My mother declared that M. d’Aubepine would fare the better if we left
her alone and did not excite the jealousy of Madame Croquelebois, who
would be quite capable of carrying her off into the country if she were
interfered with.
Indeed it was not an easy or a pleasant thing to go about Paris just
then, and we were obliged to stay at home. The town was in a restless
state, mobs went about, hooting or singing political songs, or assembled
in front of the Louvre to abuse the Cardinal, and any one who was
supposed to belong to the Court party might at any time be mobbed.
Annora and I much missed the explanations that our brother, Lord Walwyn,
used to make to us; and the listening to his conversations with M.
Darpent. The Duchess de Rambouillet and her family had wisely retired
to their estates, so that there were no more meetings in the Salon Bleu;
and after what my brother had said to me, I durst not make the slightest
demonstration towards Clement Darpent, though I continued to give
my weekly receptions to our poor hungry cavaliers, as I had promised
Eustace that I would do. It was from one of them, Sir Andrew Macniven, a
clever man who had been a law student in Scotland and at Leyden, that we
came to some understanding of what was going on around us.
Under the great Cardinal de Richelieu, the Crown had taken more
authority then ever, and raised taxes at its will. The Parliament was
only permitted to register the edicts of the Crown, but not to refuse
them, as it claimed to do. As nobody who was noble paid taxes the
noblesse did not care, and there had hitherto seemed to be no redress.
But at this moment, when the war taxes were weighing more heavily than
ever, and the demand of a house-tax had irritated the people of Paris,
there were a very large number of the nobility much incensed against
Cardinal Mazarin, and very jealous of his favour with the Queen-Regent.
What they would endure from a French nobleman like Richelieu they
abhorred from a low-born foreigner such Mazarin was; and it seemed to
the Parliament that this was the moment to make a stand, since they had
the populace on their side, and likewise so many of the Court party.
There was the Archbishop of Corinth, the Coadjutor to the Archbishop of
Paris, who had been mortally offended by the way in which the Queen
had treated him on the day of the barricades; there was the handsome,
fair-haired Duke of Beaufort, a grandson of Henri IV., who used to
be called ‘Le roi des halles,’ he was such a favourite with the
market-women; there was the clever brilliant Prince de Marsillac
(you know will his maxims, written after he had become Duke of
Rochefoucauld). He could do anything with Madame de Longueville; and she
was thought able to do anything with her brothers, the Prince of Code
and Conti. Every one had been watching to see what side the Prince would
take, but at this time he seemed inclined to the Crown, though it was
not likely he could go on long without quarrelling with Mazarin. All
this made the Frondeurs hope much from beginning to resist; but I
remember Sir Andrew said that he did not believe that these nobles and
princes cared in the least for relieving the people, but merely for
overthrowing the Cardinal, and he could not find out that the Parliament
had any definite scheme, or knew what they wished. In fact, Sir
Andrew dreaded any movement. He had been so much disappointed, and so
broken-hearted at the loss of friends and the ruin of the country, that
his only thought was to leave all alone. And above all he so thought,
when every letter from England told how the enemy were proceeding to
hunt down his Sacred Majesty.
What a change it was when my son and I had to go into waiting at the
Louvre! Before the Queen-Regent there was nothing but vituperation of
the Parliament, but the Duke of Orleans hates the Cardinal quite as much
as the Parisians did; and his daughter, Mademoiselle, wanted him to
lead the Frondeuse, and chatted to me of her plan of leading the party,
together with the Prince of Conde, whom she eagerly desired to marry if
his poor wife could be divorced. I used to shake my head at her and say
I knew she was too good at the bottom to desire anything so shocking,
and she took it in good part. She was much better than she chose to
seem.
Thus the eve of the Epiphany came, and there was a feast for the King
and his little companions. Gaspard had the Bean, and the Queen crowned
him and made him King of the night. King Louis himself had to bend the
knee, which he did with the best grace in the world. (You must all have
seen the little enamelled Bean-flower badge that your father received on
that night.)
Every one went to see the children at their feast, where the little
English lady Henrietta sat between her two royal cousins, looking like
a rosebud, all ignorant, poor child, of the said disaster which was
falling on her. Her mother was looking on, smiling in the midst of her
cares to see the children’s glee.
