m 
 
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 UNIVERSITY 
 
 LIBRlgR^Y 
 
 FROM 
 
 ^'iss F.B.Sumner 
 
Cornell University 
 Library 
 
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 tine Cornell University Library. 
 
 There are no known copyright restrictions in 
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 http://www.archive.org/details/cu31924088386002 
 
CORNELL UNIVERSITY LIBRARY 
 
 3 1924 088 386 002 
 
THE VALOIS ROMANCES. 
 
 THE FOETY-FIYE. 
 Vol. L 
 
EDmanccs of ^Itxmx^u Muvxus* 
 
 ROMANCES OF THE REIGN OF HENRY II. 
 
 I. The two Dianas .3 vols. 
 
 II. THE Page of the duke of Sa\'Ov .... a vols. 
 
 THE VALOIS ROMANCES. 
 
 I Marguerite de \'alois .... 2 vols. 
 
 II. La dame de monsoreau 2 vols. 
 
 III. The Forty-Five .2 vols. 
 
 THE D'ARTAGNAN ROMANCES. 
 
 I. THE THREE MUSKETEERS . . . ... 2 vols. 
 
 II. Twenty Years After 2 vols. 
 
 III. THE VICOMTE DE BRAGELONNE ; or, Ten Years 
 
 Later 6 vols. 
 
 THE REGENCY ROMANCES. 
 
 I. Le Chevalier D'Harmental i vol. 
 
 II. THE REGENT'S DAUGHTER I vol. 
 
 A ROMANCE OF THE REIGN OF LOUIS XV. 
 
 Olympe de Cloves 2 vols. 
 
 THE MARIE ANTOINETTE ROMANCES. 
 
 I. Memoirs of a physician 3 vols. 
 
 II. The Queen's Necklace 2 vols. 
 
 III. Ange Pitou 2 vols. 
 
 IV. La Comtesse de charny 4 vols. 
 
 V. LE CHEVALIER DE MAISON-ROUGE I vol. 
 
 THE NAPOLEON ROMANCES. 
 
 THE COMPANIONS OF jEHU 2 vols. 
 
 The "WHITES AND THE BLUES 2 vols. 
 
 THE BLACK TULIP I vol. 
 
 THE COUNT OF MONIR CRISTO . 4 vols. 
 
 THE SHE-WOLVES OF MACHECOUL") 
 
 The Corsican Brothers / ^ ^°'^' 
 
 NEW SERIES. 
 
 ASCANIO : A Romance of Francis 1. and Benvenuto 
 
 Cellini 2 vols. 
 
 The War of women ; A Romance of the Fronde . . 2 vols. 
 BLACK . The Story of a Dog 1 vol. 
 
 Tales of the Caucasus — The Ball of snow, 
 and sultanetta I vol. 
 
 , ,NEW SERIES. II. 
 
 Agenor de Mauleon s vols. 
 
 The brigand : A Romance of the Reign of Don l 
 
 Carlos r ■ • I vol. 
 
 Blanche de Beaulieu ) 
 
 The Horoscope : A Romance of the Reign of Francis 
 
 II I vol. 
 
 SYLVANDIRE : A Romance of the Reign of Louis XIV. i vol 
 
 Monsieur de chauvelin's will \ , 
 
 The woman with the vel\'et necklace/ ^ ™'* 
 
"A FAVOR, MONSIEUR." 
 Drawn by Eugene Courboin^ heliogravured by Diijardin. 
 
 The Forty-Five, I. 
 
THE FORTY-FIVE. 
 
 BY 
 
 ALEXANDRE P U:\rAS. 
 
 Vol. I. 
 
 BOSTON: 
 LITTLE, BROWN, AND COMPANY. 
 
 1899. 
 
Copyright, 1SS9, 1S9S, 
 Bt Little, Beown, akd Company. 
 
 John Wilson and Son, Cambridge. 
 
INTRODUCTORY NOTE. 
 
 Some six or seven years elapsed between the tragical 
 death of Bussy d'Amboise, as told in the concluding 
 chapters of " La Dame de Monsoreau," and the 
 coming to Paris of the famous Gascon body-guard 
 of Henri III., known in history as the Forty-Five, 
 with which this tale opens. 
 
 The vengeance wrought by Diane de M^ridor 
 upon the prince, who was the instigator of the 
 concerted attack upon Bussy, is the theme from 
 which the " Forty- Five " derives most of its ro- 
 mantic interest. Diane, the lovely, lovable, loving 
 woman, has become a cold, loveless, pitiless statue, 
 living only to avenge her murdered lover; but 
 she is still beautiful, almost superhumanly beauti- 
 ful, — so beautiful that Henri de Joyeuse is lost 
 in hopeless love of her, and that the perfidious Due 
 d'Anjou, the object of her relentless pursuit, thirsts 
 to possess her, and by his very passion makes her 
 
VI INTRODUCTOKY NOTE. 
 
 task easy. History records that he died, from an 
 unexplained cause, at Chateau-Thierry on the date 
 here assigned. 
 
 The acquaintance so pleasantly begun in the 
 earlier story, with Chicot, is here renewed with 
 even greater dehght. Disguised as Maitre Eobert 
 Briquet, to escape the vengeance of the Due de 
 Mayenne, he is no less original and amusing than 
 in his proper person, — no less active in his care for 
 the interests of the somewhat unappreciative and 
 ungrateful master, to whom his faithful attachment 
 never varies. 
 
 The whole episode of the jester's mission to the 
 Court of Navarre — his hazardous journey, his brief 
 stay at Nerac, the " hunt " which ended at Cahors, 
 and his narration of his experiences to the king on 
 his return — would alone be sufficient to stamp the 
 "Forty-Five" as one of the very best of our author's 
 romances. In all his varied experiences, Chicot 
 never found his match in shrewdness and finesse 
 til] he crossed swords with Henri of Navarre. And 
 how frankly he acknowledged his defeat, and how 
 warmly each appreciated the other's merits ! 
 
 The events which led to the journey of the Due 
 d'Anjou to Flanders with the hope of wearing a 
 
INTRODUCTORY NOTE. vii 
 
 crown at last, the course of William of Orange 
 towards the French prince, and the abortive attempt 
 upon Antwerp, are sufficiently touched upon in the 
 body of the story. Francois, after all his longing 
 and scheming, died uncrowned ; and it may be 
 doubted whether he would ever have ascended the 
 French throne, even if he had outlived his brother. 
 Had he done so, it is safe to say that the crimes 
 and shortcomings of his brothers would have been 
 almost forgotten, and the odium which attaches to 
 the memory of the last degenerate Valois kings 
 would have been concentrated upon him. 
 
 The constant growth of the Holy League under 
 the leadership of the Guises, and with the almost 
 avowed patronage of Philip II. of Spain, is interest- 
 ingly woven into the narrative ; perhaps we need 
 not marvel at the success of a cause which had for 
 its high priestess so charming a personality as the 
 heroine of the celebrated golden scissors, — that ener- 
 getic intrigante, the clever and fascinating Duchesse 
 de Montpensier. 
 
 It is interesting to know the estimation in which 
 these romances were held by their author's com- 
 patriot, George Sand, herself a novelist of the first 
 rank. 
 
Vlll INTKODUCTOEY NOTE. 
 
 Says Andrew Lang in his " Essays in Little : " 
 " M. Boris chanced to visit the famous novelist just 
 before her death, and found Dumas's novel, 'Les 
 Quarante-Cinq,' lying on her table. He expressed 
 his wonder that she was reading it for the first 
 time. ' For the first time ! ' said she ; ' why, this is 
 the fifth or sixth time I have read " Les Quarante- 
 Cinq" and the others. When I am ill, anxious, 
 melancholy, tired, discouraged, nothing helps me 
 against moral and physical troubles like a book of 
 Dumas.' " 
 
LIST OF CHARACTERS- 
 
 Period, 1585. 
 
 Henri III., King of France. 
 
 LOTJISB BE LOKEAINE, llis Wife. 
 
 Fra>''50IS, Due d'Aiijou, brother of Henri III. 
 
 AuKiLLY, the confidant of Duo d'Anjou. 
 
 Cathemne db Medicis, the Queen Mother. 
 
 Chicot, the King's jester, passing under the name of Robert 
 
 Briquet. 
 AxxE, Due de Joyeuse, Grand Admiral of France. 
 Henei de Joyeuse, Comte du Bouohage, ) j^j^ brothers 
 FKAXgois, Cardinal de Joyeuse, ) 
 
 JN'oGARET DE Lavalette, Duc d'Epcrnon. 
 
 CoilTE DE SaINT-AiGNAN. 
 
 M. DE LoiGNAC, Captain of the Forty-Five Guardsmen. 
 
 TlCOMTE ErNAUTON DE CaRMAINGES, 
 
 M. DE Sain-te-Maline, 
 M. de Chalabre, 
 Perccdas de Pi>xornay, 
 Pertinax de ]\Ioxtcrabeau, 
 
 EUSTACHE de ^IlEADOnX, 
 
 Hector de Biran, 
 
 M. DE Crillon, Colonel of the French Guards. 
 
 M. DE Vesin, commanding the garrison at Cahors. 
 
 Diane be JIeridor. 
 
 Remy le Haudouin. 
 
 The Superior or the Convent of the Hospitalieees. 
 
 - of the " Fortv-Five.' 
 
LIST OF CHAEACTEKS. 
 
 Henki, Duo de Guise, 
 Due DE Mayenne, 
 
 DUCHESSE DE MoNTPENSIEE, Ms sister, 
 
 M. DE Mayneville, 
 
 M. DE Ckuce, J- Leaguers. 
 
 Bussy-Lecleec, 
 
 M. DE Mabieaxt, 
 
 Nicolas Poulain, lieuteuant to the 
 
 provost of Paris, 
 President Bkisson of the Council. 
 
 M. DE SAlCi;DE. 
 
 Henri de Boukbon, King of Navarre. 
 ^Iaiiguekite, his wife. 
 
 ^I. DE TUKENNB, "j 
 
 M. D'AuBiAC, y of the Court of Navarre. 
 
 M. DUPLESSIS-DB MOKNAY, J 
 
 Mademoiselle de Montmorency, " la Posseuse," mistress of 
 
 the King of Navarre. 
 William of Nassau, Prince of Orange. 
 The Burgomaster of Antwerp. 
 Goes, a Plemish sailor. 
 
 DoM MODESTE GoRENFLOT, ~| 
 
 Brother Eusebe, 
 Brother Jacques, V of the Priory of the Jacobins. 
 
 Brother Boeeomeb, 
 Brother Panuege, 
 Maiire Bonhomet, host of the "Coriie d'Abondanoe" inn. 
 Maitee Fouhnichon, host of " The Sword of the Brave Cheva- 
 lier." 
 Dame Pouenichon, his wife. 
 
 Laedille de Chavantrade, wife of Eustache de Miradoux. 
 Miliioe de Chavantrade, her son. 
 Maitee ]Miton, 
 Jean Feiard, 
 MiEON, a Physician. 
 
 bourgeois. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 Chaptek P'*'^'^ 
 
 I. The Porte St. Antoine 1 
 
 II. What took Place outside the Porte St. 
 
 A^'tgise ... 7 
 
 III. The Examination 15 
 
 IV. His Majesty Henri III 20 
 
 Y. The Execution . , . . • ■ 26 
 
 YI. The Brothers . . . . ... 33 
 
 YII. The Sword of the Brave Chevalier . . 4.5 
 
 YIII. The Gascon .... 51 
 
 IX. M. DE LOIGNAC . 59 
 
 X. The Purchase of Cuirasses 65 
 
 XI. Still the League .... 73 
 
 XII. The Chamber of his Majesty Henri III. 79 
 
 Xni. The Dormitory 86 
 
 XIV. The Shade of Chicot ... . .92 
 XV. The Difficulty of finding a Good Am- 
 bassador 104 
 
 XVI. The Death of Chicot . 113 
 
 XVII. The Serenade 121 
 
 XVIII. Chicot's Purse 12S 
 
 XIX. The Priory of the Jacobins 132 
 
 XX. The Two Friends 136 
 
Chaptee 
 
 XXI. 
 
 XXII. 
 
 XXIII. 
 
 XXIV. 
 
 XXV. 
 
 XXVI. 
 
 XXVII. 
 
 XXVIII. 
 
 XXIX. 
 
 XXX. 
 
 XXXI. 
 
 XXXII. 
 
 XXXIII. 
 
 XXXIV. 
 
 XXXV. 
 
 XXXVI. 
 
 XXXVII. 
 
 XXXVIII. 
 
 XXXIX. 
 
 XL. 
 
 XLI. 
 
 XLII. 
 
 XLIII. 
 
 XLIV. 
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 Page 
 
 The Bkeakpast . Wo 
 
 BaOIHEK BORKOMEE 146 
 
 The Lesson 153 
 
 The Penitent loS 
 
 The Ambush 166 
 
 The Guises 173 
 
 The Louvkb 177 
 
 The Revelation 181 
 
 Two Friends . 186 
 
 Sainte-Maline 191 
 
 LoiGNAc's Address to the JoEiy-FivE . 197 
 
 The Bourgeois oe Paris 204 
 
 Brother Borromee . 311 
 
 Chicot, Latinist 316 
 
 The Pour Winds 320 
 
 How Chicot continued his Journey, and 
 
 "WHAT Happened to him . ... 226 
 
 The Third Day op the Journey . . . 232 
 
 Ernauton de Carmainges 237 
 
 The Stable-Yard 244 
 
 The Seven Sins op Magdalene . . . 251 
 
 Bel-Esbat ... 257 
 
 The Letter op M. de Mayenne . . . 366 
 How Dom Gorenflot blessed the King 
 
 AS HE passed BEPORE THE PrIORY OP 
 
 THE Jacobins 273 
 
 How Chicot blessed King Louis XI. 
 
 POR HAVING INVENTED PoSTING, AND RE- 
 SOLVED TO PROFIT BY IT 281 
 
CONTENTS. XIU 
 
 CiiAPTEB Page 
 
 XLV. floTT THE King or Navarbb guesses 
 
 THAT "TURESNIUS" MEANS TuEENNE, 
 
 AND "Makgota" Makgot 289 
 
 XLTI. The Ayestje three thousand Feet long 296 
 
 XLYII. Marguerite's Cabinet 300 
 
 XLYIII. The Explanation 305 
 
 XLIX. The Spanish Ambassador 313 
 
 L. The Poor or Henri de Navarre . . . 318 
 LI. The True Mistress op the King op 
 
 Navarre 327 
 
 LII. Chicot's Astonishment at finding him- 
 
 SELP so popular in NfeRAC . ... 334 
 
 Lni. The King's Master op the Hounds . . 3ii 
 
THE FOETY-FIVE. 
 
 CHAPTEE I. 
 
 THE PORTE ST. AXTOINE. 
 
 On the 26tli of October, 1585, the barriers of the Porte 
 St. Antoine were, contrary to custom, still closed at half- 
 past ten in the morning. A quarter of an hour after, a 
 guard of twenty Swiss, the favorite troops of Henri III., 
 then king, passed through these barriers, which were 
 again closed behind them. Once through, they arranged 
 themselves along the hedges, which, outside the barrier, 
 bordered each side of the road. 
 
 There was a great crowd collected there, for numbers of 
 peasants and other people had been stopped at the gates 
 on their way into Paris. They were arriving by three 
 different roads, — from Montreuil, from Yincennes, and 
 from St. Maur ; and the crowd ^vas growing more dense 
 every moment. There were monks from the convent in 
 the neighborhood, women seated on pack-saddles, and 
 peasants in their carts ; and all, by their questions more 
 or less pressing, made a continual murmur, while some 
 voices were raised above the others in shriller tones of 
 anger or complaint. 
 
 Besides that multitude of people who had approached 
 to enter the city, special groups might have been observed 
 
 VOL. I. — 1 
 
i THE FORTY-FIVE. 
 
 of persons who appeared to have come out from it. These, 
 instead of looking at the gate, fixed their gaze on the 
 horizon, honnded by the convent of the Jacobins, the 
 priory of Vincennes, and the Croix Faubin, as though 
 they were expecting the advent of some Messiah. These 
 groups consisted chiefly of bourgeois, warmly wrapped up, 
 for the weather was cold, and the piercing northeast wind 
 seemed trying to tear from the trees the few last yellow 
 leaves which still remained on them. 
 
 Three of these bourgeois were talking together, — that 
 is to say, two talked and the third listened ; or, we ought 
 to say, the third did not even seem to listen, so occupied 
 was he in looking towards Vincennes. Let us turn our 
 attention to this last. He was a man who must be tall 
 when he stood upright, but at this moment his long legs 
 were bent under him, and his arms, not less long in pro- 
 portion, were crossed over his breast. He was leaning 
 against the hedge, which almost hid his face, before 
 which he also held up his hand as if for further conceal- 
 ment. By his side a little man, mounted on a hillock, 
 was talking to a large man who was constantly shpping 
 off the slope of the same hillock, and at each slip catch- 
 ing at the button of his neighbor's doublet. 
 
 "Yes, Maitre Miton," said the little man to the tall 
 one, " yes, I tell you that there will be a hundred thou- 
 sand people around the scaffold of Salcede, — a hundred 
 thousand, at least. See, without counting those already 
 on the Place de Greve, or who are on the way thither 
 from different parts of Paris, the number of people here ; 
 and this is but one gate out of sixteen." 
 
 " A hundred thousand ! that is a large number, Friard," 
 repHed the large man. " You may be sure that many will 
 follow my example, and will not go to see this unlucky man 
 quartered, for fear of an uproar." 
 
THE PORTE ST. ANTOINE. 3 
 
 " Maltre Miton," replied the small man, " be careful ! 
 you are talking politics. There will be no trouble at all, 
 I am sure." Then, seeing his interlocutor shake his head 
 with au air of doubt, he turned to the man with long 
 legs and long arms, and continued, " Am I not right. 
 Monsieur 1 " 
 
 " "What t " said the other, as though he had not heard. 
 
