“Oh! madame,” cried Mazarin, “you have ruined us all — the
king, yourself and me.”
At this cry from the soul of the frightened cardinal, Anne
became alarmed in her turn and would have recalled
Comminges.
“It is too late,” said Mazarin, tearing his hair, “too
late!”
The gale had given way. Hoarse shouts were heard from the
excited mob. D’Artagnan put his hand to his sword, motioning
to Porthos to follow his example.
“Save the queen!” cried Mazarin to the coadjutor.
Gondy sprang to the window and threw it open; he recognized
Louvieres at the head of a troop of about three or four
thousand men.
“Not a step further,” he shouted, “the queen is signing!”
“What are you saying?” asked the queen.
“The truth, madame,” said Mazarin, placing a pen and a paper
before her, “you must;” then he added: “Sign, Anne, I
implore you — I command you.”
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The queen fell into a chair, took the pen and signed.
The people, kept back by Louvieres, had not made another
step forward; but the awful murmuring, which indicates an
angry people, continued.
The queen had written, “The keeper of the prison at Saint
Germain will set Councillor Broussel at liberty;” and she
had signed it.
The coadjutor, whose eyes devoured her slightest movements,
seized the paper immediately the signature had been affixed
to it, returned to the window and waved it in his hand.
“This is the order,” he said.
All Paris seemed to shout with joy, and then the air
resounded with the cries of “Long live Broussel!” “Long live
the coadjutor!”
“Long live the queen!” cried De Gondy; but the cries which
replied to his were poor and few, and perhaps he had but
uttered it to make Anne of Austria sensible of her weakness.
“And now that you have obtained what you want, go,” said
she, “Monsieur de Gondy.”
“Whenever her majesty has need of me,” replied the
coadjutor, bowing, “her majesty knows I am at her command.”
“Ah, cursed priest!” cried Anne, when he had retired,
stretching out her arm to the scarcely closed door, “one day
I will make you drink the dregs of the atrocious gall you
have poured out on me to-day.”
Mazarin wished to approach her. “Leave me!” she exclaimed;
“you are not a man!” and she went out of the room.
“It is you who are not a woman,” muttered Mazarin.
Then, after a moment of reverie, he remembered where he had
left D’Artagnan and Porthos and that they must have
overheard everything. He knit his brows and went direct to
the tapestry, which he pushed aside. The closet was empty.
At the queen’s last word, D’Artagnan had dragged Porthos
into the gallery. Thither Mazarin went in his turn and found
the two friends walking up and down.
“Why did you leave the closet, Monsieur d’Artagnan?” asked
the cardinal.
“Because,” replied D’Artagnan, “the queen desired every one
to leave and I thought that this command was intended for us
as well as for the rest.”
“And you have been here since —- ”
“About a quarter of an hour,” said D’Artagnan, motioning to
Porthos not to contradict him.
Mazarin saw the sign and remained convinced that D’Artagnan
had seen and heard everything; but he was pleased with his
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falsehood.
“Decidedly, Monsieur d’Artagnan, you are the man I have been
seeking. You may reckon upon me and so may your friend.”
Then bowing to the two musketeers with his most gracious
smile, he re-entered his closet more calmly, for on the
departure of De Gondy the uproar had ceased as though by
enchantment.
49
Misfortune refreshes the Memory.
Anne of Austria returned to her oratory, furious.
“What!” she cried, wringing her beautiful hands, “What! the
people have seen Monsieur de Conde, a prince of the blood
royal, arrested by my mother-in-law, Maria de Medicis; they
saw my mother-in-law, their former regent, expelled by the
cardinal; they saw Monsieur de Vendome, that is to say, the
son of Henry IV., a prisoner at Vincennes; and whilst these
great personages were imprisoned, insulted and threatened,
they said nothing; and now for a Broussel — good God! what,