“Is it of Time you speak,” said the Queen, “or of a real personage?”

“Too real, too living, too long living, Madame!” replied the Duke, becoming more animated; “but his measureless ambition, his colossal selfishness can no longer be endured.  All those who have noble hearts are indignant at this yoke; and at this moment, more than ever, we see misfortunes threatening us in the future.  It must be said, Madame—­yes, it is no longer time to blind ourselves to the truth, or to conceal it—­the King’s illness is serious.  The moment for thinking and resolving has arrived, for the time to act is not far distant.”

The severe and abrupt tone of M. de Bouillon did not surprise Anne of Austria; but she had always seen him more calm, and was, therefore, somewhat alarmed by the disquietude he betrayed.  Quitting accordingly the tone of pleasantry which she had at first adopted, she said: 

“How! what fear you, and what would you do?”

“I fear nothing for myself, Madame, for the army of Italy or Sedan will always secure my safety; but I fear for you, and perhaps for the princes, your sons.”

“For my children, Monsieur le Duc, for the sons of France?  Do you hear him, my brother, and do you not appear astonished?”

The Queen was deeply agitated.

“No, Madame,” said Gaston d’Orleans, calmly; “you know that I am accustomed to persecution.  I am prepared to expect anything from that man.  He is master; we must be resigned.”

“He master!” exclaimed the Queen.  “And from whom does he derive his powers, if not from the King?  And after the King, what hand will sustain him?  Can you tell me?  Who will prevent him from again returning to nothing?  Will it be you or I?”

“It will be himself,” interrupted M. de Bouillon, “for he seeks to be named regent; and I know that at this moment he contemplates taking your children from you, and requiring the King to confide them to his care.”

“Take them from me!” cried the mother, involuntarily seizing the Dauphin, and taking him in her arms.

The child, standing between the Queen’s knees, looked at the men who surrounded him with a gravity very singular for his age, and, seeing his mother in tears, placed his hand upon the little sword he wore.

“Ah, Monseigneur,” said the Duc de Bouillon, bending half down to address to him what he intended for the Princess, “it is not against us that you must draw your sword, but against him who is undermining your throne.  He prepares an empire for you, no doubt.  You will have an absolute sceptre; but he has scattered the fasces which indicated it.  Those fasces were your ancient nobility, whom he has decimated.  When you are king, you will be a great king.  I foresee it; but you will have subjects only, and no friends, for friendship exists only in independence and a kind of equality which takes its rise in force.  Your ancestors had their peers; you will not have yours.  May God aid you then, Monseigneur, for man may not do it without institutions!  Be great; but above all, around you, a great man, let there be others as strong, so that if the one stumbles, the whole monarchy may not fall.”