“That is, on the contrary, so great, so real, madame,” returned Mazarin, without noticing the change of language offered to him by the queen, “that if the king, Charles I.--whom Heaven protect from evil!--came into France, I would offer him my house--my own house; but, ! it would be but an unsafe retreat. Some day the people will burn that house, as they burned that of the Marechal d’Ancre. Poor Concino Concini! And yet he but desired the good of the people.”  
“Yes, my lord, like yourself!” said the queen, ironically.
 
Mazarin pretended not to understand the double meaning of his own sentence, but continued to the fate of Concino Concini.
 
“Well then, your ,” said the queen, becoming impatient, “what is your answer?”
 
“Madame,” cried Mazarin, more and more moved, “will your permit me to give you counsel?”
 
“Speak, sir,” replied the queen; “the counsels of so a man as yourself ought certainly to be available.”
 
“Madame, believe me, the king ought to defend himself to the last.”
 
“He has done so, sir, and this last battle, which he encounters with resources much inferior to those of the enemy, proves that he will not yield without a struggle; but in case he is beaten?”
 
“Well, madame, in that case, my advice--I know that I am very bold to offer advice to your majesty--my advice is that the king should not leave his kingdom. Absent kings are very soon forgotten; if he passes over into France his cause is lost.”
 
“But,” persisted the queen, “if such be your advice and you have his interest at heart, send him help of men and money, for I can do nothing for him; I have sold even to my last diamond to aid him. If I had had a single left, I should have bought wood this winter to make a fire for my daughter and myself.”
 
“Oh, madame,” said Mazarin, “your majesty knows not what you ask. On the day when foreign follows in the train of a king to replace him on his throne, it is an that he no longer possesses the help and love of his own subjects.”
 
“To the point, sir,” said the queen, “to the point, and answer me, yes or no; if the king persists in remaining in England will you send him succor? If he comes to France will you accord him hospitality? What do you intend to do? Speak.”
 
“Madame,” said the , affecting an frankness of speech, “I shall convince your majesty, I trust, of my devotion to you and my desire to terminate an affair which you have so much at heart. After which your majesty will, I think, no longer doubt my in your behalf.”
 
The queen bit her lips and moved impatiently on her chair.
 
“Well, what do you propose to do?” she, said at length; “come, speak.”
 
“I will go this instant and consult the queen, and we will refer the affair at once to parliament.”
 
“With which you are at war--is it not so? You will charge Broussel to report it. Enough, sir, enough. I understand you or rather, I am wrong. Go to the parliament, for it was from this parliament, the enemy of , that the daughter of the great, the Henry IV., whom you so much admire, received the only relief this winter which prevented her from dying of hunger and cold!”
 
And with these words Henrietta rose in indignation, whilst the cardinal, raising his hands clasped toward her, exclaimed, “Ah, madame, madame, how little you know me, mon Dieu!”
 
But Queen Henrietta, without even turning toward him who made these hypocritical , crossed the cabinet, opened the door for herself and passing through the midst of the cardinal’s numerous guards, courtiers eager to pay , the show of a competing , she went and took the hand of De Winter, who stood apart in . Poor queen, already fallen! Though all bowed before her, as required, she had now but a single arm on which she could lean.
 
“It signifies little,” said Mazarin, when he was alone. “It gave me pain and it was an ungracious part to play, but I have said nothing either to the one or to the other. Bernouin!”
 
Bernouin entered.
 
“See if the young man with the black doublet and the short hair, who was with me just now, is still in the palace.”
 
Bernouin went out and soon returned with Comminges, who was on guard.
 
“Your eminence,” said Comminges, “as I was re-conducting the young man for whom you have asked, he approached the glass door of the gallery, and gazed intently upon some object, doubtless the picture by Raphael, which is opposite the door. He reflected for a second and then the stairs. I believe I saw him mount a gray horse and leave the palace court. But is not your eminence going to the queen?”
 
“For what purpose?”
 
“Monsieur de Guitant, my uncle, has just told me that her majesty had received news of the army.”
 
“It is well; I will go.”
 
Comminges had seen rightly, and Mordaunt had really acted as he had related. In crossing the gallery parallel to the large glass gallery, he perceived De Winter, who was waiting until the queen had finished her .
 
