"I was honoured to the last point. I was held in great consideration." Yes, she was "honoured," but the honour was in name only; the ceremonial was all that there was of it and—worst of all for her proud heart—she knew that it was so. It was the affair of Orleans over again. In Orleans, when she had issued orders, the city government had sent her bonbons, paid her compliments, and followed their own counsel. They had answered blandly, "As Mademoiselle pleases"; but, in point of fact, Mademoiselle was of no practical importance. To her, flattery and fine words; to others, confidence and influence. The statesmen thought that she was neither discreet nor capable of wise counsel. She was too frank and too upright to be useful as a politician. Monsieur hid his secrets from her. Condé's manner told her everything, but he never gave her the assurance which would have established her on firm ground; and, looking practically upon that matter, what assurance could he have given her? What, in honour, was he free to say?
The Prince de Condé, who was continually spoken of as Mademoiselle's possible husband, paid hypothetical court to Mademoiselle, but when he had serious subjects to discuss he carried them to the salon of the beautiful Duchesse de Chatillon, who was then the rising star of the political world of Paris. Mesdames de Longueville and de Chevreuse were setting suns, and very close to the horizon. Ignoring Mademoiselle, they had made an independent attempt to reconcile the princes and restore them to the good graces of the Court; their attempt had failed. The Duchesse de Montpensier was the only one at Court who had maintained friendly relations with the princes.
One night, in the Cours la Reine, Mademoiselle found herself close to a marching army. Condé's troops, pressed by Turenne, were hurrying into Paris close to the ramparts (which then stood where we now see the Place de la Concorde and the great boulevards).
Mademoiselle was mounted; she was talking with an officer. She watched the winding line of the troops thoughtfully, and when the Cours hid it from view she went into Renard's garden, where she could watch it out of sight. Her heart ached with forebodings; the army had marched in disorder at the pace of utter rout and with flank exposed. She wrote in her memoirs:
All the troops passed the night beside the moat[160], and as there were no buildings between them and my lodgings, I could hear their trumpets distinctly. As I could distinguish the different calls, I could see the order in which they were moving. I remained at my window two hours after the bells rang midnight, hearing them pass,—and with grief enough I listened! because I was thinking of all that might happen. But in all my grief I had, I know not what strange presentiment,—I knew that I should help to draw them out of their trouble.
Mademoiselle had intended to take a medicine which she considered necessary, but as she thought that it might interfere with her usefulness, she countermanded the doctor's orders. On what a slender thread hangs glory!
July 2d, at six o'clock in the morning, some one knocked at Mademoiselle's door, and Mademoiselle sprang from her bed but half awake. Condé had sent to ask for help. He was with his army held at bay against the closed gates of Paris attacked by the army of de Turenne. The messenger had been sent to Monsieur, but Monsieur, declaring that he was in agony, had refused to see him. On that answer the messenger sped to the palace of the Tuileries. Mademoiselle dressed and hurried to the Luxembourg. As she entered the palace Monsieur came down the stairs, and Mademoiselle attacked him angrily; she accused him of disloyalty, and reproached him for his pretence of sickness. Gaston assured her calmly: "I am sick; I am not sick enough to be in bed, but I am too sick to leave this house."
"Either mount your horse or go to bed!" cried Mademoiselle. She stormed, she wept, all in a breath (as she always did when she could not force her father to do his duty), but Monsieur was a coward and nature was too strong to be controlled; she could not move him. Retz had worked upon Gaston's cowardice as a means of furthering his own plans; his plans included the death of Condé and the failure of the Fronde; therefore tortures would not have drawn Gaston from his house upon that occasion, even had he favoured intervention in behalf of Condé.