 " I am saying that nothing will happen on the Place de 
 Greve to-day." 
 
 " I think you are wrong, and that there will be the ex- 
 ecution of Salcede," quietly replied the long-armed man. 
 
 " Yes, doubtless ; but I mean that there will be no 
 noise about it." 
 
 "There will be the noise of the blows of the whip 
 which they will give to the horses." 
 
 " You do not understand ; by noise I mean tumult. If 
 there were likely to bo any, the king would not have had 
 a stand prepared for him and the two queens at the Hotel 
 de Ville." 
 
 " Do kings ever know when a tumult will tal^e place '? " 
 replied the other, shrugging his shoulders with an air ot 
 pity. 
 
 " Oh, oh ! " said Maitre Miton, privately, to his inter- 
 locutor, " this man talks in a singular way. Do you 
 know who he is, comrade 1 " 
 
 " No." 
 
 " Then why do you speak to him ? You are wrong. I 
 do not think he likes to talk." 
 
 "And yet it seems to me," replied Friard, loud enough 
 to be heard by the stranger, "that one of the greatest 
 pleasures in life is to exchange thoughts." 
 
 " Yes, with those whom we know well," answered 
 Maitre Miton. 
 
 " Are not all men brothers, as the priests say ? " 
 
4 THE FORTY-FIVE. 
 
 " They were primitively ; but in times like ours the 
 relationship is singularly loosened. Talk, then, with me 
 if you must talk, and leave the stranger alone." 
 
 " But I know you so well that I know what you will 
 reply, while this stranger may have something new to tell 
 me." 
 
 " Hush ! he is listening." 
 
 " So much the better ; perhaps he will answer. Then 
 you think, Monsieur," continued he, turning again towards 
 him, " that there will be a tumult ? " 
 
 " I ■? I said nothing of the sort.'' 
 
 " No ; but I believe you think so." 
 
 " And on what do you found your surmise 1 Are you 
 a sorcerer, M. Friard 1 " 
 
 " Why, he knows me ! " 
 
 " Have I not named you two or three times ? " said 
 Miton. 
 
 " Ah ! true. Well, since he knows me, perhaps he will 
 answer. Now, Monsieur, I believe you agree with me, or 
 else you would be there, while on the contrary, you are 
 here." 
 
 " But you, M. Friard, since you think the contrary of 
 what you think I think, why are you not at the Place 
 de Greve? I thought the spectacle would have been a 
 joyful one to all friends of the king. Perhaps you will 
 reply that you are not among the friends of the king, but 
 among those of MM. de Guise, and that you are waiting 
 here for the Lorraines, who they say are about to enter 
 Paris in order to deliver M. de Salcede." 
 
 " No, Monsieur," replied the little man, visibly fright- 
 ened at this suggestion ; " I wait for my wife, Nicole Friard, 
 who has gone to take twenty-four table-cloths to the priory 
 of the Jacobins, — having the honor to be washerwoman 
 to Dom Modeste Gorenflot the abbe." 
 
THE PORTE ST. ANTOINE. 5 
 
 " Look, comrade," cried Miton. " See what they are 
 doing ! " 
 
 JI. Friard, following the direction of his friend's finger, 
 saw that besides the gates the closing of which had al- 
 ready created so much excitement, they were closing still 
 another gate, while a party of Swiss placed themselves be- 
 fore it. " How ! more barriers 1 " cried he. 
 
 " What did I teU you 1 " said iliton. 
 
 " It is queer, is it not 1 " said the unknown, smiling. 
 
 At the sight of this new precaution, a long murmur of 
 astonishment and some cries of fear proceeded from the 
 crowd. 
 
 " Clear the road ! Back ! " cried an officer. 
 
 This manoeuvre was not executed without difficulty ; 
 the people in carts and on horseback tried to go back, 
 and nearly crushed the crowd behiud them. Women 
 cried and men swore, while those who could escape did 
 so, overturning the others. 
 
 " The Lorraines ! the Lorraines ! " cried a voice in the 
 midst of this tumult. 
 
 " Oh ! " cried Miton, trembling, " let us fly." 
 
 " Fly ! and where 1 " said Friard. 
 
 " Into this enclosure," answered Miton, tearing his 
 hands by seizing the thorns of the hedge. 
 
 " Into that enclosure ? it is not so easy. I see no opening, 
 and you cannot climb a hedge that is higher than I am." 
 
 " I will try," returned Miton, making new efforts. 
 
 " Oh, take care, my good woman ! " cried Friard, in a 
 tone of distress ; " your ass is on my feet. Oh, Monsieur, 
 take care ! your horse is going to kick." 
 
 While Maitre Miton was vainly trying to climb the 
 hedge, and M. Friard to find an opening through which 
 to push himself, their neighbor quietly stretched his long 
 le<TS and strode over the hedge with a movement as simple 
 
6 THE FOETY-FIVE. 
 
 as that by -which a horseman places himself in the saddle. 
 Maitre Miton imitated him at last with much detriment to 
 his hands and clothes ; but poor Friard could not succeed, 
 in sj)ite of all his efforts, till the stranger, stretching out 
 his long arms, and seizing him by the collar of his doub- 
 let, lifted him over. 
 
 " Ah, Monsieur," said Friard, when he felt himself on 
 the ground, " on the word of Jean Friard, you are a real 
 Hercules. Your name, Monsieur, — the name of my 
 deliverer ?" 
 
 " I am called Briquet, — Eobert Briquet, Monsieur.'' 
 
 " You have saved me, M. Briquet ! my wife will 
 bless you. But, by the way, moii Bieii ! she will be 
 stifled in this crowd. Ah, cursed Swiss, onty good to 
 crush people ! " 
 
 As he spoke, he felt a heavy hand on his shoulder ; 
 and looking round and seeing that it was a Swiss, he 
 took to flight, followed by Miton. The other man 
 laughed quietly, then turning to the Swiss, said, " Are 
 the Lorraines coming V 
 
 "No." 
 
 "Then why do they close the door? I do not under- 
 stand it.'' 
 
 " There is no need that you should," replied the Swiss, 
 laughing at his own wit. 
 
WHAT TOOK PLACE OUTSIDE THE ST. ANTOINE. 
 
 CHAPTEE 11. 
 
 TTHAT TOOK PLACE OUTSIDE THE PORTE ST. ANTOINE. 
 
 One of the groups was formed of a considerable number 
 of citizens. They surrounded four or five cavaliers of a 
 martial appearance, whom the closing of the gates an- 
 noyed very much, as it seemed, for they cried with all 
 their might, " The gate ! the gate ! " 
 
 Eobert Briquet advanced toward.s this group and began 
 to cry louder than any of them, " The gate ! the gate ! " 
 
 One of the cavaliers, charmed at this, turned towards 
 him and said, " Is it not shameful, IMonsieur, that they 
 should close the gates in open day as though the Span- 
 iards or the English were besieging Paris'?" 
 
 Eobert Briquet looked attentively at the speaker, who 
 seemed to be about forty-five years of age, and the prin- 
 cipal personage in the group. " Yes, Tilonsieur," he replied, 
 "you are right ; but may I venture to ask what you think 
 their motive is for these precautions 1 " 
 
 " Pardieu! the fear they have lest some one should eat 
 their Salcede." 
 
 " Cop de Biousf" said a voice, "a sad meal." 
 
 Robert Briquet turned towards the speaker, whose voice 
 had a strong Gascon accent, and saw a young man twenty 
 to twenty-five years old, resting his hand on the crupper 
 of the horse of the first speaker. His head was bare ; he 
 had probably lost his hat in the confusion. 
 
 " But, as they say," replied Briquet, "that this Salcede 
 belonQ:s to M. de Guise — " 
 
8 THE FORTY-FIVE. 
 
 " Ball ! they say that 1 " 
 
 " Then you do not believe it, Monsieur 1 " 
 
 " Certainly not," replied the cavalier ; " doubtless, if he 
 had, the duke would not have let him be taken, or at all 
 events would not have allowed him to be carried from 
 Brussels to Paris bound hand and foot, without even try- 
 ing to rescue him." 
 
 " An attempt to rescue him," replied Briquet, " would 
 have been very dangerous, because, whether it failed or 
 succeeded, it would have been an avowal on the duke's 
 part that he had conspired against the Duo d'Anjou." 
 
 " M. de Guise would not, I am sure, have been re- 
 strained by such considerations ; therefore, as he has 
 not defended Salcede, it is certain that Salcede is not 
 one of his men." 
 
 " Excuse me, jNIonsieur, if I insist ; but it is not I 
 who invent, for it appears that Salcede has confessed." 
 
 " Where, — before the judges 1 " 
 
 " 'No, Monsieur ; at the torture." 
 
 " They assert that he did, but they do not repeat 
 what he said." 
 
 " Excuse me again, Monsieur ; but they do." 
 
 "And what did he say'?" cried the cavalier, impa- 
 tiently. " As you seem so well informed, what were his 
 words ] " 
 
 " I cannot boast of being well informed, since, on the 
 contrary, I am seeking information from you." 
 
 " Come, let us hear ! " said the cavalier, impatiently. 
 "You say that Salcede's words are repeated; what are 
 they 1. Speak." 
 
 " I cannot certify that they were his words," replied 
 Briquet, who seemed to take a pleasure in teasing the 
 cavalier. 
 
 " Well, then, those they attribute to hiDi." 
 
WHAT TOOK PLACE OUTSIDE THE ST. ANTOINE. 9 
 
 •' They assert that he has confessed that he conspired 
 for M. de Guise." 
 
 " Against the king, of course ? " 
 
 "Xo; against the Due d'Anjou." 
 
 " If he confessed that — " 
 
 " Well I " 
 
 " Well, he is a poltroon ! " said the cavalier, frowning. 
 
 " Ah, iliinsieur, the boot and the thumb-screw make 
 a man confess many things." 
 
 " Alas ! that is true, Monsieur.'' 
 
 " Bah ! " interrupted the Gascon, " the boot and the 
 thumb-screw, nonsense ; if Salcede confessed that, he was 
 a knave, and his patron another.'' 
 
 " You speak loudly. Monsieur,"- said the cavalier. 
 
 " I speak as I please ; so much the worse for those who 
 dislike it." 
 
 ■' More calmly," said a voice at once soft and imperative, 
 of which Briquet vainly sought the owner. 
 
 The cavalier seemed to make an effort over himself, and 
 then said quietly to the Gascon, " Do you know those of 
 whom you speak?" 
 
 " Saleede ] " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " Xot in the least." 
 
 " And the Due de Guise ? " 
 
 " Xo." 
 
 " And the Due d'Alengon 1 " 
 
 " Still less." 
 
 "Do you know that M. de Salcede is a very brave 
 manr' 
 
 " So much the better ; he will die bravely." 
 
 " And that when the Due de Guise wishes to conspire, 
 he conspires for himself? " 
 
 " Cap de Bious ! what is that to me % " 
 
10 THE FOETY-FIVE. 
 
 '' And that the Due d'Anjou, formerly M. d'Alengon, has 
 killed, or allowed to be killed, all who were interested in 
 him, — La Mole, Coconnas, Bussy, and the rest?" 
 
 " I don't care for that." 
 
 "What ! you don't care V 
 
 "Mayneville! Mayneville!" murmured the same voice. 
 
 " To be sure ; it is nothing to me. I know only one 
 thing, saiiff Dion ! I have business in Paris this very day, 
 — this morning ; and because of that madman Salcede 
 they close the gates in my face. Cap de Bioxisi this 
 Salcede is a scoundrel, and so are all those who, with 
 him, have caused the gates to be closed." 
 
 At this moment there was a sound of trumpets. The 
 Swiss had cleared the middle of the road, along which a 
 crier proceeded, dressed in a flowered tunic, and bearing 
 on his breast a scutcheon on which was embroidered the 
 arms of Paris. He read from a paper in his hand the 
 following proclamation : — 
 
 " This is to make known to our good people of Paris and its 
 environs that the gates will be closed for one hour, and that 
 none can enter daring that time ; and this by the will of the 
 king and by direction of the mayor of Paris." 
 
 The crowd gave vent to their discontent in a long hoot, 
 to which, however, the crier seemed indifferent. The 
 officer commanded silence, and when it was obtained, the 
 crier continued : — 
 
 " All who are the bearers of a sign of recognition, or are 
 summoned by letter or mandate, are exempt from this rule. 
 Given at the Hotel de la Prevote de Paris, Oct. 26, 1.585." 
 
 Scarcely had the crier ceased to speak, when the crowd 
 began to undulate like a serpent behind the line of 
 soldiers. "What is the meaning of this?" they aU 
 cried. 
 
WHAT TOOK PLACE OUTSIDE THE ST. ANTOINE. 11 
 
 " Oil ! it is to keep us out of Paris," said the cavalier, 
 ■who had been speaking in a low voice to his companions. 
 " These guards, this crier, these bars, and these trumpets, 
 are all for us ; we ought to be proud of them." 
 
 " Eoom ! " cried the officer in command ; " make room 
 for those who have the right to pass ! " 
 
 " Cap de Bious! I know who will pass, whoever is kept 
 out ! " said the Gascon, leaping into the cleared space. 
 
 He walked straight up to the officer who had spoken, and 
 who looked at him for some moments in silence, and thee 
 said, " You have lost your hat, it appears, IMonsieur? " 
 
 " Yes, Monsieur." 
 
 " Did you lose it in the crowd ? " 
 
 " Xo. I had just received a letter from my mistress, 
 and was reading it, cajy de Bious ! near the river, about a 
 mile from here, when a gust of wind carried away both 
 my letter and my hat. I ran after the lettoi-, although 
 the button of my hat was a single diamond ; I caught my 
 letter, but my hat was carried by the wind into the 
 middle of the river. It will make the fortune of some 
 poor devil, — so much the better ! " 
 
 " So that you have no hat ? " 
 
 " Oh, there are plenty in Paris, cap de Bious ! I will 
 buy a more magnificent one, and put in it a diamond 
 twice as large as the other." 
 
 The officer shrugged his shoulders slightly and said, 
 " Have you a card ? " 
 
 " Certainly I have one — or rather, two." 
 
 "One is enough, if it be the right one.'' 
 
 "But it cannot be wrong — oh, no, cap de Bious f Is 
 it to M. de Loignao that I have the honor of speaking 1 " 
 
 " It is possible," said the officer, coldly, and evidently 
 not much charmed by that recognition. 
 
 " M. lie Loignac, my compatriot 1 " 
 
12 THE FORTY-FIVE. 
 
 " I do not say no." 
 
 "My cousin i" 
 
 " Good ! Your card ! " 
 
 " Here it is ; " and the Gascon drew out the half of a 
 card, carefully out. 
 
 "Follow me," said Loignac, without looking at it, "and 
 your companions, if you have any. We will verify the 
 admissions." 
 
 The Gascon obeyed, and five other gentlemen followed 
 him. The first was adorned with a magnificent cuirass, 
 so marvellous in its work that it might have come from 
 the hands of Benvenuto Cellini. However, as the make 
 of this cuirass was somewhat old-fashioned, its magnifi- 
 cence attracted more laughter than admiration ; and it is 
 true that no other part of the costume of the individual 
 in question corresponded with this magnificence. The 
 second, who was lame, was followed by a gray-headed 
 lackey, who looked like the precursor of Sancho Panza, 
 as his master did of Don Quixote. The third carried a 
 child of ten months old in his arms, and was followed by 
 a woman who kept a tight grasp of his leathern belt, while 
 two other children, one four and the other five years old, 
 held by her dress. The fourth was attached to an enor- 
 mous sword, and the fifth, who closed the troop, was a 
 handsome young man, mounted on a black horse. He 
 looked like a king by the side of the others. Forced to 
 regulate his pace by those who preceded him, he was 
 advancing slowly, when he felt a sudden pull at the 
 scabbard of his sword; he turned round, and saw a slight 
 and graceful young man with black hair and sparkling 
 eyes. 
 
 " What do you desire. Monsieur 1 " said the cavalier. 
 
 " A favor. Monsieur." 
 
 " Speak ; but quickly, I pray you, for I am expected." 
 
WHAT TOOK PLACE OUTSIDE THE ST. ANTOINE. 13 
 
 " I desire to enter into the city, Monsieur ; an imperious 
 necessity demands my presence there. You, on your part, 
 are alone, and want a page to do justice to your fine 
 appearance." 
 
 •' Well ] " 
 
 " Take me in ; I will be your page." 
 
 " Thank you ; but I do not wish to be served by any 
 one." 
 
 '■ Not even by me 1 " said the young man, with such a 
 strange glance that the cavalier felt the icy reserve in 
 which he had tried to close his heart melting awaj^ 
 
 " I meant to say that I am not able to take any one 
 into my service," said he. 
 
 " Yes, I know that you are not rich, M. Ernauton do 
 Carmainges," said the young page. The cavalier started ; 
 but the lad went on, " Therefore I do not speak of wages ; 
 it is you, on the contrary, wlio if you grant what I ask, 
 shall be p)aid a hundredfold for the service you wdll render 
 me. Let me enter with you, then, I beg, and remember 
 that he who now begs has often commanded." Then, 
 turning to the group of which we have already spoken, 
 the lad said, " I shall pass ; that is the most impor- 
 tant thing. But you, Mayneville, try to do so also if 
 possible." 
 
 " It is not everything that you should pass," re- 
 plied Mayneville ; " it is necessary that he should see 
 you." 
 
 " Make yourself easy ; once I am through he shall see 
 me." 
 
 " Do not forget the sign agreed upon." 
 
 " Two fingers on the mouth, is it not 1 " 
 
 •' Yes ; success attend you." 
 
 " Well, Master Page," said the man on the black horse, 
 " are you ready 1 " 
 
14 THE FOETY-FIVE. 
 
 " Here I am," replied he, jumping lightly on the horse, 
 behind the cavalier, who immediately joined his friends, 
 who were occupied in exhibiting their cards and proving 
 their right to enter. 
 
