“You are a great politician, my queen,” said Mazarin; “let us hear the means.” And he hid what he had written by sliding the letter under a folio of blank paper. “You know,” said the queen, “that they want to take the king away from me?” “Alas! yes, and to hang me.” “They shall not have the king.” “Nor hang me.” “Listen. I want to carry off my son from them, with yourself. I wish that this event, which on the day it is known will completely change the aspect of affairs, should be accomplished without the knowledge of any others but yourself, myself, and a third person.” “And who is this third person?” “Monsieur le Prince.” “He has come, then, as they told me?” “Last evening.” “And you have seen him?” “He has just left me.” “And will he aid this project?” “The plan is his own.” “And Paris?” “He will starve it out and force it to surrender at discretion.” “The plan is not wanting in grandeur; I see but one impediment.” “What is it?” “Impossibility.” “A senseless word. Nothing is impossible.” “On paper.” “In execution. We have money?” “A little,” said Mazarin, trembling, lest Anne should ask to draw upon his purse. “Troops?” “Five or six thousand men.” “Courage?” “Plenty.” “Then the thing is easy. Oh! do think of it, Giulio! Paris, this odious Paris, waking up one morning without queen or king, surrounded, besieged, famished—having for its sole resource its stupid parliament and their coadjutor with crooked limbs!” “Charming! charming!” said Mazarin. “I can imagine the effect, I do not see the means.” “I will find the means myself.” “You are aware it will be war, civil war, furious, devouring, implacable?” “Oh! yes, yes, war,” said Anne of Austria. “Yes, I will reduce this rebellious city to ashes. I will extinguish the fire with blood! I will perpetuate the crime and punishment by making a frightful example. Paris!; I—I detest, I loathe it!” “Very fine, Anne. You are now sanguinary; but take care. We are not in the time of Malatesta and Castruccio Castracani. You will get yourself decapitated, my beautiful queen, and that would be a pity.” “You laugh.” “Faintly. It is dangerous to go to war with a nation. Look at your brother monarch, Charles I. He is badly off, very badly.” “We are in France, and I am Spanish.” “So much the worse; I had much rather you were French and myself also; they would hate us both less.” “Nevertheless, you consent?” “Yes, if the thing be possible.” “It is; it is I who tell you so; make preparations for departure.” “I! I am always prepared to go, only, as you know, I never do go, and perhaps shall go this time as little as before.” “In short, if I go, will you go too?” “I will try.” “You torment me, Giulio, with your fears; and what are you afraid of, then?” “Of many things.” “What are they?” Mazarin’s face, smiling as it was, became clouded.