France -- History -- Louis XIV, 1643-1715 -- Fiction; Fronde -- Fiction
"Your logic is not absolutely unanswerable, madame; but have no fear
that I shall not be the first to congratulate you, if to you we owe a
twofold result of such importance."
"The most surprising thing to me in all this," said the princess,
beginning to cast about already for something, in the anticipated good
news, wounding to the aristocratic pride which was her most prominent
characteristic,--"the most surprising thing to me is that I was not
the first person to be informed of what had taken place; it is an
unpardonable neglect of propriety, like everything that Monsieur le Duc
de La Rochefoucauld does."
"Why, madame," said Lenet, "we haven't soldiers enough to do the
fighting, and yet you would have us take some of them from their posts
to make couriers of them! Alas! let us not be too exacting, and when
good news arrives, let us take it as God sends it, and not ask how it
came."
Meanwhile the crowd continued to increase in size, as all the detached
groups joined the main body, even as the small streams flow into a
great river. In the centre of this main body, composed of perhaps a
thousand persons, was a little knot of soldiers, thirty men at most,
and, surrounded by these thirty men, a prisoner whom they seemed to be
protecting from the fury of the mob.
"Death! death!" cried the populace; "death to the governor of Braune!"
"Ah!" exclaimed the princess, with a triumphant smile, "it seems that
they really have a prisoner, and that the prisoner is the governor of
Braune!"
"Yes," said Lenet; "but look, madame; it seems also that the prisoner's
life is in danger. Do you hear the threats? Do you see the fierce
gestures? Why, madame, they are trying to force their way through the
soldiers; they mean to tear him in pieces! Oh! the tigers, they smell
the flesh, and thirst for blood!"
"Well, let them drink it!" said the princess, with the ferocity
peculiar to women when their bad passions are aroused; "let them drink
it! it's the blood of an enemy."
"Madame," said Lenet, "yonder prisoner is under safeguard of the honor
of the Condés, remember that; and furthermore, who can say that at this
moment Richon, our gallant Richon, is not exposed to the same danger as
this poor wretch? Ah! they will force the soldiers back; if they reach
him, he is lost! Twenty volunteers this way!" cried Lenet, turning
about. "Twenty volunteers to help in driving back this canaille! If a
hair on the prisoner's head is injured, your heads will answer for it;
go!"
At the word, twenty musketeers of the civic guard, belonging to the
best families of the city, rushed like a torrent down the stairs,
forced the crowd aside by dint of dealing blows right and left with
clubbed muskets, and reinforced the escort. It was high time, for a few
claws, longer and sharper than the rest, had already torn some pieces
from the prisoner's blue coat.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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