 " Ventre de biche /" said Eobert Briquet ; " they are all 
 Gascons, or the devil take me ! " 
 
THE EXAMINATION- la 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 THE EXAMINATION. 
 
 The process of examination consisted in comparing the 
 half-card with another half in the possession of the oflicer. 
 
 The Gascon with the hare head advanced first. 
 
 " Your name 1 " said Loignac. 
 
 " My name, Monsieur 1 It is written on that card, on 
 which you wiU find something hesides." 
 
 " No matter ! your name ! " repeated the officer, im- 
 patiently. " Don't you know your name t " 
 
 " Yes, I know it, cap de Bious 1 and had I forgotten it 
 you might have told it to me, since we are compatriots 
 and even cousins." 
 
 " Your name ! Thousand devils ! do you suppose I 
 have time to lose in recollections % " 
 
 " "Well, I am called Perducas de Pincornay." 
 
 Then, throwing his eyes on the card, M. de Loignac 
 read, " Perducas de Pincornay, Oct. 26, 1585, at noon 
 precisely. Porte St. Antoine." 
 
 " Very good ; it is all right," said he. " Enter. Now 
 for you," said he to the second. 
 
 The man with the cuirass advanced. 
 
 " Your card 1 " said Loignac. 
 
 " What ! M. de Loignac, do you not know the son of 
 your old friend, whom you have danced twenty times on 
 your knee 1 " 
 
 " No." 
 
16 THE FORTY-FIVE. 
 
 " I am Pertinax de Montorabeau," replied the young 
 man, with astonishment. " Do you not know me now 1 " 
 
 " When I am on service I know no one. Your card, 
 Monsieur 1 " 
 
 The young man with the cuirass offered his card. 
 
 " All right ! pass," said Loignac. 
 
 The third now approached, whose card was demanded 
 in the same terms. The man plunged his hand into a 
 little goat-skin pouch which he wore, hut in vain ; lie 
 was so embarrassed by the child in his arms that he could 
 not find it. 
 
 " What the devil are you doing with that child ? " asked 
 Loignac. 
 
 " He is my son, Monsieur." 
 
 " Well, put your son down on the ground." The 
 Gascon obeyed ; the child began to howl. " You are 
 married, then ■? " Loignac asked. 
 
 " Yes, Monsieur." 
 
 "At twenty r' 
 
 " They marry young among lis ; you ought to know 
 that, M. de Loignac, who were married at eighteen." 
 
 " Oh ! " thought Loignac, " here is another who knows 
 me." 
 
 " And why should he not be married 1 " cried the 
 woman, advancing. "Is it out of fashion in Paris 
 to marry 1 Yes, Monsieur, he is married ; and here are 
 two other children who call him their father." 
 
 " Yes, but who are only sons of my wife, M. de Loignac, 
 as also is that great boy who follows us. Come forward, 
 Militor, and salute M. de Loignac, our compatriot." 
 
 A lad of from sixteen to eighteen years of age, came 
 forward, — vigorous, agile, and in his round eye and 
 hooked nose resembling a falcon. A light budding mus- 
 tache shaded his lip, at once insolent and sensual. 
 
THE EXAMINATION. 17 
 
 "This is Militor, my step-son, M. de Loignac, the 
 eldest son of my wife, who is a Chavantrade, related to 
 the Loignacs, — Militor de Chavantrade, at your service. 
 Salute, then, Militor." Then, stooping to the child who 
 rolled and cried in the road, he added, while searching 
 all his pockets for his card, " Be quiet, Scipion ; he quiet, 
 little one." 
 
 " In Heaven's name. Monsieur, your card ! " cried 
 Loignac, with impatience. 
 
 "Lardille! " cried the Gascon to his wife, "come and 
 help me." 
 
 LardLUe searched the pouch and pockets of her hus- 
 band, but uselessly. " We must have lost it ! " she 
 cried. 
 
 " Then I arrest j'ou," said Loignac. 
 The man turned pale, and said, " I am Eustache de 
 Miradoux, and M. de Sainte-Maline is my patron." 
 
 " Oh ! " said Loignac, a little mollified at this name ; 
 "well, search again." 
 
 They turned to their pockets again, and began to re- 
 examine them. 
 
 " Why, what do I see there on the sleeve of that block- 
 head?" said Loignac. 
 
 " Yes, yes ! " cried the father. " I remember, now, 
 Lardille sewed the card on Militor." 
 
 "That he might carry something, I suppose," said 
 Loignac, ironically. 
 
 The card was looked at and found all right; and the 
 family passed on in the same order as before. 
 
 The fourth man advanced and gave his name as Chalabre. 
 His card was found correct, and he also entered. 
 
 Then came Isl. de Carmainges. He got off his horse 
 and presented his card, while the page hid his face by 
 pretending to adjust the saddle. 
 
 VOL. I. — 2 
 
18 THE FOETY-FIVE. 
 
 " The page belongs to you 1 " asked Loignac. 
 
 " You see he is attending to my horse." 
 
 " Pass, then." 
 
 " Quick, my master ! " said the page. 
 
 Behind these men the gate was closed, much to the 
 discontent of the crowd. Eohert Briquet, meanwhile, 
 had drawn near to the porter's lodge, which had two 
 windows, one looking towards Paris, and the other into 
 the country. He had hardly reached his new post of 
 observation when a man, approaching from Paris on horse- 
 back, and at full gallop, leaped from his saddle, entered 
 the lodge, and appeared at the window. 
 
 "Ah, ah ! " said Loignac. 
 
 " Here I am, M. de Loignac," said the man. 
 
 " Good. Where do you come from t " 
 
 " Prom the Porte St. Victor." 
 
 "Your number 1 " 
 
 "'Five." 
 
 "The cards?" 
 
 " Here they are." 
 
 Loignac took them, examined them, and wrote on a 
 slate the number five. The messenger left, and two 
 others appeared, almost immediately. One came from 
 the Porte Eourdelle, and brought the number four, the 
 other from the Porte du Temple, and announced six. 
 Then came four others, — the first from the Porte St. 
 Denis, with the number five; the next from the Porte St. 
 Jacques, with the number three j the third from the 
 Porte St. Honore, with the number eight ; and the fourth 
 from the Porte Montmartre, with the number four. 
 Lastly came a messenger from the Porte Bussy, who an- 
 nounced four. Loignac wrote all these down, added 
 them to those who had entered the Porte St. Antoine, 
 and found the total number to be forty-five. 
 
THE EXAMINATION. 19 
 
 " Good ! " said he. " Now open the gates, and all may 
 enter." 
 
 The gates were thrown open, and then horses, mules, 
 and carts, men, women, and children, pressed into Paris, 
 at the risk of suffocating one another, and in a quarter of 
 an hour all the crowd had vanished. 
 
 Eobert Briquet remained until the last. " I have seen 
 enough," said he ; " would it be very advantageous to me 
 to see M. de Salcede torn in four pieces'! "So, pardieu .' 
 Besides, I have renounced politics ; I wiU go and dine." 
 
20 THE FOKTY-FIVE. 
 
 CHAPTEE IV. 
 
 HIS MAJESTY HENRI III. 
 
 M. Friard was right when he talked of a hundred 
 thousand as the numher of sjjectators who would meet 
 on the Place de Gr^ve and in that vicinity, to witness 
 the execution of Salcede. All Paris appeared to have 
 a rendezvous at the Hotel de Ville. Paris is very exact, 
 and never misses a fete ; and the death of a man is a fete, 
 especially when he has succeeded in exciting so many 
 passions that some curse and others bless him, while the 
 greater number lament him. 
 
 The spectators who succeeded in reaching the Place saw 
 the archers and a large number of Swiss and light-horse 
 surrounding a little scaffold raised about four feet from 
 tlie ground. It was so low as to be visible only to those 
 immediately surrounding it, or to those who had windows 
 overlooking the Place. Four vigorous white horses beat 
 the ground impatiently with their hoofs, to the great ter- 
 ror of the women, who had chosen this place, or had been 
 forcibly pushed there. These horses were unused to 
 work ; they had scarcely done more than sometimes in 
 the pastures of their native country to carry on their 
 broad backs the chubby children of peasants returning 
 slowly home at sunset. 
 
 After the scaffold and the horses, what next interested 
 the spectators was the principal window of the Hotel de 
 Ville, which was hung with red velvet and gold,, and or- 
 
HIS MAJESTY HENRI III. 21 
 
 immented with the royal arms. This was for the king. 
 Half-past one had just struck when this window was 
 tilled. Pirst came Henri III., pale, almost balil, — al- 
 though he was at that time only thirty-five years nlj, — 
 his eyes sunk in their bluish circles, and his lips con- 
 stantly trembling with nervous contractions. He entered, 
 sombre, with eyes fixed, at once majestic and unsteady, 
 strange in his appearance, strange in his bearing, a ghost 
 more than a living person, a spectre more than a kiu,u, — 
 always an incomprehensible mystery to his subjects, who 
 when they saw him appear never knew whether to saj- 
 " A'ive le roi ! " or to pray for his soul. He was dressed 
 in black, without jewels or orders ; a single diamond shone 
 in his cap, serving as a fastening to three short plumes. 
 He carried in his hand a little black dog that his sister-in- 
 law, Marie Stuart, had sent him from her prison, and on 
 which his fingers looked as white as alabaster. 
 
 Behind the king came Catherine de Medicis, already bowed 
 by age, — for she was at this time sixtj'-six or sixty-seven 
 years old, — but still carrying her head firm and erect, 
 and darting bitter glances from under her thick eyebrows. 
 At her side appeared the melancholy but sweet face uf the 
 queen, Louise de Lorraine. Catherine came to a triunipli, 
 Louise to an execution. Behind them came two handsome 
 young men, — one of them hardly twenty years old, the 
 other not more than twenty-five. They had each an arm 
 around the other, in defiance of the etiquette which in 
 the presence of kings, as at church in the presence of (iod, 
 forbids that men should seem attached to anything. They 
 smiled, — the younger with ineffable sadness, the elder 
 with enchanting grace. They were brothers. The elder 
 was Anne, Due de Joyeuse, and the other Henri de 
 Joyeuse, Comte du Boachage. The people had for these 
 favorites of the king none of the hatred which they had 
 
22 THE FORTY-FIVE. 
 
 felt towards Maiigiron, Quelus, and Schomberg, — a hatred 
 of which D'Epernon was sole heir. 
 
 Henri saluted the people gravely ; then, turning to the 
 young men, he said, " Anne, lean against the tapestry ; it 
 may last a long time." 
 
 " I hope so," said Catherine. 
 
 " You think, then, that Salcede will speak. Mother ? " 
 
 " God will, I trust, give this confusion to our enemies." 
 
 Henri looked doubtful. 
 
 " My son," said Catherine, " do I not see some tumult 
 yonder ? " 
 
 " What clear sight you have ! I believe you are right. 
 I have such bad eyes ; and yet I am not old. Yes, here 
 comes Salcede." 
 
 " He fears," said Catherine ; " he will speak." 
 
 " If he has strength," said the king. " See, his head 
 falls about like that of a corpse." 
 
 " He is frightful," said Joyeuse. 
 
 " How should a man be handsome whose thoughts are 
 so ugly 1 Have I not explained to you, Anne, the secret 
 connection of the physical and the moral, at Hippocrates 
 and Galen imderstood and expounded themV 
 
 " I admit it. Sire ; but I am not a good pupil. I have 
 sometimes seen very ugly men very good soldiers. Have 
 you not, Henri "i " said he, turning to his brother ; but 
 Henri, buried in deep meditation, looked without seeing 
 and heard without understanding, so the king answered 
 for him. 
 
 " Eh, 7non Dieu ! my dear Anne, who says this man is 
 not brave % He is brave, j^ardieii ! like a wolf, a bear, or a 
 serpent. He burned in his house a Norman gentleman, 
 his enemy ; he has fought ten duels and killed three of 
 his adversaries. He has now been taken in the act of 
 coining, for which he has been condemned to death." 
 
HIS MAJESTY HENRI III. 23 
 
 "That is a well-fOlecl existence, which will soon be 
 finished." 
 
 " On the contrary," said Catherine, " I trust it will be 
 finished as slowly as possible." 
 
 " Madame," said Joyeuse, " I see those four stout 
 horses, who appear to me so impatient of their state of 
 inactivity that I do not believe in a long resistance of the 
 muscles, tendons, and cartilages of M.'de Salcede." 
 
 " Yes, but my son is merciful," replied she, with the 
 smile peculiar to herself ; " and he will tell the men to go 
 gently." 
 
 "But, Madame," said the queen, timidly, "I heard 
 you say this morning that there were to be only two 
 draws." 
 
 " Yes, if he conducts himself well. In that case all will 
 be finished as soon as possible ; and as you interest your- 
 self so much in him, j^ou had better let him know as 
 much, my daughter." 
 
 " Madame," said the 'queen, " I have not your strength 
 when looking at suffering." 
 
 " Do not look, then."" 
 
 The king heard nothing ; he was all eyes. They were 
 lifting Salcede from the car to the scaffold, round which 
 the archers had cleared a large space, so that it was 
 distinctly visible to all eyes, notwithstanding its small 
 elevation. 
 
 Salcede was about thirty-five years of age, strong and 
 vigorous ; and his pale features, on which stood drops of 
 blood, were animated, as he looked around him, by an 
 indefinable expression, sometimes of hope, sometimes of 
 agony. At first he cast his eyes towards the royal party ; 
 but as if comprehending that death, not life, came to him 
 from that quarter, his gaze did not rest there. It was in 
 the multitude, in the midst of that stormy sea, that he 
 
24 THE FORTY-FIVE. 
 
 searched with buming eyes, his soul trembling on his 
 lips. The crowd gave him no sign. 
 
 Salcede was no vulgar assassin; he was of good hirtb, 
 even distantly related to the queen, and had been a cap- 
 tain of some renown. Those bound hands had valiantly' 
 borne the sword ; and that livid head, on which were 
 depicted the terrors of death, — terrors which doubtless 
 the victim would have hidden in the depths of his soul 
 had not hope still lingered there, — had conceived great 
 designs. Therefore, to many of the spectators he was a 
 hero ; to others, a victim. Some looked on him as an 
 assassin ; but the crowd seldom despises those very great 
 criminals who are registered in the book of history as well 
 as in that of justice. Thus they narrated in the crowd 
 that Salcede was of a race of warriors ; that his father had 
 fought against the Cardinal de Lorraine, but that the 
 son had joined with the Guises to destroy in Flanders 
 the rising power of the Due d'Anjou, so hated by the 
 French. 
 
 Salcede had been arrested and conducted to France, and 
 had hoped to be rescued by the way ; but unfortunately 
 for him, Jl. de Bellievre had kept such good watch that 
 neither Spaniards nor Lorraines nor Leaguers had been 
 able to approach. In the prison Salcede hoped ; during 
 the torture, on the car, even on the scaffold, he still 
 hoped. He wanted neither courage nor resignation ; but 
 he was one of those who defend themselves to their 
 last breath. He darted anxious glances towards the 
 crowd, but constantly turned away with a look of 
 disappointment. 
 
 At this moment an usher, raising the tapestry of the 
 royal tent, announced that the President Brisson and 
 four councillors desired the honor of an instant's conver- 
 sation with the king on the subject of the execution. 
 
HIS MAJESTY HENRI III. 26 
 
 " Good," said the king. " Mother, you will be 
 aatished." 
 
 " Sire, a favor," said Joyeuse. 
 
 " ypeak, Joyeuse ; and provided it be not the pardon 
 of the criminal — " 
 
 '■ Sire, permit my brother and me to retire." 
 
 " What ! you take so little interest in my affairs that 
 you wish to retire at such a moment l " 
 
 " Do not say so, Sire. All that concerns your Majesty 
 profoundly interests me ; but I am of a miserable organi- 
 zation, and the weakest woman is stronger than I am on 
 this point. I cannot see an execution without being ill 
 for a week ; and as I am the only person who ever laughs 
 at the Louvre, since my brother, I know not why, has 
 given it up, think what would become of the Louvre — 
 so sad already — if I were sad also." 
 
 ■■ You wish to leave me then, Anne 1 " 
 
 " Feste ! Sire, you are exacting ; an execution is a spec- 
 tacle of which, unlike me, you are fond. Is not that 
 enough for you, or must you also enjoy the weakness of 
 your friends 1 " 
 
 " If you wiU remain, Joyeuse, you will see that it is 
 interesting." 
 
 " I do not doubt it. Sire ; I only think that the interest 
 will be carried to a point that I cannot bear ; " and he 
 turned towards the door. 
 
 " Go, then," said Henri, sighing ; " my destiny is to 
 live alone." 
 
 " Quick, Bouchage ! " said Anne to his brother. " The 
 king says yes now ; but in five minutes he wiU say no." 
 
 " Thanks, my brother," said Bouchage ; " I was as 
 anxious as you to get away." 
 
26 THE FOKTY-FIVK 
 
 CHAPTEE V. 
 
 THE EXBOrTION. 
 
 The councillors entered. 
 
 " Well, gentlemen," said the king, " is there anything 
 new 1 " 
 
 " Sire," replied the president, " we come to beg your 
 Majesty to promise life to the criminal ; he has revelations 
 to make which, on this promise, we shall obtain." 
 
 " But have we not obtained them 1 " 
 
 " Yes, in part ; is that enough for your Majesty 1 " 
 
 " No," said Catherine ; " and the king has determined 
 to postpone the execution if the culprit will sign a con- 
 fession substantiating his depositions under the torture," 
 
 "Yes," said Henri; "and you can let the prisoner 
 know this." 
 
 " Your Majesty has nothing to add 1 " 
 
 " Only that there must be no variation in the confes- 
 sions, or I withdraw my promise ; they must be complete." 
 
 " Yes, Sire ; with the names of the compromised 
 parties." 
 
 " With all the names.'' 
 
 " Even if they are of high rank 1 " 
 
 " Even if they are those of my nearest relatives." 
 
 " It shall be as your Majesty wishes." 
 
