The ancient Benedictine abbey of the Val Profond, near Bièvre le Châlet, three leagues from Paris, was founded by Robert, son of Hugh Capet. Soon after her arrival in France, Anne of Austria bought the ground upon which the then ruined abbey stood, moved the nuns to Paris, and placed them in a convent called the Val de Grâce,[25] under the Mont Parnasse, near the Luxembourg Gardens. To this convent of the Val de Grâce the Queen often resorted to seek in prayer and meditation (for she was eminently pious), consolation and repose. On these occasions she occupied a suite of rooms specially set apart for her use. It is a bright morning, and the sunshine streams through the painted windows, and streaks the marble floor of the Queen’s oratory with chequered colours. To the east, under a lofty window, stands an altar, covered with a costly cloth, on which, in golden sconces, burn many votive candles. Anne of Austria is seated in a recess, on a carved chair of dark oak. She is dressed in black, her golden curls are gathered under a sober coif; she looks pale, and ill at ease; her eyes, dulled by want of sleep, are anxious and restless, but there is a resolution in her bearing that shows she is prepared to meet whatever calamity awaits her with the courage of her race. Mademoiselle de Hautefort sits on a low stool at her feet. She is weeping bitterly. “Ah! Madame,” she sobs, “this is Richelieu’s revenge. It is all his doing. How could your Majesty listen to the advice of that wild Duchess, and affront him so cruelly at Saint-Germain? Alas! he will persecute you as long as he lives.” “I cannot recall the past,” answers Anne sadly. “Had you reposed confidence in me, Madame, this would never have happened. Madame de Chevreuse has sacrificed you to her love of intrigue.” “My poor Chevreuse, she is no more to blame than I am. Where is the Duchess, mademoiselle?” While the Queen speaks a sound of wheels entering the courtyard from the street of Saint-Jacques breaks the silence. A moment after Madame de Chevreuse rushes into the oratory, so hidden in a black hood and a long cloak that no one would have recognised her. She flings herself on her knees before the Queen, and grasps her hands. “Ah, my dear mistress, you are saved!” she cries, breathlessly. Anne raises her and kisses her tenderly. “I am just come from the Bastille. I went there disguised as a priest. I have seen Chalais. The Cardinal interpreted what Chalais said--purposely, of course--into meaning an attempt upon the life of the King.” “Great God!” exclaims Anne, turning her glistening eyes to heaven, “what wickedness!”