They went into the council-room. Mademoiselle fell upon her knees at the open window, and, in silence, the people watched her; they were on guard, waiting for her orders. In the church of Saint Gervais priests were offering the Mass; she could hear them and she tried to pray. Minutes had passed and nothing had been done. She arose from her knees and, entering the council-room, urged the men to act; she implored, she threatened; then, hurrying back to the window, she fell upon her knees. Rising for the last time, pale and resolute, she entered the council-room; she pointed to the Grève where the people stood with eyes fixed upon the windows, then, stretching her arm high above her head, she cried violently: "Sign that order! or—I swear it by my Exalted Name! I will call in my people and let them teach you what to do!"
They fell upon the paper like wolves upon a lamb, and an instant later Mademoiselle, grasping the order, hurried up the rue Saint Antoine to open the city's gates.
Not far from the Hôtel de Ville a cavalier in a blood-stained doublet, blinded by blood from a wound in his forehead, passed her, led like a child between two soldiers; both of the soldiers were weeping: it was La Rochefoucauld.
Mademoiselle called his name, but he did not answer. At the entrance to the rue Saint Antoine another wounded man appeared, bareheaded, with blood-stained raiment; a man walking beside him held him on his horse. Mademoiselle asked him: "Shalt thou die of thy wounds?" he tried to move his head as he passed on. He was "little Guiteau," Mademoiselle's friend who had carried the "olive branch" to Condé's prison. But they were coming so fast that it was hard to count them—another—then another! Mademoiselle said: "I found them in the rue Saint Antoine at every step! and they were wounded everywhere ... head ... arms ... legs! ... they were on horse—on foot—on biers—on ladders—on litters! Some of them were dead."
An aristocratic procession! The quality of France, sacrificed in the supreme attempt against man's symbol of God's omnipotence: the Royalty of the King!
By the favour of the leader of the tradesmen the gates of Paris had opened to let pass the high nobility. Paris enjoyed the spectacle. The ramparts swarmed with sightseers; and Louis XIV., guarded by Mazarin, looked down upon them all from the heights of Charonne.
The soldiers of the Fronde had had enough! Crying, "Let the chiefs march!" they broke ranks. So it came to pass that all who fought that day were nobles. The faubourg saw battalions formed of princes and seigniors, and the infantry who manned the barricades bore the mighty names of ancient France. Condé was their leader and, culpable though he had been, that day he purged his crimes against the country by giving France one of the visions of heroism which exalt the soul.