cts to the great men
with greater complaisance than ever. God forbid that the red hat should
turn my head to that degree as to make me dispute precedence with the
Princes of the blood. It is honour enough for a gentleman to walk side
by side with them." This expression, I verily believe, afterwards
secured the rank of precedence to the hat in the kingdom of France, by
the courtesy of the Prince de Conde, and his friendship for me.

Mademoiselle de Chevreuse, the most fantastical lady upon earth,
suspecting that I held a secret correspondence with the Queen, could not
forbear murmuring and threatening what she would do. She said I had
declared to her a thousand times that I could not imagine how it was
possible for anybody to be in love with that Swiss woman. In short, she
said this so often that the Queen had a notion from somebody or other
that I had called her by that name. She never forgave me for it, as you
will perceive in the sequel. You may easily conceive that this
circumstance, which gave me no encouragement to hope for a very gracious
reception at Court for the time to come, did not weaken those resolutions
which I had already taken to retire from public business. The place of
my retreat was agreeable enough: the shadow of the towers of Notre-Dame
was a refreshment to it; and, moreover, the Cardinal's hat sheltered it
from bad weather. I had fine ideas of the sweetness of such a
retirement, and I would gladly have laid hold of it, but my stars would
not have it so. I return to my narrative.

On the 12th of April the Duc d'Orleans took the Prince de Conde with him
to the Parliament, assuring them that he had not, nor ever would have,
any other intention than to serve his King and country; that he would
always follow the sentiments of the Parliament; and that he was willing
to lay down his arms as soon as the decrees against Cardinal Mazarin were
put into execution.

The President Bailleul said that the members always thought it an honour
to see the Prince de Conde in his place, but that they could not
dissemble their real concern to see his hands stained with the blood of
the King's soldiers who were killed at Bleneau. Upon this a storm arose
from the benches, which fell with such fury upon the poor President that
he had scarcely room to put in a word for himself, for fifty or sixty
voices disowned him at one volley.

On the 13th the Parliament agreed that the declaration made by the Duc
d'Orlean