The queen-mother soon found out that she had made a great mistake in urging Condé to leave the capital: she saw that the power had passed out of her hands, and that the Guises were preparing to make a tyrannous use of it. She feared the Triumvirate, for herself as well as for her son; and there is a story that she overheard St. André proposing to throw her into the Seine. To preserve her freedom of action she quitted Monceaux in great secrecy, and removed to Melun, taking Charles IX. with her,[282] having apparently made up her mind to act with decision. She appealed to Condé to protect her and the young king “from the greatest enemy France can have, and who is also yours:” and the prince lost no time in summoning Coligny, Andelot, La Rochefoucauld, and other chiefs of the Huguenot party to meet him at Meaux, to take the queen’s letters into consideration. As they were not strong enough to force their way back to Paris, they resolved to get possession of the king’s person, and carry him off to Orleans, knowing well the great strength their cause would derive from the royal presence among them. But the Triumvirate were equally clear on this point, and being more prompt became masters of the coveted prize. Meanwhile the Parisians had begun to murmur at the absence of their sovereign, and to quiet their remonstrances the queen-mother removed at Easter to Fontainebleau, which was farther from Condé’s head-quarters at Meaux. The Guises, suspecting her intentions, determined to anticipate them by a _coup-de-main_. The King of Navarre was dispatched with a strong body of Catholic gentlemen, including the constable, to escort the young king to Paris, on the ground that he was not safe so long as the Huguenots were at Meaux. Anthony, as first prince of the blood, was to a certain extent the guardian of his infant master, and no doubt he would have asserted that right had Catherine resisted. She held out indeed for a time, but gave way at last, saying, “I know how useless it is to speak to you of your duty; but alone, deserted, and betrayed as I am, I shall defend the liberty of my son--your king.” Being thus “benetted round with villains,” she yielded only when Navarre had actually issued orders for dismantling the royal apartments; for such were the scanty comforts even of royalty in those days, that when the court moved from place to place, carpets, tapestry, beds and furniture were moved also. The queen-regent sent off a hasty express to Condé, in the hope that he would be able to rescue her on the road; but the hope was vain. The journey to Paris--or, to be verbally accurate, to Melun and Vincennes--was a sad one; Catherine hardly spoke a word to the escort during the three days it occupied; and the boy-king, who imagined they were taking him to prison, wept several times with all the violence of childish grief.