The Queen-Regent was in the highest spirits. We had never seen her
dignity so relax into merriment as when she set the little ones to dance
together after the supper was over; but she sent them to bed early,
much earlier than her sons desired. We heard his real Majesty saying to
Gaspard, ‘M. le Marquis, since you are King of the Bean, command that we
should be like all other revelers, and sit up till morning.’
My boy looked up to me, and read in my face that he must not presume.
‘Ah! sire,’ said he, ‘though we are called kings, these ladies are the
higher powers.’
It was applauded as a grand witticism, although Gaspard meant it in all
simplicity, and had no notion of the meaning attributed to it. Nay, he
thought all the praise was approval of him as a good boy inducing the
King to be obedient.
After the children had gone to bed, including Mademoiselle’s three
little half-sisters, dull little girls of whom she spoke contemptuously
but always treated very kindly, she led the way to the apartment where
her father was sitting by a great fire, fretful with gout, and wanting
the amusement which she tried to give him by describing the children’s
diversions. Some one came and whispered something to her, and in the
tone of one who has an excellent joke to rehearse she went up to the
Duke of Orleans, exclaiming--
‘Monsieur! Here is news! We are all to start for St. Germain this very
night!’
Monsieur made no answer, and immediately after bade her good night.
She then went to her stepmother’s room, and I remained with some of the
other ladies, who were pretty well convinced that it was a true report,
and that the Queen had been only waiting the arrival of the troops
from the Low Countries to quit Paris and crush the resistance of the
Parliament. What was to become of us we did not know, whether we were to
stay or go; but as we heard no more, and Mademoiselle came out and went
to bed, we followed her example.
Between three and four we were all awakened by a loud knocking at the
door, and Mademoiselle’s shrill voice calling out to her maids to
open it. Through the anteroom, where the Comtess de Fiesque and I
were sleeping, there came M. de Comminges. Mademoiselle, in her laced
night-cap, rose on her pillows and asked--
‘Are we going?’
‘Yes, Mademoiselle,’ was the reply. ‘The King, the Queen, and Monsieur,
are waiting for you in the court, and here is a letter from Monsieur.’
She put it aside, saying she did not want Monsieur’s orders to make her
obey those of the Queen, but he begged her to read it. She glanced
at it, and then declared that she would be ready immediately. M. de
Comminges departed, and then began the greatest bustle imaginable,
everybody dressing at once in the greatest confusion, putting on each
other’s things by mistake, and Mademoiselle talking--talking through
all.
They were afraid to leave her behind, she said, lest she should have
headed a party. No doubt M. le Prince dreaded her influence, and so did
the Queen. They had made her father issue his commands without warning
lest she should disobey.
In fact she had the greatest desire to disobey, only she did not quite
venture, and we her ladies had no notion what we were to do, whether to
stay or go, while I was in great anxiety as to what they might have done
with my boy.
Somehow or other we all found ourselves in the court of the Louvre,
strongly lighted by flambeaux, and by the windows of the building. There
stood a row of carriages; Mademoiselle called for hers, but it was not
forthcoming, and M. de Comminges, bowing low, offered her his own;
but another gentleman came up and handed her into the royal one, where
already were the King and Queen, the two Princesses of Conde, the Prince
of Conti, and a lady.
I heard Mademoiselle asserting her right to one of the best seats, and
then declaring that she yielded ‘as the young must give place to the
old,’ a little cut at the Princess Dowager of Conde. She bade M. de
Fiesque follow with her carriage and properties, and we were left in the
most wonderful confusion in that dark court, the carriages moving away
one after another, the mounted servants carrying torches, and the guards
trampling and clinking behind them; servants, gentlemen, and ladies
running about wildly, some of the women crying and wringing their hands.
Among these was Madame de Fiesque, who was of a timid nature, and was
frightened out of her wits at the notion of having to follow, whither
she did not even know, while I was equally wild, though I hope I did not
make quite so much noise, about my son.
