"_Peste!_" I exclaimed moodily, "one might as well be at Vancey as here. How shall I pa.s.s the time? It seems that, after all, I have brought my produce to a bad market."

I had stayed at home several days doing nothing, when one evening my landlord, bustling into the room, exclaimed, "Is it possible monsieur does not know that the city is _en fete_ in honour of the prince's arrival? All the world has gone to witness the sights, and the prince is expected in an hour's time!"

I had no desire to swell the welcome to Conde, but to sit moping alone was dreary work; so, buckling on my sword, I sallied out. Always at one extreme or the other, the Parisians had prepared a magnificent reception for their latest favourite. Lanterns were hung from the windows of the houses, bonfires blazed, bands of n.o.bles in gorgeous dresses lined the streets, splendid carriages with richly-caparisoned horses were drawn up, ready to take part in the procession, while the people were cheering in their thousands for Conde.

"_Ma foi!_" exclaimed a strong voice, which sounded somewhat familiar, "one would imagine this Conde to be a king!" and looking round, I recognised the Englishman who belonged to the Queen's Guards.

"Be careful," said I, warningly. "It is unwise to abuse Conde here."

"For to-day!" replied he, laughing. "To-morrow it may be different.

Pardon me, monsieur, but I do not understand your people. They are too much like quicksilver; one is never sure where to catch them. Just now they welcome Conde as a hero, but who can say what they will do in a week?"

"Monsieur makes the mistake of most strangers; he judges the country by Paris, which is wrong," I remarked.

"Perhaps so. Paris is almost the only place with which I am acquainted. But are you, too, waiting to cheer Conde? If not, let us slip away from the crowd; the noise is becoming a nuisance."

He was such a pleasant fellow that I gladly joined him, and we strolled back together to the Palais Royal. His name, as I have mentioned, was John Humphreys, and, although still a young man, he had already been through numerous adventures. In the great English Civil War he had fought at his father's side for King Charles. Then, being left alone and penniless by the death of his father in the Low Countries, he had journeyed to Paris and taken service in the Queen's Guards. There were numerous English exiles in Paris at that time, but most of them, I think, were in the pay of Conde.

Raoul had not returned, so that I was glad of the Englishman's company, and, indeed, we very soon became good friends. He was never tired of talking about his country and of his hope one day to live there again.

Sometimes I accompanied him to his quarters at the Palais Royal, where he introduced me to a few of his comrades, but more often we strolled about the city.

For once in a while Paris was actually quiet. The people went peacefully to their daily work; the lowest cla.s.ses retired to their dens, and one could take a morning walk without meeting a howling mob.

Every one repeated the same tale. Mazarin would never return; Conde was master, and the stupid Fronde was at an end.

Madame Coutance had returned to Paris with her niece, and occasionally I spent an hour at her house, where she treated me with much kindness; only she would insist that I was a silly fellow not to abandon a lost cause.

For a time it really seemed that Conde's triumph was a.s.sured, but soon I began to hear whispers that all was not right in the Palais Royal.

Bits of gossip picked up by the Englishman, and a word or two from Le Tellier, made me imagine that Conde's position was less safe than he imagined.

Sitting alone one evening by the open window of my room, I noticed, approaching the house, a handsomely-dressed gallant, holding in his hand a naked sword on which were some fresh blood-stains. He, glanced up at me, smiling, and I, recognising Raoul, ran hastily to meet him.

"Why, it is as dangerous to visit you as a deposed favourite!" he cried merrily.

"You come in such gorgeous plumage. Many a man in the Rue des Catonnes would cheerfully risk his life for the value of your gold braid. But,"

glancing at the blood on his sword, "you have discovered that!"

"Yes, there is a poor wretch farther down nursing his arm and grumbling frightfully at his own clumsiness; but I threw him a pistole or two to buy some ointment. So you have not followed the Cardinal?"

"No! I am waiting here till his return," and we went upstairs together, Raoul laughing heartily at what he called my impudence.

