“And now,” at last said the queen, “now that we are alone, repeat your counsel, Monsieur le Coadjuteur.”
“It is this, Madame: that you should appear to have reflected, and publicly acknowledge an error, which constitutes the extra strength of a strong government; release Broussel from prison and give him back to the people.”
“Oh!” cried Anne, “to humble myself thus! Am I, or am I not, the queen? This screaming mob, are they, or are they not, my subjects? Have I friends? Have I guards? Ah! by Notre Dame! as Queen Catherine used to say,” continued she, excited by her own words, “rather than give up this infamous Broussel to them I will strangle him with my own hands!”
And she sprang toward Gondy, whom assuredly at that moment she hated more than Broussel, with outstretched arms. The coadjutor remained immovable and not a muscle of his face was discomposed; only his glance flashed like a sword in returning the furious looks of the queen.
(“He were a dead man” said the Gascon, “if there were still a Vitry at the court and if Vitry entered at this moment; but for my part, before he could reach the good prelate I would kill Vitry at once; the cardinal would be infinitely pleased with me.”
“Hush!” said Porthos; “listen.”)
“Madame,” cried the cardinal, seizing hold of Anne and drawing her back, “Madame, what are you about?”
Then he added in Spanish, “Anne, are you mad? You, a queen to quarrel like a washerwoman! And do you not perceive that in the person of this priest is represented the whole people of Paris and that it is dangerous to insult him at this moment, and if this priest wished it, in an hour you would be without a crown? Come, then, on another occasion you can be firm and strong; but today is not the proper time; today, flatter and caress, or you are only a common woman.”
(At the first words of this address d’Artagnan had seized Porthos’s arm, which he pressed with gradually increasing force. When Mazarin ceased speaking he said to Porthos in a low tone:
“Never tell Mazarin that I understand Spanish, or I am a lost man and you are also.”
“All right,” said Porthos.)
This rough appeal, marked by the eloquence which characterized Mazarin when he spoke in Italian or Spanish and which he lost entirely in speaking French, was uttered with such impenetrable expression that Gondy, clever physiognomist as he was, had no suspicion of its being more than a simple warning to be more subdued.
The queen, on her part, thus chided, softened immediately and sat down, and in an almost weeping voice, letting her arms fall by her side, said:
“Pardon me, sir, and attribute this violence to what I suffer. A woman, and consequently subject to the weaknesses of my sex, I am alarmed at the idea of civil war; a queen, accustomed to be obeyed, I am excited at the first opposition.”
“Madame,” replied Gondy, bowing, “Your Majesty is mistaken in qualifying my sincere advice as opposition. Your Majesty has none but submissive and respectful subjects. It is not the queen with whom the people are displeased; they ask for Broussel and are only too happy, if you release him to them, to live under your government.”
Mazarin, who at the words, “It is not the queen with whom the people are displeased,” had pricked up his ears, thinking that the coadjutor was about to speak of the cries, “Down with Mazarin,” and pleased with Gondy’s suppression of this fact, he said with his sweetest voice and his most gracious expression:
“Madame, credit the coadjutor, who is one of the most able politicians we have; the first available cardinal’s hat seems to belong already to his noble brow.”
Ah! how much you have need of me, cunning rogue! thought Gondy.
(“And what will he promise us?” said d’Artagnan. “Peste, if he is giving away hats like that, Porthos, let us look out and both demand a regiment tomorrow. Corbleu! let the civil war last but one year and I will have a constable’s sword gilt for me.”
“And for me?” put in Porthos.
“For you? I will give you the baton of the Maréchal de la Meilleraie, who does not seem to be much in favor just now.”)
“And so, sir,” said the queen, “you are seriously afraid of a public tumult.”
“Seriously,” said Gondy, astonished at not having further advanced; “I fear that when the torrent has broken its embankment it will cause fearful destruction.”
“And I,” said the queen, “think that in such a case other embankments should be raised to oppose it. Go; I will reflect.”
Gondy looked at Mazarin, astonished, and Mazarin approached the queen to speak to her, but at this moment a frightful tumult arose from the square of the Palais Royal.
Gondy smiled, the queen’s color rose, and Mazarin grew even paler.
“What is that again?” he asked.
At this moment Comminges rushed into the room.
“Pardon, Your Majesty,” he cried, “but the people have dashed the sentinels against the gates and they are now forcing the doors; what are your commands?”
“Listen, Madame,” said Gondy.
The moaning of waves, the noise of thunder, the roaring of a volcano, cannot be compared with the tempest of cries heard at that moment.
“What are my commands?” said the queen.
“Yes, for time presses.”
“How many men have you about the Palais Royal?”
“Six hundred.”
“Place a hundred around the king and with the remainder sweep away this mob for me.”
“Madame,” cried Mazarin, “what are you about?”
“Go!” said the queen.
Comminges went out with a soldier’s passive obedience.
At this moment a monstrous battering was heard. One of the gates began to yield.
“Oh! Madame,” cried Mazarin, “you have ruined us all—the king, yourself and me.”
At this cry from the soul of the frightened cardinal, Anne became alarmed in her turn and would have recalled Comminges.
“It is too late,” said Mazarin, tearing his hair, “too late!”
The gale had given way. Hoarse shouts
