. The latter, throwing himself quickly in that
direction, saw on reaching the last barricade his two friends, Nemours
and La Rochefoucauld, the one wounded in several places and unable to
stand, the other blinded by a ball which had passed through his face
just below the eyes, and both in immediate danger of being made
prisoners. All exhausted as he was--for the fighting lasted from morning
till evening,--Conde had still heart and energy to make a last charge
for their rescue, and to place them in safety within the city. He felt
the old flame of Rocroy and Nordlingen firing his blood, and he fought
like the boldest of his dragoons. The citizens on the ramparts beheld
with emotion the Prince, covered with blood and dust, enter a garden,
throw off his casque and cuirass, and roll himself half-naked upon the
grass to wipe off the sweat in which he was bathed. Meanwhile, La
Ferte-Senneterre had come up. From that moment all gave way, and the
Prince, feebly seconded by his disheartened soldiers, with the greatest
difficulty reached the Place de la Bastille. There he found the gates of
Paris shut. In vain did Beaufort urge the city militia to go to the
assistance of that handful of brave men on the point of succumbing:
wearied with three years of discord and manipulated by Mazarin, it no
longer responded to the summons of its old chief. Splendidly dressed
ladies waved signals to their champions and lovers below, and the
streets became alive with the shouting of armed citizens, who desired to
be let out to the aid of their defenders, and could not see with cold
blood the slaughter of their friends. Thousands went to the Luxembourg
to beseech Gaston to open the gates of the city for the reception of
the wounded and the protection of the over-matched. Long trains of
wounded and dying young men began to be carried in; the groans and blood
were horrible to hear and see; and the women of all ranks and ages were
frantic with sympathy and grief. De Retz and terror had so chilled the
Duke d'Orleans into inaction that he would have let Conde perish, had
not Mademoiselle de Montpensier, who was at that time smitten with
Conde, wrung indignantly from her father, by dint of tears and
entreaties, an order to open the gates to the outnumbered Prince.

Mazarin, from the heights of Charonne, where he had stationed himself
with the young King, might well have thought that it was all over with
his worst enemy; and, when startled to hear that Mad