One night in 1648, Cardinal Mazarin, Prime Minister of France, favorite and lover of the Queen Mother Regent, followed by a large retinue of frowns, hurried through the gloomy arcades, past the semi-deserted halls, the ruined aisles, and the spiraling stairs to the King's suite. The royal guards in the hall of the guard immediately jumped up from their chairs and saluted him, and nearly overturned the small table between them, which was piled high with cards and brown su (copper coins) mixed with silver eju (silver coins)—it seemed that these gentlemen were busy with another kind of battle just now, but the bishop had no intention of paying attention to their petty mistakes: "I want to see your majesty at once." ”

The officers of the royal guards went at once to report it, and it took less than a minute for the king's chamber keeper to open the door for the cardinal, and with a wave of his hand, he left his retinue outside the door, and went in alone, and without waiting for the king to ask, he said, "We must leave here at once, your majesty, for it is no longer safe here." ”

"Are they at last, traitors?" asked the king.

"Yes. Mazaran said, and was pleased to see the king, who was still a child, leap out of bed, and without even wasting time waiting for the help of the first chamberlain of the inner palace, he quickly put on his heavy trousers and velvet coat, which Mazaran stopped while his chief of cloars brought him a cloak, and the bishop had a large inconspicuous black coat in the crook of his arm, which he pressed against the king's tender shoulders, and then covered the king's pale golden curls, which stood out in the dark night, with a hat adorned with a plain gray feather。

When everything was in order, Mazaran stretched out his hand and took the king by the shoulder. The king ascended the throne at the age of five, and was now only a ten-year-old child, but he was as strong as one might expect, far superior in every respect to children of his age, and Mazaran rested his arm on his shoulder with no difficulty, and they walked briskly to the door like a pair of close friends.

The crimson light illuminated the small pieces of glass divided by a black iron frame, not the first or last rays of the sun as it rose or set, but the light of the torches and candles that people had gathered in the courtyard. In the courtyard of the palace were no less than ten four-wheeled carriages, all of which looked almost identical, drawn by four horses of different colors, and it was impossible to distinguish the identity of the passengers inside, but Mazaran could obviously recognize a certain code, and he led the king straight to a carriage, and the coachman immediately opened the door, revealing a beautiful woman in a long black dress, and a handmaid who was too young.

As soon as she saw the king, she immediately stretched out her hand, and the king immediately took hold of it, and as he boarded the carriage he turned, "Monsieur Cardinal," he asked, "what about my brother, the Duke of Anjou?"

"He's with me. Mazaran replied.

The king paused for a moment, and then he thought that this was to ensure that the blood of the royal family would not be wiped out in the rebellion, and he said no more, and as soon as he boarded the carriage, the coachman immediately closed the door, the wheels of the carriage rattled, and about thirty royal guards dressed in short coats, ordinary cloaks (instead of the usual uniform cloaks), wearing wide-brimmed hats, swords, sabers, and four muskets, and immediately drove the horses under him, ten in front and twenty on the left and right, and followed in the posture of escort.

The other chariots rushed out of the dark courtyard after them, mostly filled with foreign guests, important courtiers, and people whom Bishop Mazarin considered in need of protection, but no matter how important they were, could not compare with two of them, one of them carrying the king and queen mother of France, and the other the brother and the actual ruler of the kingdom.

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Soon, the carriage turned in one place and entered the grassy avenue, and a rudimentary fortress was built on what should have been considered an open earth, and when they were seen galloping towards them, a mob hiding behind the fortress threw stones and burning fires, and the guards immediately returned the color, and these people immediately scattered and ran away, even the wounded who fell to the ground and groaned.

"Who are they?" asked the little maid beside the Queen Mother, curiously as she peeked out through the gap in the curtain.

"My people. The king said, with a sneering smile on his lips. There were rebellious nobles, soldiers and thugs who had been bribed with a lot of money, but more often than not, ordinary Parisian citizens, who had been incited and seduced into taking to the streets against their prime minister and king, for the sake of a small profit, who neither loved nor were loyal to their king, and who now even wanted to harm him.

The king looked at the bold little maid, "You shouldn't ask the king before he speaks, who are you?"

"Marie Mancini. The maid replied, "My uncle is Cardinal Mazarin." ”

The king nodded, and there was nothing wrong with that, although Mancini didn't sound like a Frenchman, nor like a noble surname, Mazarin was well known for his humble origins. It's just that he can't help but wonder if Ma Zaran loves this niece very much, after all, this is the first time he has seen Ma Zaran use the power and trust given to him by the Queen Mother for a small person.

"You should do a good job of revisiting etiquette. Miss Mancini. The king said.

Marie Mancini tried to retort, but the next moment, her voice was choked in her throat by a violent jolt.

The king immediately stood up vigilantly, leaned sideways against the wall of the carriage, and looked out of the carriage, where Paris was not as prosperous and peaceful as the capital of a country hundreds of years later, especially after several wars between Catholics and Puritans, the city was devastated, wild wolves could be seen in the streets at night, foxes and rabbits were everywhere in the cemetery, and the unmaintained roads were as full of holes as the skin of lepers.

Speeding on such a road, it is conceivable that the carriage was like a boat in a storm, up and down, and the Queen Mother looked at her eldest son, her face pale, she was a princess of Spain, and then the queen of France, although she was not loved by her husband, but she was not so tormented: "Your Majesty," she pleaded, "let them slow down." ”

"I'm sorry," her son replied mildly but coldly, "I can't." ”

He pulled the curtain on the car, so that everyone in the car could see what was going on outside— Even the Queen Mother would not be surprised to encounter a thorny traitor or a mob, but they were followed closely by some deformed and tall devils, who ran on all fours between the thorns and the trees, no less fast than horses, and the slightest negligence on the part of the Imperial Guards would be pulled down by the beasts that pounced on them, and their last cries of misery were as piercing as needles, and, though inaudible, one could imagine the stains and gurgling of the beasts as they chewed on the bones and flesh.