gates to the daughter of their duke, who, standing in the moat with
her three companions, tried persuasion and threats in vain. The
prospect was not encouraging, when a crowd of boatmen came up from the
river and offered the princess their services. "I accepted them
gladly," she writes, "and said a thousand fine things, such as one
must say to that sort of people to make them do what one wishes." She
gave them money as well as fair words, and begged them to burst open
one of the gates. They fell at once to the work; while the guards and
officials looked down from the walls, neither aiding nor resisting
them. "To animate the boatmen by my presence," she continues, "I
mounted a hillock near by. I did not look to see which way I went, but
clambered up like a cat, clutching brambles and thorns, and jumping
over hedges without hurting myself. Madame de Breaute, who is the most
cowardly creature in the world, began to cry out against me and
everybody who followed me; in fact, I do not know if she did not swear
in her excitement, which amused me very much." At length, a hole was
knocked in the gate; and a gentleman of her train, who had directed
the attack, beckoned her to come on. "As it was very muddy, a man took
me and carried me forward, and thrust me in at this hole, where my
head was no sooner through than the drums beat to salute me. I gave my
hand to the captain of the guard. The shouts redoubled. Two men took
me and put me in a wooden chair. I do not know whether I was seated in
it or on their arms, for I was beside myself with joy. Everybody was
kissing my hands, and I almost died with laughing to see myself in
such an odd position." There was no resisting the enthusiasm of the
people and the soldiers. Orleans was won for the Fronde. [Footnote:
_Memoires de Mademoiselle de Montpensier_, I. 358-363 (ed. 1859).]

The young Countesses of Frontenac and Fiesque had constantly followed
her, and climbed after her through the hole in the gate. Her father