rs were not opened to them. They could not
long be kept out; some immediate action must be taken. The boy's
travelling-attire was quickly replaced by his night dress, and he was
laid in bed, his mother cautioning him to lie quiet and feign sleep.

"The king! we must see the king!" came the vociferous cry from the
street. "Open! the people demand to see their king."

The doors were forced; the mob was in the palace; clamor and tumult
reigned below the royal chambers. The queen sent word to the people that
the king was asleep in his bed. They might enter and see him if they
would promise to tread softly and keep strict silence. This message at
once stopped the tumult; the noise subsided; the people began to file
into the room, stepping as noiselessly as though shod with down, gazing
with awed eyes on the seemingly sleeping face of the boy king.

The queen stood at the pillow of her son, a graceful and beautiful
woman, her outstretched arm holding back the heavy folds of the drapery,
her face schooled to quiet repose. Louis lay with closed eyes and
regular breathing, playing his part well. For hours a stream of the men
and women of Paris flowed through the chamber, moving in reverential
silence, gazing on the boy's face as on a sacred treasure of their own.
Till three o'clock in the morning the movement continued, the queen
standing all this time like a beautiful statue, her son still feigning
slumber. It was a scene of remarkable and picturesque character.

That night of strain and excitement passed. The king was with them
still, of that the people were assured; he must remain with them, there
must be an end of midnight flights. The patrol was kept up, the gates
watched, the king was a prisoner in the hands of the Parisians.

"The king, our master, is a captive," said M. Mole, voicing to the
Parliament the queen's complaint.

"He _was_ a captive, in the hands of Mazarin," replied the Duke of
Orleans; "but, thank God, he is so no longer."

The people had won. Mazarin was beaten. He hastened to La Havre, where
the princes were then confined, and set them at liberty himself. His
power in France, for the time, was at an end. He made his way to the
frontier, which he crossed on the 12th of March. He was just in time:
the Parliament of Paris had issued orders for his arrest, wherever found
in France.

We must end here, with this closing of the contest between Mazarin and
the Fronde. History goes on to tell that the cont