He did not refer to our last meeting at the Palais Royal, but chatted gaily about his sudden visit to Havre, though, of course, without revealing to me the secrets of his party.

"Well," I remarked presently, "now that the wretched squabble is over, what have you gained by it?"

"Over?" he cried in astonishment; "come to the Pont Neuf and see for yourself what is going on. The cards have been shuffled again, and we are playing the game with different partners. Conde has gone too far, and Dame Anne will have none of him. He claims every office in the State for his friends, and three-fourths of the country for himself.

Unless he is put down, as Mazarin says, there will be nothing left but to carry him to Rheims."

"Then you have broken with the prince?"

"Our party holds the scales at present; neither side can do anything without us."

"What of De Retz?"

"That is the most comical part of all; he is hand in glove with the Queen, and has become Conde's bitterest enemy. At least that was the situation this morning. To-morrow perhaps will furnish a fresh move."

"One has to blush for being a Frenchman! I shall go to Marshal Turenne; he is the only honest man in the country."

"Another broken reed, my friend! If rumour speaks truly, he has made a bargain with Conde, and will support him even in open rebellion. By the way, do not wander about the city too much at night."

"Why?" I asked, looking at him in surprise.

"Because you have made two bitter enemies--Maubranne and Peleton. They have both joined De Retz, and Peleton will work you all the mischief he can. He is a dangerous man."

"A fig for Peleton! He is a coward."

"A coward can often strike a sure blow in the dark."

We were in the streets by this time, and, pa.s.sing with difficulty through the crowds of people, I was strongly reminded of the evening when I accompanied the now exiled minister to the house of the astrologer.

The riff-raff of the city were out in large numbers; the hawkers were crying their literary wares; the Black Mantles had gathered in knots to guard their property; while the young bloods swaggered along, laughing and joking, but toying with their swords as if longing for a chance to use them. On the previous occasion the rabble had roared themselves hoa.r.s.e with cries against Mazarin and the Queen-Mother; now they shouted with equal vigour against Conde and his friends.

"The Abbe is still alive," remarked Raoul, as we pushed a way through the crowd.

"Is this his doing?"

"Every bit of it, and your cousin Henri makes an able lieutenant. De Retz is a dangerous enemy; all the blackguards in the city are under his thumb. You will find that he will drive the prince out of Paris before he has finished."

"What are they doing to that fellow yonder? Why, it is Joli, and they are making him cry 'Down with Conde!'"

Raoul burst out laughing. "Joli is Conde's henchman!" he exclaimed, "and a week ago he had the mob at his call. To-morrow as likely as not the idiots will be bawling for Mazarin."

"The n.o.bles have set them a good example. There goes Joli. I did not think he could run so fast. But these fellows are becoming too daring.

See, they have stopped a carriage at the corner of the street, and are threatening the occupants."

"More of Conde's friends," said Raoul lightly. "Fortunately, Joli has put the crowd in good humour, and there will be no mischief done unless those inside are obstinate."

"Listen. There is one woman not easily frightened!" and above the turmoil caused by the _canaille_ rose a defiant "_Vive le Prince!_"

"Imbecile!" cried Raoul angrily, "they will tear her in pieces!"

"She has plenty of pluck, whoever she is!" I replied.

The next instant we had drawn our swords; for the woman in the carriage who had so proudly defied the ruffians of Paris was Madame Coutance, and by her side, pale yet undismayed, sat Marie.

The elder lady, marvellously handsome in her excitement, stood up in full view of the crowd. Her cheeks were flushed; her large black eyes flashed with surprising brilliancy; her lips were firm and compressed; and she gazed at the mob in scornful disdain. At first the people laughed good-naturedly, telling her that if she would cry "Down with Conde!" they would let her carriage pa.s.s. Then some of the fiercer ones pressing closer, used threats, but Madame Coutance, either reckless from excitement or not understanding the danger, only smiled.

Raoul and I had reached the fringe of the now angry crowd, when, turning round at a touch on my shoulder, I perceived my English friend.

"What is it?" he asked. "Another revolution?"