"Why, that in order to take the Cardinal's life you had stationed soldiers in ambush along the road to Longchamps, to fire on him, as he passed in his coach on his way to dine with the President Maison." "The simple-hearted Cardinal! Imagine, your highness," cries the Duchess, "Signor Giulio, after having said his prayers, trotting along demurely in his red coach, a perfect angel—wanting only wings to fly away from a wicked world, innocent of so much as an evil thought! We know you are a _Frondeur_, Duke, but you are also a barbarian to desire the life of such a saint," and the Duchess laughs her merry laugh. "Perhaps, madame," says Beaufort, turning towards Mademoiselle de Hautefort, "you will have the goodness to proceed in the relation of my supposed crime?" "I have neither the wit nor the high spirits of her Grace of Lorraine," replies she, "to jest. I assure you, Duke, it is a very grave matter. You are in the utmost danger. The Cardinal has made her Majesty believe that his life was only saved by the accidental arrival of the Duc d'Orléans—who was going to dine at the same party—on horseback, and who, as a violent shower of rain came on, dismounted and got into the Cardinal's coach. His presence saved the Cardinal, the guard could not fire upon his Royal Highness. You may imagine the agitation of her Majesty." "Capital, capital!" exclaims the Duchess, clapping her hands, and still laughing; "admirably done. I never gave your highness credit for so much invention. What a pity the Duc d'Orléans did not start a little sooner," adds she, in a lower voice, "or that it rained! Signor Giulio would have been in heaven by this time." The Duc de Beaufort sees that Mademoiselle de Hautefort looks both concerned and vexed at this levity. He had left his mother and sister as he entered, in tears. Was it possible all this might be true? "I beseech you, Duke, to leave the Louvre while you can," says Mademoiselle de Hautefort, very earnestly. "But I am waiting here, madame, at the express command of her Majesty, until Mazarin, with whom she is now engaged in the council-chamber, retires." "Are they alone?" asks the Duchess. "Yes, madame." "Then, Duke, I do advise you at once to escape while you can. If her Majesty told you to remain, and she is now closeted with Mazarin, the sooner you pass the gates of Paris the better; unless your highness particularly desire to air the best set of rooms in the Bastille; and even they are dull," she adds, with that invincible desire to laugh and make others laugh, at once her charm and her defect. Careless as is the Duc de Beaufort, his confidence is shaken. He had taken up his velvet cap to depart, when a knock is heard at the door. "Come in," cries the Duchess. It was Guitaut, Captain of the Queen's Guards. He walks up to the Duke, and lays his hand on his shoulder: "I command your highness to follow me, in the name of the King and of the Queen-Regent." Even the Duchess becomes serious.