The next thing we heard of her was astonishing enough. The Princess,
a delicate sickly woman, together with our little Countess, had left
Montroud in the night with fifty horses. The Princess rode on a
pillion behind M. de Coligny, Cecile in the same way, and the little
Duke of Enghien was on a little saddle in front of Vialas, his
equerry. On they went, day and night, avoiding towns and villages,
and seldom halting except in the fields. Happily it was the month of
May, or those two delicate beings never could have lived through it,
but Cecile afterwards told us that she had never felt so well in her
life.
Near the town of Saint Cere they met the Dukes of Bouillon and La
Rochefoucauld, with eight hundred men, mostly gentlemen, who were
ready to take up their cause. The Princess, hitherto so shy,
gracefully and eagerly greeted and thanked them, and the little Duke
made his little speech. 'Indeed I am not afraid of Mazarin any more,
since I see you here with so may brave men. I only expect the
liberty of my good papa through their valour and yours.'
There were great acclamations at this pretty little address, and then
the boy rode with his mother through the eight squadrons in which the
troop was drawn up, saluting the officers like a true little Prince,
with his hat in his hand, while there were loud shouts of 'Vive le
Roi! Vivent les Prince!' and such a yell of 'Down with Mazarin!' as
made Cecile tremble.
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