 " No misunderstanding, JM. Brisson. Writing materials 
 must be brought to the prisoner, and he must write his 
 confessions ; after that we shall see." 
 
 " But I may promise 1 " 
 
THE EXECUTION. 27 
 
 " Oh, yes ! promise." 
 
 M". Brisson and the councillors withdrew. 
 
 "He will speak, Sire," said the qneen ; "and your 
 Majesty will pardon him. See the foam on his lips." 
 
 " Xo," said Catherine ; " he is seeking something. 
 AVhat is itr' 
 
 " Parhleu .' " said Henri ; " he seeks M. le Due de 
 Guise, il. le Due de Parma, and my brother, the very 
 Catholic king. Yes, seek, wait. Do you believe that there 
 is more chance of rescue on the Place de Greve than on 
 the route from Flanders? Do you think I have not 
 here a hundred Bellievres to prevent your escaping the 
 scaffold to which one alone has brought 3'ou ? " 
 
 Sakede had seen the archers sent off for the horses ; and 
 he understood that the order for punishment was about to 
 be given. Then there appeared on his lips that bloody 
 foam which the young queen had noticed. The unfortu- 
 nate man, in the mortal impatience which consumed him, 
 bit his lips till they bled. 
 
 " Xo one ! " he murmured ; " not one of those who 
 promised me help ! Cowards ! cowards ! " 
 
 The horses were now seen making their way through 
 the crowd, and creating everywhere an opening which 
 closed immediately behind them. As they passed the 
 corner of the Eue St. A'annerie, a handsome young man, 
 whom we have seen before, was pushed forward impa- 
 tiently by a young lad, apparently about seventeen. It 
 was the Vicomte Ernauton de Carmainges and the mys- 
 terious page. 
 
 " Quick ! " cried the page. " Throw yourself into the 
 opening ; there is not a moment to lose." 
 
 " But we shall be stifled ; you are mad, my little friend ." 
 
 "I must be near," cried the page, imperiously. "Keep 
 close to the horses, or we shall never arrive there." 
 
28 THE FORTY-FIVE. 
 
 "But before we get there you will be torn to pieces." 
 
 "Never mind roe ; only go on." 
 
 " The horses will kick." 
 
 " Take hold of the tail of the last ; a horse never kicks 
 ^Then you hold him so." 
 
 Ernauton gave way in spite of himself to the myste- 
 rious influence of this lad and seized the tail of the horse, 
 while the page clung to him. And thus, through the 
 crowd, waving like the sea, leaving here a piece of a cloak, 
 and there a fragment of a doublet, they arrived with the 
 horses close, to the scaffold on which Salcede was writhing 
 in the convulsions of despair. 
 
 " Have we arrived 1 " asked the young man, panting. 
 
 " Yes, happily ! " answered Ernauton, " for I am 
 exhausted." 
 
 "I cannot see." 
 
 " Come before me." 
 
 " Oh, no ! not yet ! What are they doing ? " 
 
 " Making slip-knots at the ends of the cords." 
 
 " And he, — what is he doing 1 " 
 
 "Who?" 
 
 "The condemned." 
 
 " His eyes turn incessantly from side to side.'' 
 
 The horses were near enough to enable the executioner 
 to tie the feet and hands of the criminal to the harness. 
 Salcede uttered a cry when he felt the cord in contact 
 with his flesh. 
 
 " Monsieur," said the Lieutenant Tanchon to him, 
 politely, " will it please you to address the people 1 " 
 and added in a whisper, "A confession will save your 
 life." 
 
 Salcede looked earnestly at him, as though to read the 
 truth in his eyes. 
 
 "You see," continued Tanchon, "they abandon you. 
 
THE EXECUTIOX. 29 
 
 There is no other hope in the world but what I offer 
 you." 
 
 " "Well ! " said Salcede, with a sigh, " I am ready to 
 sijeak." 
 
 ■'It is a written and signed confession that the king 
 exacts." 
 
 " Then untie my hands and give me a pen ; and I will 
 write it." 
 
 They loosened the cords from his wrists ; and an usher 
 who stood near with writing materials placed them before 
 him on the scaffold. 
 
 " Xow," said Tanchon, "state evKrything.'' 
 
 " Do not fear ; I will not forget those who have for- 
 gotten me ; " but as he spoke, he cast another glance 
 around. 
 
 Doubtless the moment had come for the page to show 
 himself; for seizing the hand of Ernauton, "Monsieur," 
 said he, " for pity's sake, take me in your arms and raise 
 me above the heads of the people, who prevent me from 
 seeing ! " 
 
 " Ah ! you are insatiable, young man." 
 
 " This one more service ; I must see the condemned, 
 indeed I must." 
 
 Then, as Ernauton still hesitated, he cried, " For pity's 
 sake, Monsieur, I entreat you ! " 
 
 The lad was no longer a whimsical tyrant ; he was an 
 irresistible suppliant. Ernauton raised him in his arms and 
 was somewhat astonished at the delicacy of the body he 
 held. Just as Salcede had taken the pen, and looked round 
 as we have said, he saw this young lad above the crowd, 
 with two fingers placed on his lips. An indescribable joy 
 spread itself instantaneously over the face of the con- 
 demned man, for he recognized the signal so impatiently 
 waited for, and which announced that aid was near 
 
30 THE FORTY-FIVE. 
 
 After a moment's hesitation, however, he took the paper 
 and began to write. 
 
 " He writes ! " cried the crowd. 
 
 " He writes ! " exclaimed Catherine. 
 
 " He writes ! " cried the king ; " and I will pardon him." 
 
 Suddenly Salcede stopped and looked again at the lad, 
 who repeated the signal. He wrote on, then stopped to 
 look once more ; the signal was again repeated. 
 
 " Have you finished 1 " asked Tanchon. 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " Then sign." 
 
 Salcede signed, with his eyes stUl fixed on the young 
 man. " For the king alone," said he, and he gave the 
 paper to the usher, though with hesitation. 
 
 " If you have disclosed all," said Tanchon, " you are safe." 
 
 A smile compounded of irony and anxiety played on 
 the lips of the victim, who seemed to question impatiently 
 his mysterious interlocutor. Ernauton, who was fatigued, 
 wished now to put down the page, who made no op- 
 position. With him disappeared all that had sustained 
 the unfortunate man ; he looked round wildly and cried, 
 " Well, come ! " 
 
 No one answered. 
 
 " Quick ! quick ! the king holds the paper; he is reading ! " 
 
 Still there was no response. 
 
 The king unfolded the paper. 
 
 " Thousand devils ! " cried Salcede, " if they have 
 deceived me ! Yet it was she ! it was really she ! " 
 
 No sooner had the king read the first lines than he 
 called out indignantly, " Oh, the wretch ! " 
 
 " What is it, my son 1 " 
 
 " He retracts all, — he pretends that he confessed 
 nothing, and he declares that the Guises are innocent 
 of any plot ! " 
 
THE EXECUTION. 3i 
 
 " But," said Catherine, " if it be true 1 " 
 
 "He lies ! " cried the king. 
 
 " How do you know, my son 1 Perhaps the Guises 
 have been calumniated ; the judges, in their zeal, may 
 have put a false interpretation o;i the depositions." 
 
 " Oh, no, iladame ; 1 beard them myself ! " cried Henri. 
 
 "You, my son? " 
 
 " Yes, I ! " 
 
 "How so?" 
 
 "When the criminal was questioned, I was behind 
 a curtain and heard all he said." 
 
 " Well, then; if he will have it, order the horses to pull." 
 
 Henri in anger gave the sign. It was repeated ; the 
 cords were refastened ; four men jumped on the horses, 
 which, urged by violent blows, started off in opposite 
 directions. A horrible cracking, and a terrible cry was 
 heard. The blood was seen to spout from the limbs of 
 the unhappy man, whose face was no longer that of a 
 man, but of a demon. 
 
 "Ah, treason! treason!" he cried; "I wiU speak, 
 I will tell all ! Ah ! cursed duch — " 
 
 The voice had been heard above everything, but sud- 
 denly it ceased. 
 
 "Stop, stop ! " cried Catherine; "let him speak.'' 
 
 But it was too late. The head of Salcede fell helplessly 
 on one side ; his eyes were dilated, fixed, and obstinately 
 directed towards the group where the page had appeared. 
 But he could no longer speak, — he was dead. Tanohon 
 gave some rapid orders to his archers, who plunged into 
 the crowd in the direction indicated by Salcede's de- 
 nouncing gaze. 
 
 " I am discovered ! " said the page to Ernauton. " For 
 pity's sake, aid me I they come ; they come ! " 
 
 " What do you want '( " 
 
32 THE FORTY-FIVE. 
 
 '' To fly ! Do you not see that it is I whom they are 
 seeking'? " 
 
 " But who are you, then ? '' 
 " A woman. Oh, save me ! protect me ! " 
 Ernauton turned pale ; but generosity triumphed over 
 astonishment and fear. He placed his protegee before 
 him, opened a path with blows, and pushed her towards 
 the corner of the Rue du Mouton, towards an open door. 
 The young page leaped off and darted towards that door, 
 which seemed to have been opened for her, and was 
 closed behind her. Ernauton had not time to ask her 
 name, or where he should find her again ; but in dis- 
 appearing she had made a sign full of promise. 
 
 Meanwhile Catherine was standing up in her place, full 
 of rage. 
 
 " My son,'' said she at last, " you would do well to 
 change your executioner ; he is a Leaguer." 
 
 " What do you mean, Mother 1 " 
 
 " Salcfede suff'ered only one draw ; and he is dead." 
 
 " Because he was too sensitive to pain." 
 
 " No ; but because he has been strangled with a fine 
 cord from underneath the scaff'old, just as he was about to 
 accuse those who let him die. Let a doctor examine him, 
 and I am certain that he will find round his neck the 
 circle that the cord has left.'' 
 
 "You are right!" cried Henri, with flashing eyes; 
 " my cousin of Guise is better served than I am ! " 
 
 " Hush, my son, — no commotion ! we shall only be 
 laughed at, for once more we have missed our aim." 
 
 " Joyeuse did well to go and amuse himself elsewhere," 
 said the king ; " one can reckon on nothing in this world, 
 — not even on executions. Come, ladies, let us go." 
 
THE BKOTHERS. 33 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 THE BROTHERS. 
 
 IIM. DE JoTBUSE had, as we have seeu, left this scene. 
 Side by side thej- walked through the streets of that 
 populous quarter, which on that day were deserted, so 
 geueral was the rush to the Place de Gieve. Henri 
 seemed preoccupied and sad ; and Anne was unquiet on 
 account of his brother. He was the first to speak. 
 "Well, Henri," said he, "whither are you leading me'!" 
 
 "I am not leading you. Brother; I am only walking 
 before you. Do you wish to go to any place in 
 particular ? " 
 
 "Do you?" 
 
 " Oh, I do not care where I go." 
 
 " Yet you go somewhere every evening, for you always 
 go out at the same hour and return late at night." 
 
 "Are you questioning me, Brother?" said Henri, with 
 gentleness. 
 
 " Certainly not ; let us each keep our own secrets." 
 
 " If you wish it, Brother, I will have no secrets from 
 you." 
 
 " Will you not, Henri 1 " 
 
 " No ; are you not my elder brother and my friend 1 " 
 
 " Oh ! I thought you had secrets from me, who am 
 only a poor layman. I thought you confessed to our 
 learned brother, that pillar of theology, that light of the 
 Church, who will be a cardinal some day ; and that you 
 
 VOL. I. — 3 
 
34 THE FORTY-FIVE. 
 
 obtained absolution from him, and perhaps at the same 
 time, advice." 
 
 Henri took his brother's hand affectionately. "You 
 are more than a confessor to me, my dear Anne, — more 
 than a father ; you are my friend." 
 
 " Then, my friend, why, when you used to be so gay, 
 have I seen you become sad t And why, instead of going 
 out by day, do you go out only at night ? " 
 
 " My brother, I am not sad." 
 
 "What, then r' 
 
 " In love." 
 
 " Good ! and this preoccupation'? " 
 
 " Is because I am always thinking of my love." 
 
 " And you sigh in saying that 1 " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " You sigh ! You, Henri, Comte du Bouchage ; you, the 
 brother of Joyeuse ; you, whom some people call the third 
 king in France (you know M. de Guise is the second, if 
 not the first) ; you, rich and handsome, who will be 
 peer and duke on the first occasion, — you in love, and 
 you sigh! you, whose device is 'hUariter.' " 
 
 " My dear Anne, I have never reckoned the gifts of 
 fortune, past and to come, as things to constitute happi- 
 ness ; I have no ambition." 
 
 " That is to say, you have not at present." 
 
 "At all events, not for the things you speak of." 
 
 "Not just now perhaps; but later you will return to 
 them." 
 
 " Never, Brother ; I desire nothing, I want nothing." 
 
 "You are wrong. When one is called 'Joyeuse,' — 
 one of the best names in France, — when one has a 
 brother a king's favorite, one desires everything, and 
 has everything." 
 
 Henri hung his blond head sadly. 
 
THE BEOTHEES. 35 
 
 " Come," continued Anne, " we are quite alone here ; 
 have you anything to tell me ] " 
 
 " Nothing, but that I love." 
 
 " The devil ! that is not a very serious aflfair ; I also 
 am in love." 
 
 " Not as I am, Brother." 
 
 " I also think sometimes of my mistress." 
 
 "Yes, but not always." 
 
 " I also have annoyances." 
 
 " Yes ; but you also have joys, for you are loved." 
 
 "True ; but I have obstacles. They exact from me so 
 much mystery." 
 
 " They exact ! If your mistress exacts, she loves you." 
 
 " Yes, she loves me and M. de Mayenne, — or rather 
 only me, for she would give up Mayenne at once if she 
 was not afraid he would kill her ; it is his habit to kill 
 women, you know. But then I detest those Guises, and 
 it interests me to amuse myself at the expense of one of 
 them. Well, I repeat I have sometimes annoyances, 
 quarrels, but I don't become sober as a monk on that 
 account ; I continue to laugh, if not always, at least once 
 in a while. Come, tell me whom you love, Henri ; your 
 mistress is beautiful, at least 1 " 
 
 " Alas ! she is not my mistress." 
 
 " Is she beautiful 1 " 
 
 " Very beautiful." 
 
 " Her name 1 " 
 
 " I do not know it." 
 
 " Come, now." 
 
 " On my honor." 
 
 " My friend, I begin to think it is more dangerous than 
 I thought ; it is not sadness, but madness." 
 
 " She never spoke but once before me, and since then I 
 have not heard the sound of her voice." 
 
36 THE FORTY-FIVE. 
 
 " And you have not inquired about her 1 " 
 
 " Of whom 1 " 
 
 " Why, of the neighbors." 
 
 " She lives in her own house ; and no one knows 
 her." 
 
 " Ah ! then she is a ghost ? " 
 
 " She is a woman, tall and beautiful as a nymph, serious 
 and grave as the angel Gabriel." 
 
 " When did you meet her 1 " 
 
 " One day I followed a young girl to the church of La 
 Gypecienne ; I entered a little garden close to it, where 
 there is a stone seat under some trees. Do you know this 
 garden, Anne 1 " 
 
 " ISTo ; but never mind. Go on." 
 
 " It began to grow dark ; I had lost sight of the young 
 girl, and in seeking her I arrived at this seat. I saw a 
 woman's dress, and held out my hands. ' Pardon, Mon- 
 sieur,' said the voice of a man whom I had not noticed j 
 and he gently but firmly pushed me away." 
 
 " He dared to touch you, Henri 1 " 
 
 " Listen ; he had his face hidden in a sort of frock, and 
 I took him for a monk. Besides, he impressed me also by 
 the polite manner of his warning ; for as he spoke, he 
 pointed out to me the woman whose white dress had 
 attracted me, and who was kneeling before the seat as 
 though it were an altar. It was towards the beginning of 
 September that this happened. The air was warm ; the 
 flowers planted by friends around the tombs scattered 
 their delicate perfume ; and the moon, rising above the 
 white clouds, began to shed her silver light over all. 
 Whether it was the place or her own dignity, I know 
 not, but this woman seemed to me like a marble statue, 
 and impressed me with a strange respect. I looked at her 
 earnestly. She bent over the seat, enveloping it in her 
 
THE BROTHERS. 37 
 
 arms, placed her lips to it, and soon I saw her shoulders 
 heave with such sobs as you never heard, my brother. 
 As she ^vcpt, she kissed the stone with ardor. Her tears 
 had troubled me ; but her kisses maddened me." 
 
 "But, by the pope, it is she who is mad, — to kiss a 
 stone and sob for nothing." 
 
 " Oh ! it was a great grief that made her sob, a pro- 
 found love which made her kiss the stone. Only whom 
 did she love % For whom did she weep % For whom did 
 she pray 1 I know not." 
 
 " Did you not question this man ■) " 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " What did he reply % " 
 
 " That she had lost her husband." 
 
 " Bah ! as if people wept like that for a husband. 
 "Were you content with such an answer V 
 
 "I was obliged to be content, for he would give me no 
 other." 
 
 " But the man — what is he 1 " 
 
 " A sort of servant who lives with her." 
 
 " His name 1, " 
 
 " He would not tell me." 
 
 " Young or old 1 " 
 
 " He might be about thirty." 
 
 " "Well, afterwards 1 She did not stop all night praying 
 and weeping, did she 1 " 
 
 " No ; when she had exhausted her tears, she rose. And 
 there was so much mj'stery and sadness about her that 
 instead of advancing to her as I might have done to an- 
 other, I drew back ; but she turned towards me, though 
 she did not see me, and the moon shone on her face, which 
 was calm and sad, and the traces of her tears were still on 
 her cheeks. She moved slowly ; and the servant went to 
 support her. But, oh, my brother, what startling, what 
 
38 THE FOBTY-FIVE. 
 
 superhuman beauty ! I have never seen anything like 
 it on earth ; only sometimes in my dreams heaven has 
 opened, and visions have descended resemhling that 
 reality." 
 
