"Faith!" exclaimed Humphreys, one evening towards the close of the year, "it looks as if that Cardinal of yours were going to win, after all. He is back in France with an army, and is hurrying to meet the Marshal!" "He will be in Paris before long," said I laughing, "and then we shall see a sight." Every day now brought news of some fresh success, and much of the glory fell to the share of Mazarin. People began to talk of him as a great general, and to compare him, as a soldier, with Conde and Turenne. This was, of course, very absurd, but the talk increased the Cardinal's popularity. At the beginning of the new year, 1653, my leg was so much stronger that I was able to go out, and every day I walked a little distance in the streets, accompanied by Pillot. I could not ride as yet, but even that I was able to manage by the time Mazarin returned to Paris. Yes, the great struggle was over, and, as I had foreseen in the beginning, the _Frondeurs_ had been smitten hip and thigh. Conde, overshadowed by the genius of Turenne, was a fugitive; Gaston of Orleans, who ever blew hot and cold in one breath, had left the capital in disgrace; the parliament men had been brought to their knees; and that sturdy rogue, De Retz, having lost all his power, was openly arrested and imprisoned at Vincennes. But the crowning triumph was the return, on 2nd February, of my early patron to the city which had hounded him out with hoots and jeers and savage threats of death. The streets were gaily decorated, and the citizens, apparently all of one mind, held high holiday in favour of the recalled exile. I listened in vain for the ribald songs, the biting jests, the terrible threats and vows of vengeance; in their stead I heard praises of the Queen-Mother; openly expressed admiration of the youthful monarch, who has, since then, advanced his country to the highest pinnacle of fame; and words of good-will towards the wily Italian, who, whatever his defects, had toiled hard and successfully for France. "The people are like dolls that jump when the showman pulls the strings," remarked Pillot, as we made our way through the throng. But if the common people bawled themselves hoarse in welcoming the man they had more than once threatened to murder, the higher classes tripped each other up in their eagerness to render him homage. Louis himself rode in state six miles from the city to greet him, and the proudest nobles in the land were glad to appear in the Cardinal's train. The Royal Guard was mounted at the gate in his honour, and thousands welcomed, with joyful shouts, the Italian priest who had returned to govern their country as a master.