"Yes, and a lucky thing too, or I should have got into worse trouble. As it was, our captain reproved me severely for engaging in a street brawl. Upon my word I think my brain must be softening." "What is the matter?" "Matter?" he cried, banging his fist on the table. "Why, it takes a man all his time to find out where he stands in this topsy-turvy city. Just tell me what this commotion is about, will you? It may be easy enough for a Frenchman to understand, but for me--it makes my head swim." He listened attentively while I explained the situation, asking a question here and there, and turning the answers over in his mind. "Oh," he observed at the end, "the affair is simple enough after all. The Queen has only to clap Orleans, Conde, and De Retz into the Bastille, and the trick is done. If their friends grumbled, why they could go too, and fight out their quarrels in prison. What is the use of being a Queen if you don't rule?" "Your plan is excellent, but it would bring about civil war, and we don't want that." "But you have it now!" he objected quickly. "What else was the visit of the mob to the Palace the other night? And this Conde--he issues his orders like a king, though according to you he is only a subject. I would have no such subjects in my country." "The trouble must be over soon. The King will be proclaimed of age on his fourteenth birthday, and all parties will rally round him." "A good thing for the country!" said he, rising. "Well, I must get back; I am on guard to-night." It was dreary work sitting in my room alone, so, putting on my hat, I strolled into the streets, and finally found myself at the house in the Rue Crillon. Madame Coutance was at home, and she received me with high good-humour, calling me one of her knights-errant, and declaring I had helped to save her life, which was really true. It was interesting to observe how differently the two ladies regarded the same circumstance. The elder one could talk only of the romantic parts; the challenge of the mob, the defiance, the fight, the arrival of the soldiers, the torchlight procession, the humbling of De Retz. Marie, on the contrary, cared little for these things; all her anxiety was for the people who had been injured. "The more I see of these troubles, the more hateful they become," she said. "They have divided families, and parted friends; they have starved the poor and desolated the country, and no good has resulted from them." "The country requires a strong man like Conde to hold the reins," remarked her aunt. "Or a learned priest like De Retz," I put in slily, and was met at once by strong expressions of dissent; Marie, in particular, declaring she would rather hear of the recall of Mazarin, which I ventured to prophesy would be the outcome of these petty squabbles.