"Ah!" he exclaimed thoughtfully, "that will account for more than one strange incident," and leaving me he took his seat in the assembly. I was too far off to hear the speeches, but there was tremendous excitement, and I think everyone was expecting the meeting to end in bloodshed. Better sense, however, prevailed; Conde sent a nobleman to ask his friends to withdraw, and De Retz went with a similar message to his own retainers. Then something happened which threatened to undo all the good. Conde's messenger getting back first shut the door, and when the Abbe knocked, opened it only a little way. As De Retz endeavoured to squeeze through, the nobleman caught and fixed him between the two halves, at the same time calling to his friends to kill the Abbe. [Illustration: "The nobleman caught and fixed him."] It was a critical moment, as the first blow would have been the signal for a fierce fight, yet I could hardly refrain from laughing at the spectacle. The little man's head and shoulders were within the hall, and the rest of his body was outside, while he could not stir an inch. Happily no blow was struck, as one of Conde's captains, crying "Shame!" ran forward, and two or three of us nearest the door managed to extricate the Abbe from his awkward situation. "Thank you, gentlemen," he exclaimed; "I am glad there are some men of honour in the prince's train," and he passed to his seat as if nothing unusual had happened. "There will be no more trouble to-day," said a man close to me; and he was right, but Paris had only just missed another revolution. CHAPTER XX. News at Last. The incident at the Palais de Justice somewhat sobered the Parisians, and for several days the city presented quite an unusual appearance of peace. Once more the mob retired to its own quarters, and the nobles of the different parties renewed their private friendships. By this time I had abandoned my search for Henri, and spent most of my time with Raoul and Armand d'Arcy, or with John Humphreys. One evening while chatting with the Englishman at the Palais Royal, Le Tellier, the Under Minister, passed by. "Are you not M. de Lalande?" he asked, turning and looking hard into my face. Now, coming from him, this was a very stupid question, as, when Mazarin ruled in Paris, Le Tellier had often seen me with the Cardinal. However, I shrugged my shoulders, and answered carelessly that he made no mistake. "I believe you are in the Queen's service?" he continued. "It is an office without salary, then," I answered, thinking of my nearly empty purse, which was not likely to wear out through the rubbing of coins against it. "Tut, tut!" he exclaimed, "money is not plentiful at Court just now; nevertheless you will be amply rewarded. Come with me, I have a word for you," and he led me aside. Wondering at his manner, but glad of a chance to do something, I waited for him to speak.