every one seemed to imagine that the Marshal had little to do
but march peacefully to Paris.

From the gossip among Mazarin's gentlemen next morning I gathered that
Turenne had halted at a place called Briare, while Hocquincourt, our
second general, had advanced to Blenau.

"The Marshal is preparing his plans," exclaimed one of our fellows
complacently, "and if Conde's army stays to fight it will be soundly
beaten. I prophesy that within a month we shall be inside Paris."

I remembered these boastful words and laughed, when, a night or two
afterwards, Pillot burst into my room and wakened me rather brusquely.

"Get up, monsieur," said he, "Conde has sent to announce his arrival."

"Conde," I growled sleepily. "Where? What do you mean? What is all
the noise outside?"

"The town has gone mad with fright--that is all. Monsieur must be
quick in dressing."

In a few minutes I was dressed and out of the house. Pillot was
right--the town certainly had gone mad. The street was packed with
people surging this way and that, pushing, struggling, and asking
questions. There were hundreds of rumours in the air: Conde had crept
into Gien, and had hanged Mazarin in his own room. The Queen-Mother
was a prisoner with her two sons, and all her Guards had died fighting.
I had hardly witnessed such a tumult even in Paris. Couriers and
lackeys, coachmen and grooms; soldiers, citizens, peasants, and ladies
of the Court, were all grouped together, making the oddest spectacle.
No one really knew what had happened, though a hundred people were
willing to tell.

I would have gone straight to the Cardinal's quarters, but such a
course was out of the question; so, following Pillot, I found myself on
a piece of high ground to the left of the town.

"Ah!" said I, drawing a deep breath, "now it is plain what has
occurred. You are right, Pillot, that is a message from Conde, sure
enough!"

The night was dark, but far away in the distance the gloom was lit up
by numerous tongues of fire that extended for miles. Now one died
away, but the next minute a fresh one shot skyward, and in places
several merged together in one broad flame.

"Conde is amusing himself and providing us with a fine spectacle," said
Pillot. "It seems to me that the prince has lost neither his cunning
nor his boldness. Turenne is a good soldier, but it looks as if Conde
were a better."

"Turenne is not over there. Conde has fallen on General Hocquincou