“Gentlemen, first remember that you answer with your heads for the life of the princes, my children.  You know that, Monsieur de Guitaut?”

“I sleep across their doorway, Madame; but this disturbance does not threaten either them or your Majesty.”

“Very well; do not think of me until after them,” interrupted the Queen, “and protect indiscriminately all who are threatened.  You also hear me, Monsieur de Bassompierre; you are a gentleman.  Forget that your uncle is yet in the Bastille, and do your duty by the grandsons of the dead King, his friend.”

He was a young man, with a frank, open countenance.

“Your Majesty,” said he, with a slight German accent, “may see that I have forgotten my family, and not yours.”  And he displayed his left hand despoiled of two fingers, which had just been cut off.  “I have still another hand,” said he, bowing and withdrawing with Guitaut.

The Queen, much moved, rose immediately, and, despite the prayers of the Princesse de Guemenee, the tears of Marie de Gonzaga, and the cries of Madame de Chevreuse, insisted upon placing herself at the window, and half opened it, leaning upon the shoulder of the Duchesse de Mantua.

“What do I hear?” she said.  “They are crying, ’Long live the King!  Long live the Queen!’”

The people, imagining they recognized her, redoubled their cries at this moment, and shouted louder than ever, “Down with the Cardinal!  Long live Monsieur le Grand!”

Marie shuddered.

“What is the matter with you?” said the Queen, observing her.  But as she did not answer, and trembled in every limb, this good and gentle Princess appeared not to perceive it; and, paying the greatest attention to the cries and movements of the populace, she even exaggerated an inquietude which she had not felt since the first name had reached her ear.  An hour later, when they came to tell her that the crowd only awaited a sign from her hand to withdraw, she waved it graciously, and with an air of satisfaction.  But this joy was far from being complete, for her heart was still troubled by many things, and, above all, by the presentiment of the regency.  The more she leaned forward to show herself, the more she beheld the revolting scenes which the increasing light revealed.  Terror took possession of her soul as it became necessary to appear calm and confiding; and her heart was saddened at the very gayety of her words and countenance.  Exposed to all eyes, she felt herself a mere woman, and shuddered in looking at that people whom she would soon perhaps be called upon to govern, and who already took upon themselves to demand the death of ministers, and to call upon their Queen to appear before them.

She saluted them.

A hundred and fifty years later that salute was repeated by another princess, like herself of Austrian blood, and Queen of France.  The monarchy without foundation, such as Richelieu made it, was born and died between these two salutes.