a great
deal of talk it was decided that La Rochefoucauld should visit Paris
and stir up the people to demand Conde's release. The Black Mantle on
the bridge was no ordinary citizen, but an agent paid by the prince's
friends, and Mazarin by his mock message had gone right to the heart of
the secret.

This successful stroke had put him in the best of humours, and from
time to time he laughed quietly to himself as if enjoying some rich
joke. Everywhere the crowd was cheering for Conde, and threatening to
hang Mazarin, but my companion proceeded calmly on his journey.

"Through the Rue Croquin," said he presently; "it may be quieter in
that direction, and I wish to think."

Unfortunately, about half-way along the street a mob of people, among
whom were several Black Mantles, had gathered round a man who offered
for sale copies of a song he was singing. He was a sturdy knave with a
deep voice, and he sang so lustily that it was impossible to avoid
hearing every word.

These songs poured continually from the printing-presses of the
Frondeurs, who thought, and perhaps rightly, that an ink-bottle could
work more harm than a cannon. Many were witty and laughable, but this
one was merely a string of vulgar abuse of the Queen-Mother.

"_Peste_," said I, losing my temper, "these hawkers are becoming too
impudent."

"A _Mazarin_!" cried the man next to me. "Down with the _Mazarin_!"

"A fig for Mazarin! He is a man and can defend himself, but Anne of
Austria is not only a Queen but a woman. I say shame on the Frenchmen
who will let a woman be insulted."

"Monsieur is right," exclaimed one of the Black Mantles quickly;
"though I bear no good-will to Anne of Austria."

The speaker who had thus interfered possessed a certain amount of
influence; the crowd, instead of rushing forward, remained still; the
mutterings died away, and some one, seizing the hawker's papers,
trampled them in the mud, and shouted, "Down with Mazarin! Live the
Queen!"

Others responded, and, pleased with the new cry, ran off yelling
lustily, "Down with Mazarin! Live the Queen!" while the miserable
singer, a victim to the fickleness of popular favour, slunk away,
muttering beneath his breath.

I do not know how the Cardinal felt at being mixed up in such an
adventure, but he behaved like a man of spirit, and stood close at my
side throughout the whole affair.

"_Ma foi!_" said he, as we moved on again, "you are not an over-prudent
comp