'We know,' added Mazarin, in his blandest tone of irony, 'that M. le
Coadjuteur is so devoted to the Court, and so solicitous for his
flock, that a little over-anxiety must be pardoned to him!'
This was while shouts of 'BROUSSEL! BROUSSEL!' were echoing through
the palace, and in a few moments came the Lieutenant-Colonel of the
Guards to say that the populace were threatening to overpower the
soldiers at the gates; and next came the Chancellor, nearly
frightened out of his wits, saying that he had seen the people
howling like a pack of wolves, carrying all sorts of strange weapons,
and ready to force their way in. Then old Monsieur Guitauet, the
Colonel of the Guards, declared 'that the old rogue Broussel must be
surrendered, dead or alive.'
'The former step would not be accordant with the Queen's piety nor
her justice,' broke in the Coadjutor; 'the second might stop the
tumult.'
'I understand you, M. le Coadjuteur,' broke out the Queen. 'You want
me to set Broussel at liberty. I would rather strangle him with my
own hands, and those who---'
And she held those plump white hands of hers almost close to the
Archbishop's face, as if she were ready to do it, but Cardinal
Mazarin whispered something in her ear which made her less violent,
and the next moment the lieutenant of police came in, with such a
terrific account of the fury of the mob and their numbers, that there
was no more incredulity; it was plain that there was really a most
frightful uproar, and both the Regent and the Cardinal entreated the
Coadjutor to go down and pacify the people by promises.
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