 " Well, Henri, what happened then ■? " said Anne, in- 
 terested, in spite of himself, at a recital at which he had 
 determined to laugh. 
 
 " Oh, it is nearly finished, Brother. Her servant 
 whispered something to her ; and she lowered her veil. 
 Douhtless he told her I was there ; but she did not glance 
 towards me. I saw her no more ; and it seemed to me, 
 when the veil concealed her face, as if the sky had be- 
 come suddenly overshadowed, — that it was no longer a 
 living thing, but a shade escaped from the tomb, which 
 was gliding silently before me. She went out of the 
 garden : and I followed her. From time to time the man 
 turned and saw me, for I did not hide myself. I had still 
 the old habits in ray mind, the old leaven in my heart.'' 
 
 " What do you mean, Henri ? " 
 
 The young man smiled. " T mean. Brother," said he, 
 " that I have often thought I loved before ; and that all 
 women, until now, have been for me — women to whom 
 I might offer my love." 
 
 " Oh ! and what is this one 1 " said Anne, trying to re- 
 cover his gayety, which in spite of himself had been a 
 little disturbed by his brother's narration. 
 
 " My brother," said Henri, seizing his hand in a fervent 
 grasp, " as truly as I live, I know not if she be a creature 
 of this world or not." 
 
 " By the pope ! you would make me afraid, if a Joy- 
 euse could know fear. However, as she walks, weeps, 
 and gives kisses, it seems to me to augur well. But go 
 on." 
 
 " There is little more. I followed her, and she did not 
 
THE BROTHERS. 39 
 
 try to escape or lead me astray; she never seemed to think 
 of it." 
 
 " "Well, and where does she live 1 " 
 
 " By the side of the Bastille, Rue de Lesdigiiieres. At 
 the door, the servant turned and saw me." 
 
 " You made him a sign that you wished to speak to 
 him 1 " 
 
 " You will think it ridiculous, but I dared not ; the ser- 
 vant impressed me almost as seriously as the mistress." 
 
 " I'ou entered the house, then 1 " 
 
 " Xo, Brother." 
 
 " Really, Henri, I am tempted to disown you this even- 
 ing. But you returned the next day 1 " 
 
 "Yes, but uselessly; and equally in vain I went to La 
 Gypecienne." 
 
 " She had disappeared 1 " 
 
 " Like a shadow." 
 
 " But you inquired '! " 
 
 " The street has few inhabitants, and no one knew her. 
 I watched for the servant ; but he also had disappeared. 
 However, a light which shone every evening through the 
 Venetian blinds consoled me by the knowledge that she 
 was still there. I employed a hundred devices to enter 
 the house, — letters, messages, flowers, presents ; all in 
 vain. One evening the light failed to appear, and I saw 
 it no more. The lady, wearied doubtless by my pursuit, 
 had left the Rue de Lesdiguieres, and no one knew where 
 she had gone." 
 
 '' But you found her again 1 " 
 
 " Chance aided me. Listen ; it is reaUy strange. I 
 was going along the Rue de Bussy, a fortnight ago, 
 about midnight. You know how strict the regulations 
 are about fire ; well, I saw not only light in the win- 
 dows of a house, but a real fire, which had broken out 
 
40 THE FORTY-FIVE. 
 
 in tlie second story. I knocked at the door, and a man 
 appeared at tlie window. ' You have fire in your house ! ' 
 I cried. ' Silence ! I beg ; I am occupied in putting it 
 out.' 'Shall I call the watch 1' I asked. 'No! in 
 Heaven's name, call no one ! ' ' But can I help you 1 ' 
 ' Will you 1 I shall/ be very grateful ; ' and he threw me 
 the key out of the window. 
 
 " I mounted the stairs rapidly and entered the room 
 where the fire was burning; it was used as a chemist's 
 laboratory, and in making I know not what experiments, 
 an inflammable liquid had been spilled, which had ig- 
 nited the floor. Wlien I entered, the fire was almost got 
 under. I looked at the man. A frightful scar disfigured 
 his cheek, and another his forehead ; the rest of his face 
 was hidden by a thick beard. ' I thank j^ou. Monsieur,' 
 said he ; 'but you see all is now over. If you are as gal- 
 lant a man as you seem, have the goodness to retire, for 
 my mistress may return at anj^ moment, and will he 
 angry if she sees a stranger here.' 
 
 " The sound of his voice struck me instantly. I was 
 about to cry, ' You are the man of La Gypecienne, — of 
 the Eue de Lesdiguieres ! ' (for you remember that I 
 had not seen his face before, but only heard his voice), 
 when suddenly a door opened and a woman entered. 
 ' What is the matter, E^my, and why this noise t ' she 
 asked. Oh, my brother, it was she ! — more beautiful by 
 the dying light of the fire than she had appeared in 
 the light of the moon. It was she ! — the woman whose 
 memory had ever lived in my heart. At the cry which 
 I uttered the servant looked narrowly at me. ' Thanks, 
 Monsieur,' said he again ; ' you see the fire is out. Go, 
 I beg of you.' ' My friend,' said I, ' you dismiss me 
 very rudely.' ' Madame,' said he, ' it is he.' ' Who ? ' ' The 
 young man we met in the garden, and who followed us 
 
THE BROTHERS. 41 
 
 home.' She turned towards me and said, ' iloiisieur, I 
 beg you to go.' I hesitated ; I wished to speak, but 
 words failed me. I remained motionless and mute, gazing 
 at her. ' Take care, Monsieur,' said the servant, sadly ; 
 ' you will force her to fly again.' ' Heaven forbid ! ' cried 
 I ; ' but how do I ofi'end you, Madame '! ' She did not 
 reply. Insensible, mute, and cold, as though she had not 
 heard me, she turned ; and I saw her disappear gradually 
 in the shade." 
 
 " And is that all 1 " 
 
 " All ; the servant led me to the door, saying, ' Forget, 
 Monsieur, I beg of you.' I fled, bewildered and half 
 crazy ; and since then I have gone every evening to this 
 street, and concealed in the angle of the opposite house, 
 under the shade of a little balcony, I see, once in ten 
 times, a light in her room, — that is my life, my 
 happiness." 
 
 " "What happiness ! " 
 
 " Alas ! I should lose this if I tried for more." 
 
 " But suppose you lose yourself by practising that 
 resignation 1 " 
 
 " My brother," said Henri, with a sad smile, " I am 
 happy thus." 
 
 " Impossible ! " 
 
 "What would you have? Happiness is relative. I 
 know that she is there, that she lives and breathes there. 
 I see her through the wall, or rather I seem to see her ; 
 if she left that house, if I sliould spend another fortnight 
 like that which I spent when I had lost her, I should be 
 crazy, or should become a monk." 
 
 " Xot so, mordieu ! One monk in a family is enough." 
 
 " No railleries, Brother." 
 
 " But let me say one thing." 
 
 " What is it ] " 
 
42 THE FORTY-FIVE. 
 
 " That you have been taken in like a schoolboy." 
 
 " I am not taken in ; I only gave way to a powei 
 stronger than mine. When a current carries you away 
 you cannot fight against it." 
 
 " But if it lead to an abyss 1 " 
 
 " You must be swallowed up." 
 
 "Do you think so?" 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " I do not ; and in your place • — " 
 
 " What would you have done 1 " 
 
 " Enough, certainly, to have learned her name and — " 
 
 " Anne, you don't know her." 
 
 " No ; but I know you, Henri. You had fifty thousand 
 crowns that I gave you out of the last hundred thousand 
 the king gave to me." 
 
 " They are still in my chest, Anne ; I have not touched 
 one of them." 
 
 " Mordieu ! so much the worse ; if they were not in 
 your chest the woman would be in your bedroom." 
 
 " Oh, my brother ! " 
 
 " Certainly. An ordinary servant may be bought for 
 ten crowns, a good one for a hundred, an excellent one for 
 a thousand, and a marvel for three thousand. Let us see, 
 then. Suppose this man to be the phoenix of servants, 
 the beau ideal of fidelity ; yet, by the pope ! for twenty 
 thousand crowns you will buy him. There would then 
 remain thirty thousand crowns to pay the phoenix of 
 women delivered over by the phosnix of servants. Henri, 
 my friend, you are a ninny." 
 
 " Anne," sighed Henri, " there are people who cannot 
 be bought ; there are hearts that the king is not rich 
 enough to purchase." 
 
 " Well, perhaps so ; but hearts are sometimes given. 
 What have you done to win that of the beautiful statue % " 
 
THE BROTHERS. 43 
 
 " I believe, Anne, that I have done all I could." 
 
 " Reallj', Comte du Bouchage, you are mad. You see 
 a woman, sad, solitary, and melancholy ; and you become 
 even more sad, more recluse, and more melancholy than 
 she is. She is alone ; keep her company. She is sad ; 
 be gay. She regrets ; console her, and replace him she 
 regrets." 
 
 " Impossible, Brother 1 " 
 
 " Have you tried "! Are you in love, or are you not t " 
 
 " I have no words to express how much ! " 
 
 " Well, in a fortnight you shall have your mistress." 
 
 " My brother ! " 
 
 " Faith of Joyeuse ! You have not despaired, I 
 suppose 1 " 
 
 " Xo, for I have never hoped." 
 
 "At what time do you see her t " 
 
 " I have told you that I do not see her." 
 
 " Xever 1 " 
 
 " Never ! " 
 
 " Not even at her window 1 " 
 
 " Not even her shadow, I have told you." 
 
 " "We must put an end to that. Do you think she has 
 a lover 1 " 
 
 " I have never seen any one enter her house except 
 that E^my of whom I spoke to you." 
 
 " Take the house opposite." 
 
 " It may not be to let.'' 
 
 " Bah ! offer double the rent ! " 
 
 " But if she sees me there, she will disappear as before." 
 
 " You shall see her this evening." 
 
 " I ! " 
 
 " Yes. Be under her balcony at eight o'clock." 
 
 " I shall be there, as I am every day, but without more 
 hope than usual" 
 
44 THE FORTY-FIVE. 
 
 " Well, give me the address." 
 
 " Between the Porte Bussy and the H6tel St. Denis, 
 near the corner of the Eue des Augustine, and a few steps 
 from a large inn having for a sign the Sword of the 
 Brave Chevalier." 
 
 " Very well, then ; this evening at eight o'clock." 
 
 " But what do you intend to do 1 " 
 
 " You shall see. Meanwhile, go home ; put on your 
 richest dress, and use your finest perfume. This evening 
 you shall enter the house." 
 
 " Jlay God hear you, Brother ! " 
 
 " Henri, when God is deaf the Devil is not. I leave 
 you ; my mistress awaits me, — no, I should say M. de 
 Mayenne's mistress. By the pope ! she at any rate is not 
 a prude." 
 
 " ily brother ! " 
 
 " Pardon, good servant of love ; I make no comparison 
 between those two ladies, you may be sure, although after 
 what you have told me, I prefer mine, or rather ours. 
 But she expects me, and I don't want to make her wait. 
 Adieu, Henri, till the evening." 
 
 The brothers then pressed each other's hands, and 
 separated. 
 
THE SWORD OF THE BRAVE CHEVALIER. 45 
 
 CHAPTEE VII. 
 
 THE SWORD OP THE BRAVE CHEVALIER. 
 
 DuRixG the conversation we have just related, night had 
 begun to fall, enveloping the city with its damp mantle 
 of fog. 
 
 Salcede dead, all the spectators were ready to leave the 
 Place de Greve, and the streets were filled with people 
 hurrying towards their homes. Near the Porte Bussy, 
 whither we must now transport our readers, to follow 
 some of their acquaintances and to make new ones, a 
 hum, like that in a bee-hive at sunset, was heard proceed- 
 ing from a house painted in rose-color, and ornamented 
 with blue and white pointings, which was known by the 
 sign of the Sword of the Brave Chevalier, and which was 
 an immense inn, recently built in this new quarter. This 
 house was decorated to suit all tastes. On the entablature 
 was painted a representation of a combat between an arch- 
 angel and a dragon breathing flame and smoke, in which 
 the artist, animated by sentiments at once heroic and pi- 
 ous, had placed in the hands of the " brave chevalier " not 
 a sword, but an immense cross, with which he hacked in 
 pieces the unlucky dragon, whose bleeding fragments were 
 seen lying on the ground. At the bottom of the picture 
 crowds of spectators were represented raising their arms 
 to heaven ; while from above angels were extending over 
 the chevalier laurels and palms. Then, as if to prove 
 that he could paint in every style, the artist had grouped 
 
46 THE FORTY-FIVE. 
 
 arouud gourds, grapes, a snail on a rose, and two rabbits, 
 one white and the other gray. 
 
 Assuredly the proprietor must have been dif&oult to 
 please if he was not satisfied, for the artist had filled 
 every inch of space ; there was scarcely room to add a 
 caterpillar. In spite, however, of this attractive exterior, 
 the hotel did not prosper ; it was never more than half 
 full, though it was large and comfortable. Unfortunately, 
 from its proximity to the Pre aux Clercs, it was fre- 
 quented by so many couples prepared to fight that other 
 couples, more peaceably disposed, avoided it. Indeed, the 
 Cupids with which the interior was decorated had been 
 ornamented with mustaches iu charcoal by the hahittids ; 
 and Dame Fournichon, the landlady, always affirmed that 
 the sign had brought them ill luck, and that had her 
 wishes been attended to, and the painting represented 
 more pleasing things, — such as the rose-tree of love sur- 
 rounded by flaming hearts, — all tender couples would 
 have flocked to them. 
 
 M. Fournichon, however, stuck to his sign, and replied 
 that he preferred fighting men, since any one of them 
 drank as much as six lovers ; so that though he should 
 pay but half his account, there was still a gain, for the 
 most prodigal lover would n't pay as much as three fight- 
 ing men. And besides, he would add, wine is more moral 
 than love. 
 
 In reply to this Dame Fournichon would shrug her 
 plump shoulders in a way which indicated her ideas on 
 the subject of morality. 
 
 The Fournichon affairs were in this divided state, and 
 the Fourniohons were vegetating in the Eue de Bussy as 
 they had previously vegetated in the Eue St. Honore, 
 when an unforeseen incident changed everything, and 
 brought victory to the opinions of ilaitre Fournichon, to 
 
THE SWORD OF THE BRAVE CHEVALIER. 47 
 
 the greater glory of that worthy sign on which every 
 kingdom of nature had its representative. 
 
 About a month before the execution of Salcede, the 
 host and hostess, all of whose rooms were then empty, 
 were looking out of the window sadly, and were watching 
 the exercises of some soldiery on the Pre aux Clercs, 
 when they saw an officer, followed by a single soldier, 
 advancing towards their hotel. He was about to pass 
 when the host called out loudly, " Oh, Wife, what a 
 beautiful horse ! " 
 
 Madame Fouruichon repUed in an equally audible 
 voice, " And what a handsome cavalier ! " 
 
 The officer, who did not appear insensible to ilattery, 
 raised his head and looked first at the host and hostess 
 and then at the hotel. Fournichon ran rapidly down- 
 stairs and appeared at the door. 
 
 " Is the house empty 1 " asked the officer. 
 
 " Tes, Monsieur, just at present," replied the host, 
 humiliated; "but it is not usually so." 
 
 However, Dame Fournichon, like most women, was 
 more clear-sighted than her husband, and called out, 
 " If Monsieur desires solitude, he will find it here." 
 
 " Yes, my good woman, that is what I desire at 
 present," said the officer, who dismounted, threw the 
 bridle to the soldier, and entered the hotel. 
 
 He was a man of about thirty-five years of age ; but he 
 did not look more than twenty-eight, so carefully was he 
 dressed. He was tall, with a fine countenance and a 
 distinguished air. 
 
 "Ah, good !" said he, "a large room and not a single 
 guest." 
 
 Maitre Fournichon looked at him with astonishment, 
 while Madame Fournichon smiled at him significantly. 
 
 "But," continued the captain, "there must be some- 
 
48 THE FORTY-FIVE. 
 
 thing either in your house or in your conduct that keeps 
 people away." 
 
 "Neither, Monsieur," replied Madame Fournichon ; 
 "only the place is new, and we choose our customers." 
 
 "Oh ! very well." 
 
 Maitre Fournichon condescended meanwhile to nod 
 his head in approval of his wife's answers. 
 
 " For example," she continued, " for a person like 
 your Lordship, we would send away a dozen." 
 
 " That is polite, my pretty hostess ; thank you.'' 
 
 " WUl ilonsieur taste the wine 1 " asked Fournichon. 
 
 " Will Monsieur visit the rooms 1 " added his wife. 
 
 " Both, if you please." 
 
 Fournichon descended to the cellar. 
 
 " How many people can you lodge here ? " asked the 
 captain of the hostess. 
 
 " Thirty." 
 
 " That is not enough." 
 
 "Why so, Monsieur?" 
 
 " I had a project ; but we will speak of it no more.'' 
 
 " Ah, Monsieur, you will find nothing larger, except 
 the Louvre itself." 
 
 " Well, you can lodge thirty people 1 " 
 
 " Yes, doubtless." 
 
 "But for a day?" 
 
 " Oh ! for a day, forty, or even forty-five." 
 
 " Forty-five ! parfandious ! that is just my number." 
 
 " Really % You see, then, it is all right." 
 
 "Without making a commotion outside?" 
 
 " We have often eighty soldiers here on Sundays." 
 
 "And no crowd before the house, — no spying by the 
 neighbors % " 
 
 " Moil Dieu ! no ! our nearest neighbors are a worthy 
 bourgeois, who meddles with no one, and a lady who 
 
THE SWOKD OF THE BRA^'E CHEVALIER. 49 
 
 lives so retired that although she has been here for three 
 ■weeks I have not seen her." 
 
 " That will do excellently." 
 
 " So much the better." 
 
 " And in a month from to-day — " 
 
 " That will be the 26th of October." 
 
 "Precisely. AY ell, on that day I hire your inn." 
 
 "The whole of itV' 
 
 " Yes, the whole. I wish to give a surprise to some 
 countrymen, officers — or at least soldiers ; they wiU be 
 told to come here." 
 