One of the gentlemen at last came and spoke to us, and told us that the
King and Queen were gone to St. Germain. It had all been determined upon
for some time past (as soon in fact as the Queen knew that the Prince of
Conde would support her, and that the troops were near enough to be
of use), and this night had been chosen because she could get off more
easily in a time of revelry. Monsieur had known it all the evening, but
had been afraid to tell his daughter because of ‘her ideas,’ which meant
that he was by no means sure that she might choose to obey, unless she
were taken by surprise, but might want to represent the House of Orleans
at Paris. The Queen of England was not gone; and, as to M. le Marquis de
Nidemerle--
That question was answered by a sound of bare, pattering feet, and a cry
of ‘Mamma, mamma!’ and my little Marquis himself, with nothing on
but his little white shirt and black velvet breeches, his long hair
streaming behind him, came and threw himself on me, followed by two or
three more little fellows in the same state of dishabille. ‘Oh, mamma!’
he cried, ‘we thought they were all gone, and had left us to be murdered
by the cruel Parliament; and then I saw you from the window in the
court.’ So there they all were, except one little Count from Burgundy,
who slept serenely through the tumult.
By this time we could recollect that it was a January night, and that
we had better retreat into the great hall, where the fire was not out.
I had a great mind, since we were thus deserted, to return home with my
son, but my poor Princess could not be left without a single attendant,
or any clothes save what had been huddled on in haste, nor perhaps even
a bed, for we knew that St. Germain was dismantled of furniture, and
that no preparations had been made for fear of giving alarm.
M. de Fiesque declared that she should die if she tried to pass the
streets of Paris, where we began to hear loud cries. The maids seemed
to have all run away, and she implored me to go, with all that was most
necessary, to Mademoiselle.
‘You are English! You are a very Gildippe. You have been in the
wars--you fear nothing,’ said the poor woman. ‘I implore you to go!’
And as I had my son with me, and it seemed to be a duty or even a
charity that no one else would undertake, though it was not likely that
any harm could come to us, I sent Gaspard to dress himself, with my
faithful Nicolas, who had come to light. The gentlemen undertook to find
us Mademoiselle’s coach, and we hurried back to get together what we
could for our mistress. I laugh now to think of M. de Fiesque and myself
trying with our inexperienced hands to roll up a mattress and some
bedding, and to find the linen and the toilet requisites, in which we
had but small success, for the femmes de chamber kept everything, and
had all either run away or slept too far off to hear us. We managed at
last to fasten up the mattress with the other things in it, tied by
a long scarf at each end, and dragging it to the top of the stairs
we rolled it down each flight. At the second it upset at unfortunate
lackey, who began to yell, firmly persuaded that it was a corpse, and
that the Frondeurs had got in and were beginning a general slaughter.
How we recovered from the confusion I do not know, but Gaspard joined me
at the top of the stairs, bringing with him a page of his own age, the
little Chevalier de Mericour, whom he entreated me to take with us. All
the other boys had relations close at hand; but this child’s mother was
dead, and his father and brothers with the army. Being really a cousin
of Harry Merrycourt’s, he had always seemed like a relation, and he was
Gaspard’s chief friend, so I was very willing to give him a seat in the
carriage, which came from somewhere, and into which the mattress was
squeezed by some means or other. Off we set, but no woman of any rank
would accompany me, for they said I had the courage of an Amazon to
attempt to make my way through the mob that was howling in the streets.
It certainly was somewhat terrible when we came out into the street
thronged with people carrying lanterns and torches, and tried to make
our way step by step. We had not gone far before a big man, a butcher
I should think, held up a torch to the window, and seeing my son’s long
fair hair, shouted, ‘The King! the King! Here is the Queen carrying the
King and the Duke of Anjou!’
The whole mob seemed to surge round us, shrieking, screaming, and
yelling; some trying to turn the horses, others insisting that we should
alight. No one heard my assurances that we were no such personages, that
this was Mademoiselle’s carriage, and that the Queen was gone long ago;
and, what was more fortunate, their ears did not catch young Mericour’s
denunciations of them as vile canaille. A market woman mounted on the
step, and perceiving the mattress, screeched out, ‘The Cardinal--they
are carrying off the Cardinal rolled up in a mattress!’
Their fury was redoubled. I began to unite it to show them there was
nothing, but we had drawn the knots too tight, and Gaspard’s little
sword would not of course cut, nay, the gleam of it only added to the
general fury. I really think if the Cardinal had been there they would
have torn him to pieces. They were trying to drag open the doors,
and would have done so much sooner but for the crowds who were pushed
against them and kept them shut. At last there seemed to be some one
among them with a more authoritative tone. The pressure on the door
lessened, and it was to my dismay torn open; but at that moment my son
called out, ‘M. Darpent! Oh, M. Darpent, come to my mother!’ Immediately
M. Clement Darpent, unarmed and in his usual dress, with only a little
came in his hand, made his way forward. Before I saw him I heard his
welcome voice calling, ‘Madame de Bellaise here! I am coming, M. le
Marquis! The Queen! Betise! I tell you it is a lady of my acquaintance.’