At this sight the young man stopped short, not in admiration of Raphael’s picture, but as if fascinated at the sight of some terrible object. His eyes and a ran through his body. One would have said that he longed to break through the wall of glass which separated him from his enemy; for if Comminges had seen with what an expression of the eyes of this young man were upon De Winter, he would not have doubted for an instant that the Englishman was his eternal .
 
But he stopped, doubtless to reflect; for instead of allowing his first impulse, which had been to go straight to Lord de Winter, to carry him away, he descended the staircase, left the palace with his head down, mounted his horse, which he in at the corner of the Richelieu, and with his eyes fixed on the gate, waited until the queen’s carriage had left the court.
 
He had not long to wait, for the queen scarcely remained a quarter of an hour with Mazarin, but this quarter of an hour of expectation appeared a century to him. At last the heavy machine, which was called a chariot in those days, came out, against the gates, and De Winter, still on horseback, again to the door to with her majesty.
 
The horses started on a and took the road to the Louvre, which they entered. Before leaving the convent of the Carmelites, Henrietta had desired her daughter to attend her at the palace, which she had inhabited for a long time and which she had only left because their poverty seemed to them more difficult to bear in .
 
39. How, sometimes, the Unhappy mistake Chance for .
Well, madame,” said De Winter, when the queen had dismissed her attendants.
 
“Well, my lord, what I foresaw has come to pass.”
 
“What? does the cardinal refuse to receive the king? France refuse hospitality to an unfortunate prince? Ay, but it is for the first time, madame!”
 
“I did not say France, my lord; I said the cardinal, and the cardinal is not even a Frenchman.”
 
“But did you see the queen?”
 
“It is useless,” replied Henrietta, “the queen will not say yes when the cardinal says no. Are you not aware that this Italian directs everything, both indoors and out? And moreover, I should not be surprised had we been by Cromwell. He was embarrassed whilst speaking to me and yet quite firm in his determination to refuse. Then did you not observe the in the Palais Royal, the passing to and fro of busy people? Can they have received any news, my lord?”
 
“Not from England, madame. I made such haste that I am certain of not having been forestalled. I set out three days ago, passing through the Puritan army, and I took post horses with my servant Tony; the horses upon which we were mounted were bought in Paris. Besides, the king, I am certain, awaits your majesty’s reply before risking anything.”
 
“You will tell him, my lord,” resumed the queen, despairingly, “that I can do nothing; that I have suffered as much as himself--more than he has--obliged as I am to eat the bread of exile and to ask hospitality from false friends who smile at my tears; and as regards his royal person, he must sacrifice it generously and die like a king. I shall go and die by his side.”
 
“Madame, madame,” exclaimed De Winter, “your majesty abandons yourself to despair; and yet, perhaps, there still some hope.”
 
“No friends left, my lord; no other friends left in the wide world but yourself! Oh, God!” exclaimed the poor queen, raising her eyes to Heaven, “have You indeed taken back all the generous hearts that once existed in the world?”
 
“I hope not, madame,” replied De Winter, thoughtfully; “I once to you of four men.”
 
“What can be done with four?”
 
“Four , men can do much, assure yourself, madame; and those of whom I speak performed great things at one time.”
 
“And where are these four men?”
 
“Ah, that is what I do not know. It is twenty years since I saw them, and yet whenever I have seen the king in danger I have thought of them.”
 
“And these men were your friends?”
 
“One of them held my life in his hands and gave it to me. I know not whether he is still my friend, but since that time I have remained his.”
 
“And these men are in France, my lord?”
 
“I believe so.”
 
“Tell me their names; perhaps I may have heard them mentioned and might be able to aid you in finding them.”
 
“One of them was called the Chevalier d’Artagnan.”
 
“Ah, my lord, if I mistake not, the Chevalier d’Artagnan is of royal guards; but take care, for I fear that this man is devoted to the cardinal.”
 
“That would be a misfortune,” said De Winter, “and I shall begin to think that we are really .”
 
“But the others,” said the queen, who clung to this last hope as a shipwrecked man clings to the of his . “The others, my lord!”
 
“The second--I heard his name by chance; for before fighting us, these four gentlemen told us their names; the second was called the Comte de la Fere. As for the two others, I had so much the habit of calling them by nicknames that I have forgotten their real ones.”
 
“Oh, mon Dieu, it is a matter of the greatest urgency to find them out,” said the queen, “since you think these gentlemen might be so useful to the king.”
 
“Oh, yes,” said De Winter, “for they ar............