 " But if it be a surprise — " 
 
 " Oh, if you are curious or indiscreet — " 
 
 " Xo, no, Monsieur," cried she. 
 
 Maitre Fournichon, who had heard what had been 
 said, added, " Monsieur, you shall be master here, and 
 there will be no questions ; all your friends will be 
 welcome." 
 
 " I did not say my friends ; I said countrymen," replied 
 the officer, haughtily. 
 
 " Yes, Monsieur, it was my mistake." 
 
 "You will give them supper." 
 
 " Certainly." 
 
 " If necessary they will sleep here.'' 
 
 " Yes, Monsieur." 
 
 "In a word, give them all they want, and ask no 
 questions." 
 
 " Yery well. Monsieur." 
 
 " Here are thirty livres in advance." 
 
 " Well, Monsieur, these gentlemen shall be treated 
 like princes. Will you assure yourself by tasting the 
 wine ■? " 
 
 " Thank you ; I never drink." 
 
 " But, Monsieur, how shall I know these gentlemen 1 " 
 
 VOL. I. — 4 
 
50 THE FORTY-FIVE. 
 
 " That is true ; parfandious / I forgot. Give me paper, 
 light, and wax." 
 
 When they were brought, the captain made a seal on 
 the paper with a ring he had on his finger. " Do you 
 see this figure?" said he. 
 
 " A beautiful woman." 
 
 " Yes ; a Cleopatra. "Well, each of these men will 
 present a similar one, on which you will receive him. 
 You will have further orders afterwards." 
 
 The captain then descended the stairs and rode off, 
 leaving the Fournichons delighted with their thirty 
 livres in advance. 
 
 '' Decidedly," said the host, " the sign has brought us 
 good fortune." 
 
THE GASCON. 51 
 
 CHAPTEE VIII. 
 
 THE GASCON. 
 
 We dare not affirm that Dame Fournichon was as discreet 
 as she had promised to be, for she interrogated the first 
 soldier whom she saw passing as to the name of the cap- 
 tain who had conducted the review. The soldier, more 
 cautious than she, asked her why she wished to know. 
 
 " Because he has just been here," she replied ; " and one 
 likes to know to whom one has been talking." 
 
 The soldier laughed. " The captain who conducted the 
 review would not have entered this hotel," said he. 
 
 " Why not 1 Is he too great for that 1 " 
 
 " Perhaps so." 
 
 " Well, but it is not for himself that he wanted the 
 hotel." 
 
 " For whom, then ? " 
 
 " For his friends." 
 
 " He Avould not lodge his friends here, I am sure." 
 
 " Peste ! how yon run on, my brave fellow ! Who, 
 then, can he be who is too grand to lodge his friends 
 in the best hotel in Paris ]" 
 
 " Well, my good woman, he who conducted the review 
 is simply M. le Due Xogaret de Lavalette d'Epernon, peer 
 of France, and colonel-general of infantry. What do 
 you say to that \ " 
 
 " That if it was he, he did me great honor," 
 
 "Did you hear him say ' parfandious ' ?" 
 
52 THE FOETY-FIVB. 
 
 We may now judge if the 26th of Octoher was impa- 
 tiently expected. On the evening of the 25th a man 
 entered, bearing a heavy bag, which he placed on Four- 
 nichon's table. 
 
 " It is the price of the repast ordered for to-morrow," 
 said he. 
 
 " At how much a head ] " 
 
 " At six livres." 
 
 " Will they have only one meal here 1" 
 
 "That is aU." 
 
 " Has the captain found them a lodging, then ? " 
 
 "It appears so," said the messenger, who departed, 
 declining to answer any more questions. 
 
 At last the much-desired day arrived ; half-past twelve 
 had just struck when some cavaliers stopped at the door 
 of the hotel. One, who appeared to be their chief, came 
 with two well-mounted lackeys. Each of them produced 
 the seal of Cleopatra's head, and was received with aU 
 sorts of courtesies, especially the young man with the 
 lackeys. Nevertheless, excepting this young man, they 
 all seemed timid and preoccupied, especially when they 
 mechanically touched their pockets. Most of them went 
 out, however, until supper-time, either to swell the crowd 
 at the execution of Salcede, or to see Paris. 
 
 About two o'clock a dozen other travellers arrived, in 
 small parties. One man came in alone, without a hat, a 
 cane in his hand, and swearing at Paris, where he said the 
 thieves were so adroit that they had stolen his hat as he 
 had passed through a crowd, without his being able to see 
 who had taken it. However, he said he was himself to 
 blame for wearing a hat ornamented with such a superb 
 diamond. At four o'clock forty people had arrived. 
 
 " Is it not strange 1 " said Fournichon to his wife ; 
 " they are all Gascons ! " 
 
THE GASCON. 63 
 
 ''Well, what of that? The captain said they were all 
 countrymen, and he is a Gascon. M. d'Epernou is from 
 Toulouse." 
 
 " Then you still believe it was M. d'Epernon 1 " 
 
 " Did he nut let slip three times the famous 
 ' parfaiidious ' ? " 
 
 " He let slip the famous ' /xtrfaiiJious' ?" asked Four- 
 nichon, anxiously ; " what sort of an animal is that 1 " 
 
 " Imbecile ! it is his favorite oath." 
 
 " Ah ! " 
 
 " There is only one thing to be surprised about, and 
 that is that we have only forty Gascons, when there 
 should be forty-five." 
 
 But about five o'clock the five other Gascons arrived, 
 and the number of guests was complete. Xever was such 
 surprise painted on so many Gascon faces ; for an liuur 
 Jiothiug was heard but " sandioux !" " niordioux !" and 
 ''cup de Bioiis f' and there was such noisy joy that it 
 seemed to the Fournichons that all Poitou and Langueduc 
 were collected in their room. Some knew and greeted 
 each other. 
 
 "Is it not singular to find so many Gascons here 1 " 
 asked one. 
 
 " Xo," replied Perducas de Pincornay ; " the sign is 
 tempting for men of honor.'' 
 
 "Ah! is it you?" said Sainte-Maline, the gentleman 
 with the lackeys; "you have not yet explained to me 
 what you were about to do when the crowd separated us." 
 
 "What was that?" asked Pincornay, reddening. 
 
 " How it happens that I met you on the road between 
 Angoulgme and Angers without a hat, as you are now." 
 
 " It seems to interest you. Monsieur 1 " 
 
 " Faith ! yes. Poitiers is far from Paris, and you came 
 from beyond Poitiers," 
 
54 THE FORTY-FIVE. 
 
 "Yes, from St. Andre de Cubsao.'' 
 
 " And without a hat 1 " 
 
 " Oh ! it is very simple. My father has two magnifi- 
 cent horses ; and he is quite capable of disinheriting me 
 for the accident tliat happened to me." 
 
 "What was that r' 
 
 " I was riding one of them, when it took fright at the 
 report of a gun that was fired close to me, and ran away ; 
 it made for the bank of the Dordogne and plunged in." 
 
 " With you "t " 
 
 " No ; luckily I had time to slip off, or I should have 
 been drowned with him." 
 
 " Ah ! then the poor beast was drowned ? " 
 
 " Pardioux / you know the Dordogne, — half a league 
 across." 
 
 " And then ? " 
 
 " Then I resolved not to return home, but to go away 
 as far as possible from my father's anger." 
 
 "But your hat r' 
 
 " The devil ! my hat had fallen off." 
 
 " Like you ? " 
 
 " I did not fall ; I slipped off." 
 
 " But your hat 1 " 
 
 " Ah ! my hat had fallen. I sought for it ; it was my 
 only resource, as I had come out without money." 
 
 " But how could your hat be a resource ■? " 
 
 " Sandioux ! it was a great one, for I must tell you 
 that the plume of this hat was fastened by a diamond 
 clasp that his ^Majesty the Emperor Charles V. gave to 
 my grandfather when, on his way from Spain to Flanders, 
 he stopped at our chateau." 
 
 " Ah, ah ! and you have sold the clasp, and the hat 
 with it. Then, my dear friend, you ought to be the 
 richest of us all ; and you should have bought another 
 
THE GASCON. 55 
 
 glove. Tour hands are not alike ; one is as white as a 
 woman's, and the other as black as a negro's." 
 
 " But listen ; as I turned to seek my hat I saw an 
 enormous crow seize hold of it.'' 
 
 "Of your hat r' 
 
 " Or rather of the clasp ; attracted by the glitter, and 
 in spite of ray cries, he flew away with it, and I saw it no 
 more. So that, overwhelmed by this double loss, I did 
 not dare to return home, but came to seek my fortune in 
 Paris." 
 
 " Good ! " cried a third, " the wind has changed into a 
 crow. I heard you tell M. de Loignac that the wind had 
 carried it away while you were reading a letter from your 
 mistress.'' 
 
 " Now," cried Sainte-Maline, " I have the honor of 
 knowing M. d'Aubigne, who, though a brave soldier, 
 writes well, and I recommend you to tell him the history 
 of your hat ; he will make a charming story of it." 
 
 Several stifled laughs were heard. 
 
 " Ah, gentlemen," cried the Gascon, " do you laugh at 
 me?" 
 
 They turned away to laugh again. 
 
 Perducas threw a glance around him, and saw a young 
 uian near the fireplace hiding his face in his hands. He 
 thought it was to laugh, and going up to him, struck him 
 ( m the shoulder, saying, " Eh, Monsieur, if you laugh, at 
 all events, show your face." 
 
 The young man looked up ; it was our friend Ernauton 
 de Carmainges, still stupefied by his adventure at La 
 Greve. " I beg you will leave me alone," said he, " I 
 was not thinking of you." 
 
 "Oh, very well," Pincornay grumbled, "if you were 
 not thinking of me, I have nothing to say." 
 
 "Ah, ^Monsieur," said Eustacbe de Miradoux to 
 
56 THE FORTY-FIVE. 
 
 Carmainges, with the most conciliatory intentions, " you 
 are not polite to our compatriot." 
 
 " And what the devil have you to do with it, Mon- 
 sieur 1 " replied Ernauton, more and more irritated. 
 
 "You are right, Monsieur," said Miradoux, saluting; 
 " it does n't concern me." And he turned away to rejoin 
 Lardille, who was sitting by the fireplace. 
 
 But some one barred his passage. It was Militor, with 
 both hands in his belt, and a sly smUe on his lips. " Say, 
 then. Step-father," said the scamp. 
 
 " Well 1 " 
 
 " "What have you to say about it V 
 
 " About what ? " 
 
 " The way in which that gentleman silenced you 1 " 
 
 " Eh 1 " 
 
 " He shook you off in fine style." 
 
 " Ah ! you noticed that 1 " said Eustache, attempting 
 to pass Militor. But the latter defeated the move- 
 ment by a step to the left which brought him in front 
 of Eustache. 
 
 " Xot only I," Militor continued, "but every one else. 
 See how they are laughing all around us." 
 
 In fact, they were laughing, but not more at that than 
 at anything else. Eustache turned red. 
 
 " Come, come, Step-father," said Militor, " don't let the 
 affair grow cold." 
 
 Eustache assumed a lofty air and approached Car- 
 mainges. " It is said, Monsieur,'' said he, " that you 
 have intended to be particularly disagreeable to me." 
 
 " When was that ] " 
 
 " Just now." 
 
 "To you?" 
 
 " To me." 
 
 "Who says sol" 
 
THE GASCON. 57 
 
 " Monsieur,'' said Eustaclie, indicating ililitor. 
 
 "Thien Monsieur," replied Carmainges, dwelling ironi- 
 cally on the title, — "Monsieur is a goose." 
 
 " Oh, oh I " said Militor, furious. 
 
 " And I heg him," continued Carmainges, " not to come 
 here troubling me with his impertinence, or I shall recall 
 the opinion of M. de Loignac." 
 
 " il. de Loignac did not say that I was a goose. 
 Monsieur." 
 
 ■" No, he said you were an ass ; do you prefer that ? It 
 is of small consequence to me. If you are an ass, I wUl 
 strap you ; if you are a goose, I will pluck you." 
 
 " Monsieur," said Eustache, " he is my step-son. Treat 
 him more gently, I beg you, for my sake.'' 
 
 " Ah ! that is how you defend me, Step-father ! '' 
 cried Militor, in a rage; "I can defend myself better 
 alone." 
 
 "Go to school, children!" said Ernauton; "go to 
 school ! " 
 
 " To school ! " cried Militor, advancing with raised fist 
 on M. de Carmainges ; " I am seventeen years old, do you 
 understand. Monsieur ? " 
 
 " And I am twenty-five years old," said Ernauton, '' and 
 I shall therefore punish you according to your deserts." 
 And seizing him by the collar and belt, he lifted him from 
 the ground and threw him, as if he had been a package, 
 through the window into the street, while Lardille yeUed 
 at the top of her voice. 
 
 " Now," said Ernauton, quietly, " step-father, step- 
 mother, step-son, and all the rest, I will make mince-meat 
 of any one who disturbs me again." 
 
 " Faith ! " said Miradoux, " I think you are right." 
 
 " Ah, there ! say, then, do they throw men out of the 
 window here 1 " said an officer, entering. " What the 
 
58 THE FOETY-FIVE. 
 
 devil ! ■when one indulges in such amusement, he ought at 
 least to cry, ' Out from under ! ' " 
 
 " M. de Loignac ! " cried twenty voices. 
 
 " M. de Loignac ! " repeated the Forty-five. 
 
 At that name, known through aU. Gascony, every one 
 arose and was silent. 
 
M. DE LOIGNAC. 59 
 
 CHAPTEE IX. 
 
 M. DE LOIGNAC. 
 
 Behind M. de Loignac, Militor entered, bruised by his 
 fall and crimson with rage. 
 
 " Servant, gentlemen," said M. de Loignac ; " we are 
 making a good deal of noise, it seems to me. Ah ! ^laitre 
 MUitor, it appears, has been vicious again, and his nose 
 has suffered." 
 
 " I shall be paid," muttered Militor, shaking his fist at 
 Carmainges. 
 
 " Supper, ]Maitre Fournichon," cried il. de Loignac ; 
 " and from this moment let all be friends, and love one 
 another like brothers." 
 
 " Hum ! " said Sainte-Maline. 
 
 " That would be diffioult,'' added Ernauton. 
 
 " See," cried Pincornay, " they laugh at me because T 
 have no hat ; and they say nothing to ^I. Montcrabeau, 
 who is going to supper in a cuirass of the time of the 
 Emperor Pertinax, from whom it probably descended. 
 See what it is to have defensive arms." 
 
 "Gentlemen," cried Montcrabeau, "I take it off; so 
 much the worse for those who prefer seeing me with 
 offensive instead of defensive arms. " .\nd he gave his 
 cuirass to his lackey, — a man about fifty years old. 
 
 " Peace ! peace ! " cried Loignac, " and let us go to table." 
 
 Meanwhile the lackey whispered to Pertinax, " And 
 am I not to sup 1 Let me have something, Pertinax ; I 
 am dying of hunger." 
 
60 THE FORTY-FIVE. 
 
 Pertinax, instead of being offended at this familiar ad- 
 dress, replied, " I will try ; but you bad better try to get 
 something for yourself" 
 
 " Hum ! that is not reassuring." 
 
 " Have you no money T' 
 
 " We spent our last crown at Sens." 
 
 " The devil ! then try to sell something.'' 
 
 A few minutes after a cry was heard in the street of, 
 "Old iron I who wants to sell old iron?" 
 
 Madame Fournichon ran to the door, while Fournichon 
 placed the supper on the table ; and to judge by its recep- 
 tion it must have been exquisite. Fournichon, not being 
 able to sustain all the compliments addressed to him, 
 wished his wife to share them ; but he looked for her 
 in vain, — she had disappeared. He called her, and she 
 did not come. " What is she doing, then ? " he asked a 
 servant. 
 
 "Oh, Master," he replied, "she is selling all your old 
 iron for new money." 
 
 " I hope not my cuirass and arms," said he, running to 
 the door. 
 
 " No," said Loignao ; " it is forbidden to buy arms." 
 
 Madame Fournichon entered triumphantly. 
 
 " You have not been selling my arms 1 " cried her 
 husband. 
 
 " Yes, I have." 
 
 " I will not have them sold." 
 
 " Bah ! now that we are at peace two stewpans are 
 worth more than an old cuirass." 
 
 " Nevertheless, the trade in old iron must be rather 
 languishing since the king's edict which M. de Loignac 
 just mentioned," said Chalabre. 
 
 " On the contrary. Monsieur," said Dame Fournichon, 
 " for a long time that same merchant has tempted me 
 
M. DE LOIGNAC. 61 
 
 with his offers. Faith ! to-day I could n't resist, and 
 finding the opportunity. I have seized it. Ten crowns, 
 Monsieur, are ten crowns ; and an old cuirass is never 
 more than an old cuirass ! " 
 
 "What! ten crowns ?" said Chalahre ; "so dear as 
 that ? the devil ! " 
 
 "Ten crowns! Samuel, do you hearT' said Pertinax, 
 looking for his valet ; but he was not to be seen. 
 
 "It seems to me," said Loiguac, " that this man carries 
 on a dangerous trade. But what does he do with all that 
 old iron 'i " 
 
 " Sells it again by weight.'' 
 
 " By weight ! and you say he gave you ten crowns — 
 for what 1 " 
 
 "A cuirass and a helmet." 
 
 " Why, even if they weighed twenty pounds, that is 
 half a crown a pound. This hides some mystery." 
 
 The party became more animated, thanks to the Bur- 
 gundy wine, of which Fournichon's spices increased the 
 consumption. The voices mounted to a higher pitch ; 
 the dishes rattled ; heads were filled with vapors through 
 which each Gascon saw everything in rose-color, except 
 Militor, who thought of his fall, and Carmainges, who 
 thought of his page. 
 
 " Here are a good many joyful men," said Loiguac to 
 his neighbor, who happened to be Ernauton, — "joyful 
 without knowing why." 
 
