Mazarin was desirous of setting out instantly for Saint Germain, but the queen declared that she should wait for the people whom she had appointed to meet her. However, she offered the cardinal Laporte’s place, which he accepted and went from one carriage to the other. It was not without foundation that a report of the king’s intention to leave Paris by night had been circulated. Ten or twelve persons had been in the secret since six o’clock, and howsoever great their prudence might be, they could not issue the necessary orders for the departure without suspicion being generated. Besides, each individual had one or two others for whom he was interested; and as there could be no doubt but that the queen was leaving Paris full of terrible projects of vengeance, every one had warned parents and friends of what was about to transpire; so that the news of the approaching exit ran like a train of lighted gunpowder along the streets. The first carriage which arrived after that of the queen was that of the Prince de Condé, with the princess and dowager princess. Both these ladies had been awakened in the middle of the night and did not know what it all was about. The second contained the Duke and Duchess of Orléans, the tall young Mademoiselle and the Abbé de la Rivière; and the third, the Duke de Longueville and the Prince de Conti, brother and brother-in-law of Condé. They all alighted and hastened to pay their respects to the king and queen in their coach. The queen fixed her eyes upon the carriage they had left, and seeing that it was empty, she said: “But where is Madame de Longueville?” “Ah, yes, where is my sister?” asked the prince. “Madame de Longueville is ill,” said the duke, “and she desired me to excuse her to your majesty.” Anne gave a quick glance to Mazarin, who answered by an almost imperceptible shake of his head. “What do you say of this?” asked the queen. “I say that she is a hostage for the Parisians,” answered the cardinal. “Why is she not come?” asked the prince in a low voice, addressing his brother. “Silence,” whispered the duke, “she has her reasons.” “She will ruin us!” returned the prince. “She will save us,” said Conti. Carriages now arrived in crowds; those of the Maréchal de Villeroy, Guitant, Villequier and Comminges came into the line. The two musketeers arrived in their turn, holding the horses of D’Artagnan and Porthos in their hands. These two instantly mounted, the coachman of the latter replacing D’Artagnan on the coach-box of the royal coach. Mousqueton took the place of the coachman, and drove standing, for reasons known to himself, like Automedon of antiquity. The queen, though occupied by a thousand details, tried to catch the Gascon’s eye; but he, with his wonted prudence, had mingled with the crowd. “Let us be the _avant_ guard,” said he to Porthos, “and find good quarters at Saint Germain; nobody will think of us, and for my part I am greatly fatigued.”