Beaufort starts. "Would I were such a pillar!" he exclaims with warmth. "Take Gondi as your minister, my cousin. Send Mazarin back to the Roman gutter from whence he sprung. You would have no more trouble with the parliament. I warrant you they would obey you like lambs, my cousin. Banish Mazarin, and I will lead you and the young King in triumph throughout France. Not a _Frondeur_ would be left in the land. If there were, I would shoot him with my own hand. Answer me, Madame; will you try?" Beaufort stretches out his hand as he speaks, to clasp that of the Queen. Anne neither stirs, neither looks up, nor touches his hand. To speak is evidently difficult to her. Surely she must be expecting some one, for she again turns her head towards the writing-closet and listens. A sharp clap of thunder rattles through the room; when it is past her eyes rest upon the Duke, who is eagerly awaiting her reply. The set smile is still on her lips; she is about to answer him, when a distinct sound of footsteps is heard within in her writing-closet. A page enters, and announces Cardinal Mazarin's arrival to consult her Majesty on urgent state business. Beaufort's face darkens. Ere the page has ceased speaking, the long-gathering storm bursts forth with fury. A tremendous peal of thunder shakes the palace, and big drops of rain are driven through the window. The Queen rises hastily and signs to the page to close the sash. She is evidently greatly relieved. "I regret this interruption, Prince," she says, speaking rapidly, "but it is unavoidable. I must not keep the Cardinal waiting. I cannot, however, consider your audience as over. Will your highness favour me by remaining in the apartments of the ladies of honour until I am free?" and, not waiting for his reply, she hastily passes into her closet. Deluges of rain fall, flash after flash lights up the heavens, and peals of thunder rapidly succeed each other. The Duc de Beaufort finds the Duchesse de Chevreuse and Mademoiselle de Hautefort sitting together in one of the apartments of the suite allotted to the ladies in waiting. As he enters they both rise hurriedly, and contemplate him in mute astonishment. "Why, Duke," cries the Duchess, "is it possible? You here? You in the Louvre?" "And why not, madame? What do these chattering women mean?" he mutters to himself. "One would think I were a monster." "What! have you not heard, that you are accused of a plot to assassinate the Cardinal?" "The Queen knows the particulars," broke in Mademoiselle de Hautefort. "She told me so at her lever this morning." "Perhaps you will kindly inform me what these particulars are, madame?" replies Beaufort savagely. "Why, Duke, you must be out of your senses!" "Not that I know of, madame; pray let me hear of what I am accused."