‘The Cardinal! She is carrying off the Italian rolled up in a mattress!
Down with the fox!’ came another terrible outcry; but by this time M.
Darpent had been hustled up to the door, and put himself between us
and the throng. He could hear me now when I told him it was merely
Mademoiselle’s bedding which we were carrying out to her. He shouted out
this intelligence, and it made a lull; but one horrid fellow in a fur
cap sneered, ‘We know better than that, Monsieur! Away with traitors!
And those who would smuggle them away!’
‘Oh! show it to them!’ I cried; and then I saw a face that I had known
in the hospital, and called him by name. ‘Jean Marie, my good friend,
have you your knife to cut these cords and show there is nothing
inside?’
The man’s honest face lighted up. ‘Hein! The good tall lady who brought
me bouillons! I warrant there is no harm in her, brothers! She’s a good
Frondeuse, and has nothing to do with foreign traitors.’
He ranged himself beside Clement Darpent, offering a big knife,
wherewith in a moment the bands were cut and the mattress help up to
view, with a few clothes inside.
I made my two defenders understand that they were Mademoiselle’s
garments, and when this was repeated there was a general shout: ‘Vive la
bonne dame! Vive Mademoiselle! Vive Monsieur! Vive la Fronde!’
Jean Marie, who had worked in a furniture shop, would have rolled up the
bed in a trice much better than before, but M. Darpent observed that
as we were not yet out of Paris is might bring us into trouble, and,
inconvenient as it was, he advised us to keep it open till we were
beyond the gates. He asked permission to accompany me to prevent
any further annoyance, and Jean Marie, to the extreme disgust of the
servants, mounted the box, to serve as an additional guard.
No one could be kinder than M. Darpent. He was very sad about this
flight of the Court. He said he feared it was the beginning of a civil
war, and that he had thought better of the blood royal and noblesse of
France than to suppose they would assist a Spanish woman and an Italian
priest to trample down and starve their fellow-countrymen in the name of
a minor king. He expected that there would be a siege, for he was sure
that the temper of the people was averse to yielding, and the bourgeois
put their trust in the archers.
I asked if he thought there would be any danger, thinking that I would
either join my mother and sister or endeavour to fetch them away; but he
assured me that they would be safe. Was not the Queen of England left,
as I assured him, and the Duchess of Longueville? M. le Prince
would allow no harm to touch the place where lived the sister he so
passionately loved. I might be secure that the Hotel de Nid de Merle
was perfectly safe, and he would himself watch to see that they were
not annoyed or terrified. He gave me the means of writing a billet to my
mother from his little Advocate’s portfolio, and he promised himself to
convey it to her and assure her of our safety, a message which I thought
would make him welcome even to her. He was most kind in every way, and
when we came near the gate bethought him that the two little boys looked
pale and hungry, as well they might. He stopped the carriage near a
baker’s shop, which was already open, and going in himself, returned
with not only bread, but a jug and cup of milk. I think we never enjoyed
anything so much; and in the meantime the excellent Jean Marie rolled up
our mattress so close that, as Gaspard said, it could hardly have been
supposed to contain in puppy dog.
They saw us safely through the barriers. M. Darpent gave his word for
us, and out we went into the country while scarcely the dawn was yet
seen. At a turn in the road we saw only the morning star hanging like
a great lamp in the east, and I showed it to the little boys, and
told them of the three kings led by the Star to the Cradle. I heard
afterwards that the little Chevalier thought we saw the real Star in the
East sent to guide us to St. Germain, forgetting that it was the wrong
direction; but he had been very little taught, and this was the first
he had ever heard of the Gospel, which was familiar to my boy. They both
fell asleep presently on the cushions, and I think I did so likewise,
for I was surprised to find myself at St. Germain in broad daylight.
Everybody was gone to mass for the festival, and we crept in after them.
Mademoiselle was delighted to see me, and always believed we had made
our passage so safely in consequence of the respect paid to her and her
carriage. It was a strange day; no one did anything but run about and
hear or tell news of how the people in Paris were taking the departure
of the Court, and wonder when the troops would come up to begin the
siege, or, what was more pressing, what was to be done for food and for
bedding? We ate as we could. Eggs and fowls were brought in from the
farms, but plates and dishes, knives and forks, were very scarce. Some
of us were happy when we could roast an egg in the embers for ourselves,
and then eat it when it was hard enough, and I thought how useful Annora
would have been, who had done all sorts of household work during the
troubles at home. But we were very merry over these devices.
