"Then, Duke, I do advise you at once to escape while you can. If her Majesty told you to remain, and she is now closeted with Mazarin, the sooner you pass the gates of Paris the better; unless your highness particularly desire to air the best set of rooms in the Bastille; and even they are dull," she adds, with that invincible desire to laugh and make others laugh, at once her charm and her defect.
Careless as is the Duc de Beaufort, his confidence is shaken. He had taken up his velvet cap to depart, when a knock is heard at the door.
"Come in," cries the Duchess.
It was Guitaut, Captain of the Queen's Guards. He walks up to the Duke, and lays his hand on his shoulder: "I command your highness to follow me, in the name of the King and of the Queen-Regent."
Even the Duchess becomes serious.
Beaufort eyes Guitaut for some time in silence. "This is very strange, Guitaut. There must be some mistake. I am here by her Majesty's commands, awaiting a further audience."
"I know nothing of that, your highness. My instructions are precise. You are under arrest."
Beaufort unbuckles his sword. He presents it to Guitaut. Then he turns to the Duchess and Mademoiselle de Hautefort, whose countenances express the concern they both feel. "You are witness, ladies, that I, a prince of the blood, am arrested when, in obedience to her Majesty's commands, I am awaiting the honour of a further audience. Pardieu, that sneaking varlet, Mazarin, shall pay for this. The Coadjutor will revenge me. Lead on, Guitaut. Where is it to be? The Bastille?"
"I have orders to conduct your highness to the Castle of Vincennes," replies Guitaut, bowing.