een good-naturedly
smiled through it all. She called it "an escapade which can hardly last
a week."

All Paris was by this time crying "_Vive la Fronde_": "_Mort a
Mazarin_": but it proved to be something more than a little affair of a
week, as we now know.

At this period, when Anne d'Autriche was practically a prisoner at Saint
Germain, the picture made by the old chateau against its forest
background was undeniably more imposing than that which one sees to-day.
The glorious forest was not then hidden by rows of banal roof-tops, and
the dull drabs of barracks and prisons.

In the warm spring mornings the glittering facade of the chateau was
brilliant as a diamond against its setting, and the radiating avenues of
the park leading from the famous terrace stretched out into infinite
vistas that were most alluring. This effect, fortunately, is not wholly
lost to-day.

At night things were as idyllic as by day. The queen and her ladies,
relieved of the dreary presence of the king who still remained at Paris,
revelled in an unwonted freedom. Concerts, suppers and dances were the
rule and moonlight cavalcades to the heart of the forest, or promenades
on foot the length of the terrace, and by some romantically disposed
couples far beyond, gave a genuine "begone, dull care" aspect to court
life which was not at all possible in the capital.

The following picture, taken from a court chronicle, might apply as well
to-day if one makes due allowance for a refulgence of myriad lamps
gleaming out Parisward as night draws in.

"It is a rare moonlight night. The queen and her ladies have emerged
late on the stately terrace of Henri IV which borders upon the forest
and extends for nearly a league along the edge of the height upon which
stands the chateau.

"The queen and her brother-in-law, Gaston, Duc d'Orleans, have seated
themselves somewhat apart from the rest beside the stone balustrade
which overlooks the steep descent to the plain below. Vineyards line the
hillside and the Seine flows far beneath, the fertile river-bottom rich
with groves and orchards, villas and gardens. Still more distant sweeps
away the great plain wrapped in dark shadows punctuated here and there
with great splotches of moonlight. Of the great city beyond (the Paris
of to-day, whose myriad glow-worm lights actually do lend an additional
charm) not a vestige is to be seen. Scarcely a lantern marks the
existence of a living soul in the vast expanse be