’Your amiable brother-in-law, who wanted to have you enlevee!  No, no, my dear, you cannot be uneasy about him.  The Generalissime of Paris cannot spare her Gildippe.’

So I was carried on, consoling myself with the thought that Madame Verdon, who was as kind as her mother, would take care of him.  When we came near the gate Mademoiselle sent orders by M. de Rohan to the captain of the gate to let her people in and out, and, at the same time, sent a message to the Prince, while she went into the nearest house, that of M. de Croix, close to the Bastille.

Scarcely were we in its salon when in came the Prince.  He was in a terrible state, and dropped into a chair out of breath before he could speak.  His face was all over dust, his hair tangled, his collar and shirt bloody, his cuirass dinted all over with blows, and he held his bloody sword in his hand, having lost the scabbard.

‘You see a man in despair,’ he gasped out.  ’I have lost all my friends.  Nemours, de la Rochefoucauld, Clinchamp, d’Aubepine, are mortally wounded;’ and, throwing down his sword, he began tearing his hair with his hands, and moving his feet up and down in an agony of grief.

It was impossible not to feel for him at such a moment, and Mademoiselle came kindly up to him, took his hand, and was able to assure him that things were better than he thought, and that M. de Clinchamp was only two doors off, and in no danger.

He composed himself a little, thanked her passionately, swallowed down some wine, begged her to remain at hand, then rushed off again to endeavour to save his friends, now that the retreat was opened to them.  Indeed, we heard that M. de Turenne said it seemed to him that he did not meet one but twelve Princes of Conde in that battle, for it seemed as if he were everywhere at once.

We could only see into the street from the house where we were, and having received some civil messages from the Governor of the Bastille, Mademoiselle decided on going thither.  The Governor turned out the guard to salute Mademoiselle, and at her request conducted us up stone stair after stone stair in the massive walls and towers.  Now and then we walked along a gallery, with narrow doors opening into it here and there; and then we squeezed up a spiral stone stair, never made for ladies, and lighted by narrow loopholes.  In spite of all the present anxiety I could not help shuddering at that place of terror, and wondering who might be pining within those heavy doors.  At last we came out on the battlements, a broad walk on the top of the great square tower, with cannon looking through the embrasures, and piles of balls behind them, gunners waiting beside each.  It was extremely hot, but we could not think of that.  And what a sight it was in the full glare of the summer sun!  Mademoiselle had a spy-glass, but even without one we could see a great deal, when we were not too much dazzled.  There was the open