 "iS^or do I know," replied Carmainges. "But then, I 
 am an exception ; I am not joyful at all." 
 
 " You do yourself wrong. Monsieur, for you are one of 
 those persons for whom Paris is a mine of gold, a para- 
 dise of honors, a world of happiness." 
 
 Ernauton shook his head. 
 
 " Very well ! we will see." 
 
62 THE FORTY-FIVE. 
 
 " Do not laugh at me, M. de Loignac." 
 
 " I do not ; I distinguished you at once, and that other 
 young man also who looks so grave." 
 
 " Who is he ? " 
 
 " M. de Sainte-Maline." 
 
 " And why this distinction, if this question be not too 
 curious 1 " 
 
 " I know you, that is all." 
 
 " Me ! you know me 1 " 
 
 " You, and him, and all here.'' 
 
 " It is strange." 
 
 " Yes, but necessary.'' 
 
 " Why 1 " 
 
 " Because a chief should know his soldiers." 
 
 " And all these men 1 " 
 
 " Will be my soldiers to-morrow." 
 
 " But I thought that M. d'Epernon — " 
 
 " Hush ! do not pronounce that name here, or rather 
 do not pronounce any name here. Open your ears and 
 shut your mouth. Since I have promised you all favor, 
 I begin by giving you that advice as part of the account." 
 Then, rising, M. de Loignac said, " Gentlemen, since 
 chance unites here forty-five compatriots, let us empty 
 a glass of wine to the prosperity of all." 
 
 This proposal gave rise to frantic applause. " They 
 are almost all half drunk," said Loignac ; " it would be a 
 good opportunity to make them repeat their histories, 
 but we haven't time enough." Then, raising his voice, 
 " Holloa ! Maitre Fournichon, dismiss from the room all 
 women, children, and lackeys." 
 
 Lardille retired grumbling; she had not finished her 
 dessert. Militor did not move. 
 
 " Did you not hear, M. Militor ? " said Loignac ; " to 
 the kitchen ! " 
 
M. DE LOIGNAC. 63 
 
 There remained only the forty-five men, and il. de 
 Loignac then said, " Xow, gentlemen, each knows who 
 called him to Paris. Good ! that will do ; do not call 
 out his name. You know also that you have come to 
 obey him." 
 
 A murmur of assent came from all, mingled with as- 
 tonishment, for each one knew only what concerned 
 himself, and was ignorant that his neighbor had been 
 moved by the same influence. 
 
 " Very good ! " continued Loignac. " Later you will 
 become acquainted with one another. You agree that 
 you have come here to obey him ] " 
 
 " Yes, yes ! " they cried. 
 
 " Then, to begin, go quietly out of this hotel to the 
 lodgings prepared for you." 
 
 "For all?" asked Sainte-Maline. 
 
 " Yes, for all." 
 
 ""We are all commanded, are all equal here," cried 
 Perducas, whose legs were so unsteady that he had to 
 put his arm around Chalabre's neck. 
 
 " Yes,'' replied Loignac ; " all are equal before the wiU 
 of the master." 
 
 " Oh ! " cried Carmainges, coloring ; " I did not know 
 that M. d'Epernon would be called my master." 
 
 " Wait ! " 
 
 " I did not expect that." 
 
 " "Wait, hot-head ! I did not tell you who was to be 
 your master." 
 
 " No ; but you said we should have one." 
 
 "Every one has a master; and if you are too proud to 
 acknowledge him we spoke of, you may look higher. I 
 authorize you." 
 
 " The king ! " murmured Carmainges. 
 
 " SUence ! " said Loignac. " You have come here to 
 
64 THE FORTY-FIVE. 
 
 obey ; obey, then. Meanwhile, here is an order which you 
 will please read aloud, M. Ernauton.'' 
 
 Ernauton took it and read these words : — 
 
 Order to M. de Loignac to take command of the fortj'-five 
 gentlemen whom I have summoned to Paris with the consent 
 of his Majesty. 
 
 NOGAEET DE LaVALETTE, 
 
 Duo d'Spernon. 
 
 They all bowed at this. 
 
 " Thus," continued Loignac, " you have to follow me 
 at once. Your equipages and servants will remain here. 
 M. Fournichon will take care of them, and I will send 
 for them afterwards ; but now be quick ! the boats are 
 ready." 
 
 " The boats ! " cried all the Gascons ; " we are, then, 
 to embark 1 " 
 
 " Certainly ; to go to the Louvre we must go by 
 water." 
 
 " To the Louvre ! " they cried joyfully. " Cap de 
 Bious f we are going to the Louvre." 
 
 Loignac made them all pass before him, counting them 
 as they went, and then conducted them to the place 
 where three large boats were waiting for them. 
 
THE PURCHASE OF CUIRASSES. G5 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 THE PURCHASE OF CUIRASSES. 
 
 As soon as the valet of Pertinax heard the words of 
 Madame Fournichon, he ran after the dealer in old iron. 
 It was already late ; and doubtless the dealer was in a 
 hurry, so that he had gone some distance when Samuel 
 went out from the hotel. Samuel was therefore obliged 
 to call to him. He appeared to hesitate at first ; but 
 seeing that Samuel was laden with merchandise, he 
 stopped. 
 
 " "What do you want, my friend 1 " said he. 
 
 " Pardieu ! I want to do a little business with you." 
 
 " WeU, be quick ! " 
 
 " Are you in a hurry % " 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " When you have seen what I bring you, you will be 
 willing to wait." 
 
 " What is it 1, " 
 
 "A magnificent piece, of which the work — but you 
 do not listen." 
 
 " Yes ; but I am also looking round." 
 
 "Why]" 
 
 "Do you not know that it is forbidden to buy arms 1 " 
 
 Samuel thought it best to feign ignorance, and said, 
 "I know nothing; I have just arrived from Mont de 
 Marsan." 
 
 " Oh, that is another thing ; but you have just arrived, 
 and yet you know already that I buy arms 1 " 
 
 VOL. T. — 5 
 
66 THE FORTY-FIVE. 
 
 " Yes, I know it." 
 
 " And who told you 1 " 
 
 " Sandioux ! no need for any one to tell me ; you pro- 
 claimed it loud enough a little while ago." 
 
 "Where was that?" 
 
 " At the door of the Brave Chevalier," 
 
 " You were there, then V 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " With whom % " 
 
 " With a crowd of friends." 
 
 " A crowd of friends 1 No one is there usually. But 
 whence come all these friends 1 " 
 
 " From Gascon}', like myself" 
 
 " Are you for the King of Navarre 1 " 
 
 " Come, now ! we are Frenchmen, heart and soul." 
 
 "Yes; but Huguenots?" 
 
 " Catholic as our Holy Father the Pope, thank God ! " 
 said Samuel, taking off his hat. " But our business is not 
 about that ; it has to do with this cuirass." 
 
 " Well, come under this portico ; it is too public in the 
 street. Now let me see this cuirass," said he, when they 
 were under the portico. 
 
 " See," said Samuel, " how heavy it is." 
 
 " It is old and out of date." 
 
 " A work of art.'' 
 
 " I wiU give you six crowns." 
 
 " What ! six crowns ! and you gave ten just now foi 
 an old thing — " 
 
 " Six, or none." 
 
 " But look at the chasing." 
 
 " Of what use is the chasing, when I sell by weight? " 
 
 " The gilding alone is worth ten crowns — " 
 
 " Well, I will give you seven." 
 
 " You bargain here ; and at the inn you gave anything. 
 
THE PURCHASE OF CUIBASSES. G7 
 
 You go against the law, and then endeavor to cheat 
 honest people." 
 
 " Do not call out so loud." 
 
 " Oh, I am not afraid," said Samuel, raising his voice ; 
 " I am not engaged in unlawful commerce, and nothing 
 obliges me to hide myself." 
 
 " Come, then, take ten crowns and begone." 
 
 " I told }'ou the gold was worth more. Ah, you want 
 to escape ; I ^yill call the guard." 
 
 At the noise a window opposite was opened. The 
 dealer was frightened. " Come," said he ; "I see I 
 must give you what you want. Here are fifteen crowns ; 
 now go.'' 
 
 " That will do," said Samuel ; " only these are for my 
 master. I want something for myself" 
 
 The dealer half drew his dagger. 
 
 " Yes, ye.s, I see your dagger," said Samuel ; " but I 
 also see the fiyure in that balcony watching you." 
 
 The dealer, white with terror, looked up and saw a 
 man who had witnessed the whole scene. " Oh ! " said 
 he, affecting to laugh, " you get all you want out of me ; 
 here is another crown. And may the devil strangle 
 you ! " he added in a low tone. 
 
 "Thanks, my good friend," said Samuel; and he made 
 off. 
 
 The dealer began to take up his wares, and was also 
 going, when the bourgeois opposite cried out, " It seems, 
 Monsieur, that you buy armor." 
 
 " In^o, Monsieur,'' said the unlucky dealer ; " this was a 
 mere chance." 
 
 " A chance that suits me." 
 
 " In what respect. Monsieur ^ " 
 
 " I have a heap of old things that I want to get rid of." 
 
 " I have as much as I can carry." 
 
68 THE FORTY-FIVE. 
 
 " But let me show them to you." 
 
 " It is useless ; I have no more money." 
 
 " Never mind, I will give you credit ; you look like 
 an honest man." 
 
 " Thank you ; hut I cannot wait." 
 
 "It is odd, hut I seem to know you." 
 
 " Know me 1" cried the dealer, tremhling. 
 
 " Look at this helmet," said the bourgeois, showing it 
 from the window. 
 
 " You say you know me 1 " asked the dealer. 
 
 "I thought so. Are you not — " he seemed seeking 
 for the name — " are you not Nicolas — " 
 
 The dealer looked frightened. 
 
 " Nicolas Trouchou, ironmonger, of the Kue de la 
 Cossonnerie 1 " 
 
 " No, no ! " cried the man, breathing more freely again. 
 
 "Never mind; will you buy all my armor, — cuirass, 
 sword, and all ■? " 
 
 " It is a forbidden commerce." 
 
 '•' I know that ; he whom you dealt with just now 
 called it out loud enough." 
 
 " You heard ! " 
 
 " Yes, all ; and you were liberal. But be easy ; I will 
 not be hard upon you. I have been a trader myself" 
 
 "What did you sell?" 
 
 " Never mind ; I have made my fortune." 
 
 " I congratulate you." 
 
 "And consequently I like to take comfort; I sell all 
 my old iron because it is in my way." 
 
 " I understand that." 
 
 "And there are the thigh-pieces and the gloves." 
 
 " But I have no use for all that." 
 
 " Nor I." 
 
 " I will take only the cuirass." 
 
THE PURCHASE OP CUIRASSES. 69 
 
 " You buy only cuirasses, then 1 " 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " That is odd, for if you buy and sell by weight, one 
 sort of iron is as good as another." 
 
 " That is true, but I have preferences." 
 
 " Well, then, buy only the cuirass, or rather — now I 
 think again — buy nothing at all." 
 
 " What do you mean'? " 
 
 ■■ I mean that in these times every one wants his 
 arms.'' 
 
 " What ! in perfect peace 1 " 
 
 " My good friend, if we were in perfect peace, there 
 would be no such demand for cuirasses, ventre de biche ! " 
 
 " Monsieur ! " 
 
 " And so secret too." 
 
 The dealer made a movement to go away. 
 
 " But really, the longer I look at you the more I think 
 I know your face. You are not Nicolas Trouchou, but 
 still I know you." 
 
 " Silence ! " 
 
 " And if you buy cuirasses — " 
 
 " WeU % " 
 
 " I am sure it is for a work agreeable to God." 
 
 " Be quiet ! " 
 
 " You enchant me ! " cried the bourgeois, stretching out 
 a long arm over the balcony, and seizing the hand of the 
 dealer. 
 
 " Then who the devil are you 1 " cried he, who felt his 
 hand held as if in a vice. 
 
 " I am Robert Briquet, the terror of schismatics, the 
 friend of the Union, and a fierce Catholic ; and now 
 I positively recognize you." 
 
 The dealer turned white. 
 
 " You are Xicolas — Grimbelot the currier." 
 
70 THE FORTY-FIVE. 
 
 " No, you are mistaken. Adieu, Maitre Eobert Briquet : 
 delighted to have made your acquaintance." And the 
 dealer turned his back to the balcony. 
 
 " What ! you are going away 1 " 
 
 " You see that I am." 
 
 " Without taking my old iron 1" 
 
 " I have no money with me, I told you." 
 
 "My valet can go with you." 
 
 " Impossible." 
 
 " Then what shall we do ? " 
 
 " Why, remain as we are." 
 
 " Ventre de hiche ! that does n't suit me ; I have too 
 great a desire to cultivate your acquaintance." 
 
 " And I to escape from yours," replied the dealer, who, 
 resigning himself to abandon his cuirasses and lose every- 
 thing rather than be recognized, took to his heels and 
 ran away. 
 
 But Eobert Briquet was not a man to be foiled ; he 
 jumped from his balcony and speedily overtook the 
 dealer. 
 
 " You are mad ! " said he, putting his large hand on 
 the poor devil's shoulder. " If I were your enemj', I 
 have but to cry out, and the watch is in the next street ; 
 but you are my friend, and now I know your name." 
 
 This time the dealer began to laugh. 
 
 " You are Nicolas Poulain, lieutenant to the provost of 
 Paris. I knew it was Nicolas something." 
 
 " I am lost ! " murmured the man. 
 
 '■ No ; you are saved. Ventre de hiche! I will do more 
 for the good cause than ever you would." 
 
 Nicolas Poulain uttered a groan. 
 
 " Come, come, courage 1 " said Robert Briquet ; " recover 
 yourself. You have found a brother, — Brother Briquet. 
 Take one cuirass ; I will take the two others. I give you 
 
THE PURCHASE OF CUIRASSES. 71 
 
 my gloves and the rest of my armor for nothing. Come 
 on, and Vive FUnion ! " 
 
 " You accompany me ? " 
 
 " I will help you to carry these cuirasses which are to 
 conquer the Philistines. Go on; I follow." 
 
 A spark of suspicion lingered in the soul of the lieu- 
 tenant, but he thought, " If he wished me ill, he would 
 not have acknowledged he knew me. Come on, then ! '* 
 he added aloud, " if you will." 
 
 " To life or death ! " cried Briquet, and he continued 
 to talk in this strain till they arrived near the Hotel Guise, 
 where Xicolas Poulain stopped. 
 
 " I fancied it would be here," thought Briquet. 
 
 "Now,"' said Mcolas, with a tragic air, "there is stiU 
 time to retire before entering the lion's den." 
 
 " Bah ! I have entered many. Et non intremuit medulla 
 mea /" exclaimed Briquet. "But pardon me; perhaps 
 you do not understand Latin 1 " 
 
 "Do you?" 
 
 " As you see." 
 
 "What a catch ! " thought Poulain, — " learned, strong, 
 bold, and rich ! " Then he added aloud, " Well, let us 
 enter," and he conducted Briquet to the door of the hotel. 
 The court was full of guards and men wrapped in cloaks, 
 and eight horses, saddled and bridled, waited in a cor- 
 ner ; but there was not a light to be seen. Poulain whis- 
 pered his name to the porter, and added, " I bring a 
 good companion." 
 
 " Pass on." 
 
 " Take these to the magazine," said Poulain, handing 
 the cuirasses to a soldier. 
 
 " Good ! so there is a magazine," said Briquet to him- 
 self. " Peste ! what an organizer you are, jMonsieur 
 Provost ! " 
 
72 THE FOETY-FIVE. 
 
 " Yes, yes, there is judgment in it," replied Poulain, 
 with a prond smile. " But come, let me present 
 you." 
 
 " No, I am very timid. When I have done some 
 work, I will present myself." 
 
 " As you please. Then wait here for me." 
 
 " What are we waiting for 'i " asked a voice. 
 
 " For the master," replied another. 
 
 At this moment, a tall man entered. " Gentlemen," 
 said he, "I come in his name.'' 
 
 " Ah ! it is M. de Mayneville," said Poulain. 
 
 " Ah, really ! " said Briquet, making a hideous grimace 
 which entirely changed his appearance. 
 
 " Let us go up, gentlemen," said M. de Mayneville ; 
 and he ascended a staircase leading to an archway. 
 
 All the others followed ; and Briquet brought up the 
 rear, murmuring, " But the page ! where the devil is 
 the page?" 
 
STILL THE LEAGUE. 73 
 
 CHAPTEE XI. 
 
 STILL THE LEAGUE. 
 
 At the moment when Eobert Briquet was about to enter, 
 he saw Poulain waiting for him. 
 
 " Pardon," said he ; " but my friends do not know you, 
 and decline to admit you to their councils till they know 
 more of you." 
 
 " It is very just ; and you know my natural modesty 
 had anticipated that objection." 
 
 "I do justice to you," said Poulain; "you are an 
 accomplished man." 
 
 " I retire, tlien,'' said Briquet, " happy to have seen in 
 one evening so many brave defenders of the Catholic 
 Union." 
 
 " Shall I reconduct you ? " 
 
 '■ Xu, I thank you ; I will not trouble you." 
 
 " But perhaps they will not open for you ; yet I am 
 wanted." 
 
 " Have you not a password V 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " Then ,i;ive it to me. I am a friend, you know." 
 
 " True. It is ' Parma and Lorraine ! ' " 
 
 " And they will open 1 " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " Thanks ; now return to your friends." 
 
 Briquet took some steps as if to go out, and then 
 stopped to explore tlie locality. As a result of his obser- 
 vations, he conjectured that the archway ran parallel to 
 
74 THE FOETY-FIVB. 
 
 the exterior wall, and terminated in a hall where the 
 mysterious council from which he had been excluded was 
 to assemble. What confirmed him in this supposition was 
 that he saw a light at a barred window, pierced in the 
 wall, and guarded by a sort of wooden pipe, such as they 
 placed at the windows of convents and prisons to inter- 
 cept the view from without, while the air was still ad- 
 mitted. Briquet imagined this to be the window of the 
 hall, and thought that if he could gain this place he could 
 see all. He looked round him ; the court had many sol- 
 diers and servants in it, but it was large, and the night 
 was dark. Besides, they were not looking his way, and 
 the porter was busy preparing his bed for the night. 
 