The night was a greater difficulty. Most of the windows had no frames
nor glass in them, and hardly any one had a bed. Mademoiselle slept in a
long gallery, splendidly painted and gilt, but with the wind blowing
at every crevice through the shutters, no curtains; only a few marble
tables against the wall by way of furniture, and the mattress spread
upon the floor for her and her youngest sister, who would not sleep
unless she sang, and who woke continually.
I rolled up my two little boys in my great fur cloak, which I had
happily brought with me, for no one seemed disposed to take any charge
of poor little Mericour, and Nicolas fetches me the cushions from the
carriage, so that they were tolerably comfortable.
As to us ladies and gentlemen, we rejoiced that at least faggots could
be had. We made up a great fire, and sat round it, some playing at
cards, other playing at games, telling stories, or reciting poetry,
interspersed with the sillier pastime of love-making. Every one nodded
off to sleep, but soon to wake again,--and, oh, how still we were, and
how our bones ached after two such nights!
And the saddest and most provoking thing, at least to many of us, was
the high spirits of the Queen-Regent.
To be sure, she had not been without a bed in an unglazed room all
night, and had a few maids and a charge of clothes, but she had probably
never been so much out of reach of state in her life, and she evidently
found it most amusing. She did not seem to have an idea that it was a
fearful thing to begin a civil war, but thought the astonishment and
disappointment of the Parisians an excellent joke. Grave and stately as
she was by nature, she seemed quite transformed, and laughed like a girl
when no gold spoon could be found for her chocolate and she had to use
a silver one. Yes, and she laughed still more at the ill-arranged limp
curls and tumbled lace of us poor creatures who had sat up all night,
and tried to dress one another, with one pocket-comb amongst us all!
All that day and all the text, however, parts of different people’s
equipages kept coming from Paris. Mademoiselle’s were escorted by M.
de Fiesque, who had been so civilly treated that Mademoiselle gave
passports for the Queen’s wagons to come through Paris; and it was
considered to be a great joke that one of the bourgeois, examining
a large box of new Spanish gloves, was reported to have been quite
overcome by the perfume, and to have sneezed violently when he came to
examine them.
We were in a strange state up there on the heights of St. Germain. Some
of the Court had no hangings for their great draughty rooms, others had
no clothes, and those who had clothes had no bedding. Very few of us had
any money to supply our wants, and those who had soon lent it all to
the more distressed. The Queen herself was obliged to borrow from the
Princess Dowager, even to provide food, and the keeping up of separate
tables was impossible. We all dined together, King and Queen, Monsieur,
Madame, and all, and the first day there was nothing but a great pot au
feu and the bouilli out of it; for the cooks had not arrived. Even the
spoons and knives were so few that we had to wash them and use them in
turn. However, it was all gaiety on those first days, the Queen was so
merry that it was every one’s cue to be the same; and as to the King
and the Duke of Anjou, they were full of mischief; it was nothing but
holiday to them to have no Court receptions.
At eight o’clock in the evening there came a deputation from Paris. They
were kept waiting outside in the snow while the Queen considered whether
to receive them; and she could hardly be persuaded to allow them to
sleep under shelter at St. Germain, though on the road at that time of
night they were in danger from brigands, traveling soldiers, and I know
not what!
They were at last admitted to the ranger’s lodgings, and had an
interview with the Chancellor, who was harsh and peremptory, perhaps
feeling himself avenged for his troubles and fright on the day of the
barricades.
When I heard that the President Darpent was among the deputation I sent
Nicolas to find out whether his son were there; and by and by I received
a little billet, which excited much more attention than I wished. Some
told me I was a Frondeuse, and M. le Baron de Lamont pretended to be
consumed with jealousy. I had to explain publicly that it was only from
my sister, and then they pretended not to believe me. It was in English,
a tongue of which nobody knew a single word, except that scandal
declared that the Duke of Buckingham had taught the Queen to say ‘Ee
lofe ou;’ but it said only: ‘We are quite well, and not alarmed, since
we know you are safe. We had heard such strange rumors that my mother
welcomed our friend as an angel of consolation.’
