Nothing of any consequence occurred during the next fortnight. The Court removed to St. Germain, and the army to Palisseau, but, beyond a skirmish or two, there was no fighting. As usual, however, there were plenty of rumours, and every man had a different story to relate of what was going on. As to Mazarin, he spent his days, and nights too, in writing and reading innumerable notes, and in interviewing mysterious people.
One evening, having for a wonder no duties to perform, I strolled over to the palace for a chat with Humphreys.
"Have you heard the latest news?" he asked, and, as I shook my head, added laughingly, "it is not a rumour but a fact. Turenne has doubled back on Etampes, and has shut up the bulk of the rebels there. It will be a grand stroke if he captures the town."
"Is Condé there?"
"I think not. Most accounts state that he is still in Paris. A lucky thing you took the ladies away; the city, according to some of the Queen's friends who have just crept out, is in a frightful state. The people are up in arms, and the mob is burning and plundering on all sides."
"What is the Duke of Orleans doing?"
"Making up his mind and altering it again; he has no leisure for anything else. Mazarin seems to have been busy lately."
"Spoiling paper! there will be soon none left in the kingdom. While Turenne is fighting, the Cardinal is driving bargains."
"Ah!" exclaimed my comrade scornfully, "the truth is, it is every man for himself and the country can go to the dogs."
About a week after this conversation with Humphreys, M. Belloc ordered me to be at the Cardinal's room at four o'clock the next morning.