reserved at first with her that it was impossible for her to dive into her secrets.  That since she regained her Majesty’s favour she had sometimes observed the same airs in her with regard to Cardinal Mazarin as she used to display formerly in favour of the Duke of Buckingham; but at other times she thought that there was no more between them than a league of friendship.  The chief ground for her conjecture was the impolite and almost rude way in which the Cardinal conversed with her Majesty.  “But, however,” said Madame de Chevreuse, “when I reflect on the Queen’s humour, all this may admit of another interpretation.  Buckingham used to tell me that he had been in love with three Queens, and was obliged to curb all the three; therefore I cannot tell what to think of the matter.”

To resume the history of more public affairs.  I did not so far please myself with the figure I made against the Prince (though I thought it very much for my honour), but I saw clearly that I stood on a dangerous precipice.

“Whither are we going?” I said to M. Bellievre, who seemed to be overjoyed that the Prince had not been able to devour me; for whom do we labour?  I know that we are obliged to act as we do; I know, too, that we cannot do better; but should we rejoice at the fatal necessity which pushes us on to exert an action comparatively good and which will unavoidably end in a superlative evil?”

“I understand you,” said the President, “and will interrupt you for one moment to tell you what I learned of Cromwell” (whom he had known in England).  “He told me one day that it is then we are mounting highest when we ourselves do not know whither we are going.”

“You know, monsieur,” said I to Bellievre, “that I abhor Cromwell; and whatever is commonly reported of his great parts, if he is of this opinion, I must pronounce him a fool.”

I mentioned this dialogue for no other purpose than to observe how dangerous it is to talk disrespectfully of men in high positions; for it was carried to Cromwell, who remembered it with a great deal of resentment on an occasion which I shall mention hereafter, and said to M. de Bourdeaux, Ambassador of France, then in England, “I know but one man in the world who despises me, and that is Cardinal de Retz.”  This opinion of him was likely to have cost me very dear.  I return from this digression.

On the 31st, Melayer, valet de chambre to the Cardinal, arrived with a despatch to the Queen, in which were these words:  “Give the Prince de Conde all the declarations of his innocence that he can desire, provided you can but amuse him and hinder him from giving you the slip.”

On the 4th the Prince de Conde insisted in Parliament on a formal decree for declaring his innocence, which was granted, but deferred to be published till the 7th of September (the day that the King came of age), on pretence of rendering it more authentic and solemn by the King’s presence, but really to gain time, and see what influence the splendour of royalty, which was to be clothed that day with all the advantages of pomp, would have upon the minds of the people.