I translated this to all whom it concerned; but M. de Lamont annoyed me
much with his curiosity and incredulity. However, when I found that the
unfortunate deputies were permitted to spend the night in the guard-room
I sent Nicolas to see whether he could be of any use to the Darpents.
Truly it was a night when, as the English say, one would not turn out
one’s enemy’s dog, and the road to Paris was far from safe; but the
ranger’s house was a wretched place for elderly men more used to comfort
than even the noblesse, whose castles are often bare enough, and who are
crowded and ill accommodated when in waiting at the palaces.
At that moment a bed was to ourselves a delightful luxury, which M. de
Fiesque and I were to share, so Nicolas could not do much for poor old
Darpent, whom he found wet through from having waited so long in the
snow, melting as it fell; but he did lend him his own dry cloak, and got
some hot drink for him. Clemet professed himself eternally grateful for
this poor attention when in the morning I sent my son with another note
in return to be sent to my mother and sister; and he promised to watch
over them as his own life.
This was the last communication I had with my family for two months. The
Queen had declared that her absence would be only ‘a little expedition
of a week;’ but week after week passed on, and there we still were on
the hill. The troops could not entirely surround Paris, but no such
thing. I think we were, on the whole, more hungry than those whom we
blockaded.
As each set of officials finished their time of waiting they retired,
and nobody came to replace them, so our party became smaller from day
to day, which was the less to be regretted as our Lent was Lent indeed.
Nobody had any money, and provisions ran very short; everybody grumbled
but the Queen and Cardinal, and Mademoiselle, who enjoyed the situation
and laughed at everybody.
In the intervals of grumbling every one was making love. M. de Juvizy
actually was presumptuous enough to make love to the Queen, or to boast
that he did. Mademoiselle, I am sorry to say, was in love, or, more
truly, in ambition with the Prince of Conde; M. de S. Maigrin was said
to be in love with the Princess, M. de Chatillon with Mademoiselle de
Guerchy, and so on.
Even I, who had always declared that it was a woman’s own fault if
she had a lover, did not escape. I had not my mother to shield me, and
nobody had anything to do, so it was the universal fashion; and M.
de Lamont thought proper to pursue me. I knew he was dissipated and
good-for-nothing, and I showed the coldest indifference; but that only
gave him the opportunity of talking of my cruelty, and he even persuaded
Mademoiselle to assure me that he was in earnest.
‘No doubt,’ said I, ‘he would like to meddle with the administration of
Nid de Merle. I have no doubt he is in earnest about that!’
But there was no escape, as we lived, from being beset. We had all to
attend the Queen to the Litanies at the chapel. She used to remain in
her little orator praying long after they were finished, Mademoiselle
with her, and, by her own account, generally asleep. I am ashamed to say
how much chatter, and how many petits soins, went on among those waiting
outside. I used to kneel, as I heard people say, like a grim statue over
my chair, with my rosary hanging from my hands, for if I did but hear a
rustle and turn my head, there stood M. de Lamont with a bonbonniere,
or an offer to shield me from the draught, and I could hear a tittering
behind me.
Yet there was enough to make us grave. In a fight with the Frondeurs
for Charenton, M. de Chatillon, one of the handsomest and gayest of our
cavaliers, was killed. He was the grandson of the Admiral de Coligny,
and was said to have been converted to the Church by the miracle of the
ducks returning regularly to the pond where the saint had bound them
to come. I think he must have made up his mind beforehand. But it was a
great shock to have that fine young man thus cut down the day after he
had been laughing and dancing in our gallery. Yet all people seemed to
think of, when everybody went to condole with his young widow in her
bed, was that she had set herself off to the best advantage to captivate
M. de Nemours!
And then came the great thunderbolt--the tidings of the death of the
King of England! I knew it would almost kill Eustace; I thought of my
poor godmother, Queen Henrietta, and there I was among people who did
not really care in the least! It was to them merely a great piece of
news, that enabled them to say, ‘Yield an inch to the Parliament and see
what it will come to.’
That kind, dignified, melancholy countenance as I last saw it was
constantly before me. The babble of the people around seemed to
me detestable. I answered at haphazard, and begged permission of
Mademoiselle to keep my room for a day, as I thought I should be
distracted if I could not get out of reach of M. de Lamont.
She gave permission, but she said it was an affectation of mine, for how
could I care for a somber old prince whom I had not seen for ten years?