At the Louvre, shut up in her apartments, but still surrounded by her ladies, the Queen-mother lamented with hard, tearless passion--not the death of her favourite, which troubled her little, but the loss of her own authority. Fear of the future and of her son’s vengeance filled her mind, to the exclusion of every other human feeling. She had no pity to spare even for the miserable Leonora, her lifelong friend, who was seized by the guards immediately after her husband’s death, plundered of all her treasures and imprisoned, first in the Louvre, then in the Bastille, her son Henry Concini, a boy of thirteen, having been torn from her. The little Comte de la Pena, as they called him, was a pretty boy and a famous dancer. The Comte de Fiesque, the young Queen’s equerry, took him under his protection and brought him to her. Anne made him dance, fed him with sweetmeats, and kept him in her household till his fatal name condemned him also to prison. Some time later, he was set free and sent back to Italy. The murderers of Concini robbed his dead body of money and jewellery and left it lying under a staircase in the court of the Louvre, near the gate through which crowds of Parisians of every rank, who had trembled before the Maréchal, came crowding to pay their homage to the King. During the day his house near the Louvre and his wife’s apartments were completely sacked and pillaged, their flying servants chased in all directions. In the evening his body was carried secretly across the way to the Church of Saint-Germain l’Auxerrois and buried, with no funeral rites, behind the organ. But the fury and rage of the mob were far from being satisfied. The Parisians of 1617 were the ancestors of those of 1793. “The next morning,” says Pontchartrain, “the 25th of the said month of April, day of Saint Mark, about ten o’clock, a few women and children, in the Church of Saint-Germain of the Auxerrois, began to say one to another, standing over the place where he had been interred: ‘See where they have buried that tyrant: is it right that he, who did so much evil, should lie in holy ground and in a church? No, no; out with him; throw him on a dunghill!’ And exciting each other with such words, they began with sticks to break up the stone under which the body lay; the women using knives and scissors, until strong men began to lend a hand. In less than half an hour two or three hundred persons were assembled; they raise the stone, take out the body, tie cords round the neck, drag it out of the church and thence through the streets, with horrible shouts and yells, some saying it should be thrown into the river, others that it should be burnt, others that it should be hanged on a gibbet; each one worse than the last. Thus they found themselves at the end of the Pont Neuf, where there were two or three gibbets set up.”