"You may do as you please, dear Duchess, but for my part I am indignant with her Majesty. She has no gratitude. I might have ruined her years ago, when my cousin, Louise de Lafayette, could turn the late King Louis XIII. round her finger; one word from her, and the Queen would have been exiled! I am indignant, I repeat—I am actually not allowed to choose my own confessor! Her Majesty insists that I should select a Jesuit—a _protégé_ of Mazarin—a man, as I believe, not to be trusted. And the reason she gives is, 'that it is for the good of my soul!' I can take care of my own soul, I suppose. I always confess twice a year. What is it to her Majesty if I do not confess at all!" All the ladies murmur acquiescence, and the red-nosed Countess, Madame de Lude, says, "It is an impertinence." "Every one must see," continues Madame de Sennécy, speaking rapidly, for she observes that Madame de Noailles is eager to proceed, "the power Mazarin exercises over her. In her youth Richelieu loved her: now it is Mazarin. She is born to ensnare the Sacred College—perhaps his Holiness himself, if he crossed the Apennines——" "Oh, Duchess," exclaim several voices, "how shocking!" and some ladies hold up their fans before their faces. "Gently, madame," says Madame de Noailles, interrupting; "I detest calumny. I only speak of the past—that cannot hurt her Majesty." "I speak of the present," cries Madame de Sennécy with irritation. "There is quite enough to talk about in the present, without recalling the past. The partiality of the Queen positively injures Mazarin. I believe that this is the principal reason of the great animosity against him among the citizens of Paris, who call themselves _Frondeurs_." "But, my _très chère_," answers Madame de Noailles,—the Mrs. Candour of that day, who, although quite as spiteful as her friend, had more discretion, and dreaded the mischief that might arise by-and-by if the tongues of all the assembled ladies were let loose,—"but, my _très chère_, it is believed that her Majesty is privately married to Mazarin; the Cardinal has never taken priest's orders; the Queen is a widow. Madame de Motteville is of this opinion; _enfin_, I believe it myself: else that sneaking, honey-mouthed Italian, whom we all knew as 'Signor Giulio,' secretary to the great Richelieu, would never dare to be so unkind to the King and the little Duke, or so arrogant to her Majesty." "_Ciel!_ how contemptuously Mazarin answers the Queen sometimes—how meekly she bears it!" exclaims Madame de Sennécy. "Beringhen tells me that he will not allow the King and his brother proper body-linen, and that the sheets of their beds are in holes." "_Ah, Dieu!_ what a shame," cry the ladies—"the King of France!"—and the red-nosed Countess declares, "That the parliament ought to know it."