will be proclaimed of age on
his fourteenth birthday, and all parties will rally round him."

"A good thing for the country!" said he, rising. "Well, I must get
back; I am on guard to-night."

It was dreary work sitting in my room alone, so, putting on my hat, I
strolled into the streets, and finally found myself at the house in the
Rue Crillon. Madame Coutance was at home, and she received me with
high good-humour, calling me one of her knights-errant, and declaring I
had helped to save her life, which was really true.

It was interesting to observe how differently the two ladies regarded
the same circumstance. The elder one could talk only of the romantic
parts; the challenge of the mob, the defiance, the fight, the arrival
of the soldiers, the torchlight procession, the humbling of De Retz.
Marie, on the contrary, cared little for these things; all her anxiety
was for the people who had been injured.

"The more I see of these troubles, the more hateful they become," she
said. "They have divided families, and parted friends; they have
starved the poor and desolated the country, and no good has resulted
from them."

"The country requires a strong man like Conde to hold the reins,"
remarked her aunt.

"Or a learned priest like De Retz," I put in slily, and was met at once
by strong expressions of dissent; Marie, in particular, declaring she
would rather hear of the recall of Mazarin, which I ventured to
prophesy would be the outcome of these petty squabbles.

The girl seemed rather sad, and I was not surprised when she said, "I
wish we were back at Aunay, away from the turmoil. There is no peace
in this continual whirl of excitement. I am always thinking some evil
is going to happen."

"Nonsense," exclaimed her aunt. "How can there be any danger now that
Conde has returned to his rightful place? De Retz will never dare to
harm the prince's friends," a naive remark, which much amused me.

It was late when I left the house, and the street was nearly deserted.
Standing a moment on the step, I suddenly became aware of an
ill-dressed fellow evidently watching me from the shelter of a door-way
nearly opposite.

"A spy!" I concluded, "and a very clumsy one, too. I wonder if he has
been set to dog me?"

I crossed the road carelessly, when the fellow, no doubt hoping he had
not been noticed, slipped off, and, on my following a short distance,
he darted into a narrow street and disappeared. Puzzled by thi