"Has Belloc made all his arrangements?" asked Mazarin.
"Yes, your Eminence; everything is as you ordered."
"That is well. You will stay up till our return. I am not likely to require more help, but—in case of accidents—here is a signed order for Ferré to turn out the Guards. Do not use it, however, unless it is absolutely necessary."
The secretary bowed, and Mazarin conducted me by a private staircase, the very existence of which was known only to a few people, to the courtyard of the Palace.
"You do not ask where we are going," said he, as we walked along.
"It is not my business, your Eminence," I answered, but I could not help reflecting that Mazarin did not know himself. If the groups of citizens had guessed who my companion was, it is likely that his evening walk would have come to a sudden end.
Now, I have heard Mazarin called a coward who would faint at the sight of blood, but those who said these things spoke without knowledge. Being a man of peace, he disliked bloodshed, but many a boasting gallant would have held back from dangers which the Cardinal faced without hesitation.
On this eventful night he strolled quietly along, brushing shoulders with men who would gladly have slain him, and displaying no sign of nervousness. At the corner of the Pont Neuf he actually stopped to listen to the conversation of some citizens who were holding a kind of open-air parliament, and settling the affairs of the kingdom to their liking.
One fellow especially, dressed like a prosperous shopkeeper, was exceedingly loud in describing his plan to do away with the troubles, and I must admit that the first part of his remedy—the hanging of Mazarin—met with the hearty approval of the crowd.
"A beggarly foreigner!" said one.