
and occasionally church bells began to ring indiscriminately
and at the caprice of the populace. D'Artagnan, meantime,
pursued his way with the indifference of a man upon whom
such acts of folly made no impression. When he approached a
group in the middle of the street he urged his horse upon it
without a word of warning; and the members of the group,
whether rebels or not, as if they knew with what sort of a
man they had to deal, at once gave place to the patrol. The
cardinal envied that composure, which he attributed to the
habit of meeting danger; but none the less he conceived for
the officer under whose orders he had for the moment placed
himself, that consideration which even prudence pays to
careless courage. On approaching an outpost near the
Barriere des Sergens, the sentinel cried out, "Who's there?"
and D'Artagnan answered -- having first asked the word of
the cardinal -- "Louis and Rocroy." After which he inquired
if Lieutenant Comminges were not the commanding officer at
the outpost. The soldier replied by pointing out to him an
officer who was conversing, on foot, his hand upon the neck
of a horse on which the individual to whom he was talking
sat. Here was the officer D'Artagnan was seeking.
"Here is Monsieur Comminges," said D'Artagnan, returning to
the cardinal. He instantly retired, from a feeling of
respectful delicacy; it was, however, evident that the
cardinal was recognized by both Comminges and the other
officers on horseback.
"Well done, Guitant," cried the cardinal to the equestrian;
"I see plainly that, notwithstanding the sixty-four years
that have passed over your head, you are still the same man,
active and zealous. What were you saying to this youngster?"
"My lord," replied Guitant, "I was observing that we live in
troublous times and that to-day's events are very like those
in the days of the Ligue, of which I heard so much in my
youth. Are you aware that the mob have even suggested
throwing up barricades in the Rue Saint Denis and the Rue
Saint Antoine?"
"And what was Comminges saying to you in reply, my good
Guitant?"
"My lord," said Comminges, "I answered that to compose a
Ligue only one ingredient was wanting -- in my opinion an
essential one -- a Duc de Guise; moreover, no generation
ever does the same thing twice."
"No, but they mean to make a Fronde, as they call it," said
Guitant.
"And what is a Fronde?" inquired Mazarin.
"My lord, Fronde is the name the discontented give to their
party."
"And what is the origin of this name?"
"It seems that some days since Councillor Bachaumont
remarked at the palace that rebels and agitators reminded
him of schoolboys slinging -- qui frondent -- stones from
the moats round Paris, young urchins who run off the moment
the constable appears, only to return to their diversion the
instant his back is turned. So they have picked up the word
and the insurrectionists are called `Frondeurs,' and
yesterday every article sold was `a la Fronde;' bread `a la
Fronde,' hats `a la Fronde,' to say nothing of gloves,
pocket-handkerchiefs, and fans; but listen ---- "
At that moment a window opened and a man began to sing:
"A tempest from the Fronde
Did blow to-day:
I think 'twill blow
Sieur Mazarin away."
"Insolent wretch!" cried Guitant.
"My lord," said Comminges, who, irritated by his wounds,
wished for revenge and longed to give back blow for blow,
"shall I fire off a ball to punish that jester, and to warn
him not to sing so much out of tune in the future?"
And as he spoke he put his hand on the holster of his
uncle's saddle-bow.
"Certainly not! certainly not," exclaimed Mazarin. "Diavolo!
my dear friend, you are going to spoil everything --
everything is going on famously. I know the French as well
as if I had made them myself. They sing -- let them pay the
piper. During the Ligue, about which Guitant was speaking
just now, the people chanted nothing except the mass, so
everything went to destruction. Come, Guitant, come along,
and let's see if they keep watch at the Quinze-Vingts as at
the Barriere des Sergens."
And waving his hand to Comminges he rejoined D'Artagnan, who
instantly put himself at the head of his troop, followed by
the cardinal, Guitant and the rest of the escort.
"Just so," muttered Comminges, looking after Mazarin. "True,
I forgot; provided he can get money out of the people, that
is all he wants."
The street of Saint Honore, when the cardinal and his party
passed through it, was crowded by an assemblage who,
standing in groups, discussed the edicts of that memorable
day. They pitied the young king, who was unconsciously
ruining his country, and threw all the odium of his
proceedings on Mazarin. Addresses to the Duke of Orleans and
to Conde were suggested. Blancmesnil and Broussel seemed in
the highest favor.
D'Artagnan passed through the very midst of this
discontented mob just as if his horse and he had been made
of iron. Mazarin and Guitant conversed together in whispers.
The musketeers, who had already discovered who Mazarin was,
followed in profound silence. In the street of Saint
Thomas-du-Louvre they stopped at the barrier distinguished
by the name of Quinze-Vingts. Here Guitant spoke to one of
the subalterns, asking how matters were progressing.
"Ah, captain!" said the officer, "everything is quiet
hereabout -- if I did not know that something is going on in
yonder house!"
And he pointed to a magnificent hotel situated on the very
