The Marechal de La Meilleraye assumed the style and bravado of a captain when a lieutenant-colonel of the Guards suddenly came to tell the Queen that the citizens threatened to force the Guards, and, being naturally hasty and choleric, was transported even with fury and madness.  He cried out that he would perish rather than suffer such insolence, and asked leave to take the Guards, the officers of the Household, and even all the courtiers he could find in the antechambers, with whom he would engage to rout the whole mob.  The Queen was greatly in favour of it, but nobody else, and events proved that it was well they did not come into it.  At the same time entered the Chancellor, a man who had never spoken a word of truth in his whole life; but now, his complaisance yielding to his fear, he spoke directly according to what he had seen in the streets.  I observed that the Cardinal was startled at the boldness of a man in whom he had never seen anything like it before.  But Senneterre, coming in just after him, removed all their apprehensions in a trice by assuring them that the fury of the people began to cool, that they did not take arms, and that with a little patience all would be well again.

There is nothing so dangerous as flattery at a juncture where he that is flattered is in fear, because the desire he has not to be terrified inclines him to believe anything that hinders him from applying any remedy to what he is afraid of.  The news that was brought every moment made them trifle away that time which should have been employed for the preservation of the State.  Old Guitaut, a man of no great sense, but heartily well affected, was more impatient than all the rest, and said that he did not conceive how it was possible for people to be asleep in the present state of affairs; he muttered something more which I could not well hear, but it seemed to bear very hard upon the Cardinal, who owed him no goodwill.

The Cardinal answered, “Well, M. Guitaut, what would you have us do?”

Guitaut said, very bluntly, “Let the old rogue Broussel be restored to the people, either dead or alive.”

I said that to restore him dead was inconsistent with the Queen’s piety and prudence, but to restore him alive would probably put a stop to the tumult.

At these words the Queen reddened, and cried aloud, “I understand you, M. le Coadjutor.  You would have me set Broussel at liberty; but I will strangle him sooner with these hands,”—­throwing her head as it were into my face at the last word, “and those who—­”

The Cardinal, believing that she was going to say all to me that rage could inspire, advanced and whispered in her ear, upon which she became composed to such a degree that, had I not known her too well, I should have thought her at her ease.  The lieutenant de police came that instant into the Cabinet with a deadly pale aspect.  I never saw fear so well and ridiculously represented in any Italian comedy