And then at last in the following November the Prince de Conde
took the desperate resolve of quitting France with his wife,
without troubling--as was his duty--to obtain the King's consent.
On the last night of that month, as Henry was at cards in the
Louvre, the Chevalier du Guet brought him the news of the
prince's flight.
"I never in my life," says Bassompierre, who was present, "saw a
man so distracted or in so violent a passion."
He flung down his cards, and rose, sending his chair crashing
over behind him. "I am undone!" was his cry. "Undone! This madman
has carried off his wife--perhaps to kill her." White and
shaking, he turned to Bassompierre. "Take care of my money," he
bade him, "and go on with the game."
He lurched out of the room, and dispatched a messenger to the
Arsenal to fetch M. de Sully. Sully obeyed the summons and came
at once, but in an extremely bad temper, for it was late at
night, and he was overburdened with work.
He found the King in the Queen's chamber, walking backward and
forward, his head sunk upon his breast, his hands clenched behind
him. The Queen, a squarely-built, square-faced woman, sat apart,
attended by a few of her ladies and one or two gentlemen of her
train.
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