“Child that you are, how little do you yet know of the court!  Nothing can sustain him but the hand of the King, who loves him as a son; and as for the Queen, if her heart beats, it is for the past and not for the future.  But these trifles are not to the purpose.  Tell me, dear friend, are you sure of your young Advocate whom I see roaming about there?  Is he all right?”

“Perfectly; he is an excellent Royalist.  He would throw the Cardinal into the river in an instant.  Besides, it is Fournier of Loudun; that is saying everything.”

“Well, well, this is the kind of men we like.  But take care of yourselves, Messieurs; some one comes from the Rue Saint-Honore.”

“Who goes there?” cried the foremost of the troop to some men who were advancing.  “Royalists or Cardinalists?”

“Gaston and Le Grand,” replied the newcomers, in low tones.

“It is Montresor and Monsieur’s people,” said Fontrailles.  “We may soon begin.”

“Yes, ’par la corbleu’!” said the newcomer, “for the Cardinalists will pass at three o’clock.  Some one told us so just now.”

“Where are they going?” said Fontrailles.

“There are more than two hundred of them to escort Monsieur de Chavigny, who is going to see the old cat at Narbonne, they say.  They thought it safer to pass by the Louvre.”

“Well, we will give him a velvet paw!” said the Abbe.

As he finished saying this, a noise of carriages and horses was heard.  Several men in cloaks rolled an enormous stone into the middle of the street.  The foremost cavaliers passed rapidly through the crowd, pistols in hand, suspecting that something unusual was going on; but the postilion, who drove the horses of the first carriage, ran upon the stone and fell.

“Whose carriage is this which thus crushes foot-passengers?” cried the cloakmen, all at once.  “It is tyrannical.  It can be no other than a friend of the Cardinal de la Rochelle.”

[During the long siege of La Rochelle, this name was given to Cardinal Richelieu, to ridicule his obstinacy in commanding as General-in-Chief, and claiming for himself the merit of taking that town.]

“It is one who fears not the friends of the little Le Grand,” exclaimed a voice from the open door, from which a man threw himself upon a horse.

“Drive these Cardinalists into the river!” cried a shrill, piercing voice.

This was a signal for the pistol-shots which were furiously exchanged on every side, and which lighted up this tumultuous and sombre scene.  The clashing of swords and trampling of horses did not prevent the cries from being heard on one side:  “Down with the minister!  Long live the King!  Long live Monsieur and Monsieur le Grand!  Down with the red-stockings!” On the other:  “Long live his Eminence!  Long live the great Cardinal!  Death to the factious!  Long live the King!” For the name of the King presided over every hatred, as over every affection, at this strange time.