 Briquet rapidly climbed upon the cornice which ran 
 towards the window in question, and ran along the wall 
 like a monkey, holding on with his hands and feet to the 
 ornaments of the sculpture. Had the soldiers seen in the 
 dark this figure gliding along the wall without apparent 
 support, they would not have failed to cry, " Magic ! " but 
 they did not see him. In four strides he reached the win- 
 dow, and established himself between the bars and the 
 pipe, BO that from the inside he was concealed by the one, 
 and from the outside by the other. 
 
 He then saw a great hall, lighted by an iron lamp with 
 four branches, and containing piles of armor of all sorts. 
 There were enough pikes, swords, lialberds, and muskets, 
 to arm four regiments. He gave less attention, however, 
 to the arms than to the people engaged in distributing 
 them ; and his piercing eyes sought eagerly to distinguish 
 their faces. 
 
 " Oh, oh ! " said he, " there is Maitre Cruc^, little 
 Brigard, and Leclero, who dares to call himself Bussy. 
 Peste ! the hoia-geoisie is grandly represented ; but the 
 nobility — ah ! M. de Mayneville presses the hand of 
 
STILL THE LEAGUE. 75 
 
 Nicolas Poulain ; what a touching fraternity ! An orator 
 too ! " continued he, as M. de Mayneville prepared to 
 harangue the assembly. 
 
 Briquet could not hear a word ; but he thought that the 
 speaker did not make much impression on his audience, 
 for one shrugged his shoulders and another turned his 
 back. But at last they approached, seized his hand, and 
 threw up their hats in the air. But though Briquet could 
 not hear, we must inform our readers of what took place. 
 
 First, Cruce, JIarteau, and Bnssy had complained of 
 the inaction of the Due de Guise. Marteau was spokes- 
 man, and said, " '^L de Mayneville, you come on the part 
 of M. le Due de Guise, and we accept you as his ambas- 
 sador ; but the presence of the duke himself is indispens- 
 able. After the death of his glorious father, he, when 
 only eigliteen years of age, made all good Frenchmen join 
 this project of the Union, and enrolled us under this ban- 
 ner. We have risked our lives and sacrificed our fortunes 
 for the triumph of this sacred cause, according to our 
 oaths, and yut in spite of our sacrifices, nothing progresses, 
 — nothing is decided. Take care, M. de ^layneville, Paris 
 will grow tirerl ; and then what will you do 1 " 
 
 This speech was applauded by all the Leaguers. 
 
 M. de Mayneville replied, " Gentlemen, if nothing is 
 decided, it is because nothing is ripe. Consider our situa- 
 tion : Monsieur the Duke and his brother the cardinal are 
 at Xancy. The one is organizing an army to keep in check 
 the Huguenots of Flanders, whom M. d'Anjou wishes to 
 oppose to us ; the other is expediting courier after courier 
 to the clergy of France, and to the pope, to induce them 
 to adopt the Union. The Duo de Guise knows, what you 
 do not, that the old alliance between the Due d'Anjou 
 and the B^arnais is ready to be renewed ; and he wishes, 
 before coming to Paris, to be in a position to crush both 
 
"G THE FORTY-FIVE. 
 
 heresy and usurpation. But in the absence of M. de 
 Guise we have M. de Mayenne, who is both general and 
 Counsellor, and whom I am expecting every moment." 
 
 " That is to sslj, your princes are everywhere where 
 they are not wanted," said Bussy. " Where is Madame 
 de Muutpensier, for instance 1 " 
 
 '•' yiie entered Paris this morning." 
 
 " No one has seen her." 
 
 " Yes, Monsieur." 
 
 " Who was it '?" 
 
 " Salcede." 
 
 " 01], oh ! " cried all. 
 
 " But," said Cruce, " has she, then, become invisible ? " 
 
 " Not at all ; but unseizable, I trust." 
 
 " And how does any one know that she is here ? " asked 
 Nicolas Poulain. " I presume Salcede did n't tell you." 
 
 "I know that she is here, " replied Mayneville, "because 
 I accompanied her to the Porte St. Antoine." 
 
 " I heard that they had shut the gates." 
 
 " Yes, they had." 
 
 " Then how did she pass ? " 
 
 " In her own fashion." 
 
 " She had the power, then, to open the gates of Paris?" 
 said the Leaguers, jealous and suspicious, as the common 
 people always are when allied with the great. 
 
 " Gentlemen," said Mayneville, " something took place 
 at the gates of Paris this morning of which you appear 
 to be ignorant. The orders wore to open only to those 
 who brought a card of admission, — signed I know not 
 Ijy whom. Immediately five or six men, some of whom 
 Avere poorly clothed, passed with these cards before our 
 eyes. Now, who were those men 1 What were the 
 cards 1 Reply, gentlemen of Paris, wlio promised to 
 learn everything concerning yrir city." 
 
STILL THE LEAGUE. 77 
 
 Thus Mayneville, from the accused, became the accuser, 
 which is tlie great art of an orator. 
 
 " Cards and exceptional admissions ! " cried Nioolss 
 Poulain, "what can that meanl" 
 
 "If you do not know who live here, how should we 
 know who live in Lorraine, and spend all our time on 
 the roads to join the two ends of the circle called the 
 Union 1 " 
 
 " How did these people come 1 " 
 
 " Some on foot, some on horseback ; some alone, and 
 some with lackeys." 
 
 " Did they belong to the_ king 1 " 
 
 " Three or four had the appearance of beggars." 
 
 " Were they soldiers 1 " 
 
 " There were but two swords among the six." 
 
 " They were strangers 1 " 
 
 " I think they were Gascons." 
 
 " Oh ! " said several voices, in a tone of contempt. 
 
 " Xo matter," said Bussy ; "were they Turks, they 
 must receive our attention. We must find out about 
 them. M. Poulain, that is your business. But all that 
 throws no light on the League's affairs." 
 
 " There is a new plan," replied M. de Mayneville. 
 " You will know to-morrow that Salcede, who had be- 
 trayed us and would have done so again, not only did 
 not speak, but retracted on the scaffold, — thanks to the 
 duchess, who, in the suite of one of these card-bearers, 
 had the courage to penetrate the crowd even to the place 
 of execution, and made herself known to Salcede, at the 
 risk of discovery. At this sight Salcede stopped his con- 
 fession, and an instant after, the executioner stopped his 
 repentance. Thus, gentlemen, you have nothing to fear 
 as to our enterprise in Flanders ; this secret is buried 
 in the tomb." 
 
(8 THE FORTY-FIVE. 
 
 It was this last speech which had so pleased all the 
 conspirators. Their joy seemed to annoy Briquet ; he 
 slipped down from his place, and returning to the court, 
 said to the porter, " Parma and Lorraine ! " The gate was 
 opened, and he left. 
 
 History tells us what took place afterwards. M. de 
 Mayneville brought from the Guises the plan of an in- 
 surrection, which consisted of nothing less than to murder 
 all the principal people of the city who were known to be 
 in favor with the king, and then to go through the streets 
 crying, " Vive la Messe 1 death to our enemies ! " — in fact, 
 to enact a second Saint Bartholomew, in which, however, 
 all hostile Catholics were to be confounded with the Pro- 
 testants. And in so doing they would serve two gods, — 
 the one who reigns in heaven, and the one who wished 
 to reign on earth ; the Eternal and M. de Guise. 
 
THE CHAMBER OF HIS MAJESTY HENRI III. 7i) 
 
 CHAPTEE XII. 
 
 THE CHAMBER OP HIS MAJESTY HENRI III. 
 
 Ix a great room at the Louvre sat Henri, pale and unquiet. 
 Since his favorites, Schomberg, Quelus, and ilaugiron, had 
 been killed in a duel, Saint-Megrin had been assassinated 
 by M. de ^Mayenne ; and the wounds left by their deaths 
 were still fresh and bleeding. The affection lie bore his 
 new favorites was very different from what he had felt for 
 the old. He had overwhelmed D'Epernon with benefits ; 
 but he loved him only by fits and starts, and at certain 
 times he even hated him and accused him of cowardice 
 and avarice. 
 
 D'Epernon knew how to hide his ambition, which was 
 indeed vague in its aspirations ; but his cupidity governed 
 him completely. When he was rich he was laughing anil 
 good-tempered ; but when he was in want of money he 
 used to shut himself up in one of his chateaux, where, 
 frowning and sad, he bemoaned his fate, until he had 
 drawn from the weakness of the king some new gift. 
 
 Joyeuse was very different. He loved the king, who, 
 in turn, had for him almost a fatherly affection. Young 
 and impulsive, he was perhaps somewhat egotistical, and 
 cared for little but to be happy. Handsome, brave, and 
 rich, Nature had done so much for him that Henri often 
 regretted that she had left so little for him to add. 
 
 The king knew well these two men, and loved them, 
 doubtless, by force of contrast. Under his sceptical and 
 superstitious covering, Henri concealed a depth of philos- 
 
80 THE FOETY-FIVE. 
 
 ophy which, but for Catherine, would have been devel- 
 oped iu useful directions. Often betrayed, Henri was 
 never deceived. 
 
 It was, then, with this complete understanding of the 
 character of his friends, with this profound acquaintance 
 with their faults and their good qualities, that, remote 
 from them, isolated, sad, in that sombre chamber, he 
 meditated upon them, upon himself, upon his life, and 
 contemplated in the shadows those funereal horizons 
 already outlined on the future to many eyes less clear- 
 sighted than his own. 
 
 " After all," he said to himself, " why should T be 
 uneasy'? I have no further wars to encounter. Guise 
 is at ITancy, Henri at Pau ; the one is obliged to keep 
 his ambition to himself, the other has none. The entei- 
 prising spirits are quiet ; no Frenchman has seriously 
 contemplated that impossible enterprise, — to dethrone his 
 king. That third crown promised by Madame de Mont- 
 pensier's golden scissors was but the freak of a woman 
 wounded in her vanity. My mother alone dreams al- 
 ways of that phantom of usurpation, without being able 
 to show me the usurper. But I, who am a man ; T, who 
 have a young head notwithstanding my sorrows, — I know 
 what course to take with the pretenders whom she sus- 
 pects. I will make Henri de Navarre ridiculous. Guise 
 odious ; and sword in hand I will break the foreign 
 leagues. Par la mordieu ! at Jarnac and at Moncontour 
 I was not stronger than I am to-day. Yes,'' he contin- 
 ued, letting his head fall upon his breast, " but mean- 
 time I am lonely ; and it is horrible to be lonely. Eh ! 
 there is my only, my real conspirator, — ennui ; and my 
 mother has never spoken to me of that. Let me see ; 
 will any one come this evening'? Joyeuse promised to 
 be here early. He amuses himself ; but what the devil 
 
THE CHAJIBER OF HIS MAJESTY HENRT III. 81 
 
 does he do to amuse himself? D'Epernon, — ah, he does 
 not amuse himself, he sulks; well, faith, let him sulk 
 «t his ease." 
 
 " Sire," said the usher, " M. le Due d']Spernon." 
 
 All those who have knowu the weariness of wait- 
 ing, the accusations it suggests against the person awaited, 
 the readiness with which tlie cloud is dissipated when 
 the person appears, will understand the eagerness with 
 which the king ordered a chair to be brought forward 
 for the duke. " Ah ! good-evening, Duke," said he ; " I 
 am enchanted to see you." 
 
 D'Epernon bowed respectfully. 
 
 " Why were j^ou not present at the execution of Sal- 
 cede 1 I told you there would be room at my window." 
 
 " Sire, I was unable to avail myself of your Jlajesty's 
 kindness." 
 
 " Unable ? " 
 
 " Yes, Sire ; I was busy." 
 
 " One would think that you were my minister, coming 
 to announce with a long face that some subsidy had not 
 been paid." 
 
 " Faith ! your Majesty is right. The subsidy has not 
 been paid ; and I am pennUess. But it was not that 
 which occupied me." 
 
 "What then?" 
 
 " Your Majesty knows what took place at the execution 
 of Salcede ? " 
 
 " Parbleu / I was there." 
 
 " They tried to carry off the criminal." 
 
 " I did not see that." 
 
 " It is the rumor all througli the city, however." 
 
 " A groundless one." . 
 
 " I believe your Majesty is wrong." 
 
 " On what do you found your belief? " 
 
 VOL. i. — 6 
 
82 THE FORTY-FIVE. 
 
 " On the fact that Salcede denied before the people 
 what he had confessed to the judges." 
 
 " Ah ! you know that ah-eady." 
 
 " I try to know all that interests your Majesty." 
 
 " Thanks ; but what do you conclude from all 
 this 1 " 
 
 " That a man who dies like Salcede was a good servant, 
 Sire." 
 
 "Well?" 
 
 " And the master who has such followers is fortunate." 
 
 "You mean to say that I have none such, or rather 
 that I no longer have them. You are right, if that be 
 what you mean." 
 
 " I did not mean that ; your Majesty would find, I am 
 sure, were there occasion, followers as devoted as the 
 master of Salcede found him." 
 
 " The master of Salcede ! Call things by name ! Who 
 is this master of Salcede 1 " 
 
 " Your Majesty should know better than I." 
 
 " I know what I know. Tell me what you know." 
 
 " I know nothing ; but I suspect much." 
 
 " Good ! " said Henri, annoyed. '• You come here to 
 disturb me and to say disagreeable things, do you not ? 
 Thank you, Duke ; I recognize you well in that." 
 
 " Now, then, your Majesty is unjust to me." 
 
 " Just, I think." 
 
 "No, Sire, a devoted man may give a warning that 
 proves to have been erroneous ; but none the less the 
 man does his duty in giving the warning." 
 
 " These are my affairs." 
 
 " Ah ! since your Majesty thinks so, you are right. Sire; 
 werwill say no more about them." 
 
 A silence ensued, which the king at length inter- 
 rupted. "Come," said he, "don't oppress me, Duke; 
 
THE CHAMBER OF HIS MAJESTY HENRI III. 83 
 
 I am already as gloomy as a Pharaoh in his pyramid. 
 Enliven me." 
 
 " Gayety cannot be forced, Sire." 
 
 The king struck the table angrily. "You are a bad 
 friend," said he ; "I lost all when I lost my former 
 ones." 
 
 " May I dare to say to yoar Majesty that you hardly 
 encourage the new ones 1 " 
 
 The king looked at him with an expression which he 
 well understood. 
 
 " Ah ! your Mujesty reproaches me with your benefits," 
 said he ; '' but I do not reproach you with my devotion." 
 
 " Lavalette," cried Henri, "you make me sad, — you 
 who are so clever, and could so easily make me joyful. It 
 is not your nature to fight continually, like my old favor- 
 ites ; but you are facetious and amusing, and sometimes 
 give good counsel. You know all my affairs, like that 
 other more humble friend, with whom I never experi- 
 enced a moment's ennui." 
 
 " Of whom does your Majesty speak 1 " 
 
 " Of my poor jester, Chicot. Alas ! where is he 1 " 
 
 D'Epernon rose, piqued. " Your Majesty's souvenirs 
 to-day are not very amusing for other people," said he. 
 
 " Why so 1 " 
 
 " Your Majesty, without intending it perhaps, com- 
 pared me to Chicot, which is not very flattering." 
 
 " You are wrong, D'Epernon ; I could only compare 
 to Chicot a man who loves me and whom I love. He 
 was a faithful and intelligent servant." 
 
 " It was not to make me resemble Chicot, I suppose, 
 that your Majesty made me a duke?" 
 
 " Chicot loved me, and I miss him ; that is all I can 
 say. Oh, when I think that in the same place where 
 you now are have been all those young men, handsome, 
 
84 THE FOETY-FIVE. 
 
 brave, and faithful ; that there, on that very chair on 
 which you have placed your hat, Chicot has slept more 
 than a hundred times — " 
 
 "That may have shown a great deal of mind," in- 
 terrupted the duke ; " but certainly it was not very 
 respectful." 
 
 " Alas ! he has now neither mind nor body." 
 
 " What became of him 1 " 
 
 " He is dead, like all who have loved me." 
 
 " Well, Sire, I think he did well to die ; he was grow- 
 ing old, — much less, however, -than were his jokes, — and 
 I have heard that sobriety was not one of his virtues. Of 
 what did the poor devil die, — indigestion ? " 
 
 " Of grief" 
 
 " Oh, he told you so, to make you laugh once more." 
 
 " You are wrong ; he would not sadden me with the 
 news of his illness. He knew how I regretted my friends, 
 — he, who had so often seen me weep for them." 
 
 " Then it was his shade that came to tell you 't " 
 
 " No ; I did not even see his shade. It was his friend, 
 the worthy prior Gorenflot, who wrote me this sad news." 
 
 " I see that if he were alive your Majesty would make 
 him chancellor." 
 
 " I beg, Duke, that you wiU not laugh at those who 
 loved me, and whom I loved." 
 
 " Oh, Sire, I do not desire to laugh ; but just now you 
 reproached me with want of gayety, parfandious ! " 
 
 " Well, now I am cooled down ; now I am in the mood 
 in which you wanted to find me when you began the 
 conversation with your sinister hints. Tell me, then, your 
 bad news, D'Epernon. The king has always the strength 
 of a man." 
 
 " I do not doubt it, Sire." 
 
 " And it is fortunate ; for, badly guarded as I am, if I 
 
THE CHAMBER OF HIS MAJESTY HENRI HI. STi 
 
 did not guard myself, I should be dead ten times a 
 day." 
 
 " Which would not displease certain people of our 
 acquaintance." 
 
 " Oh ! against them I have the arms of my Swiss." 
 
 " I could find you a better guard than that." 
 
 " You 1 " 
 
 " Yes, Sire." 
 
 "What is itr' 
 
 " Will your Majesty be so good as to accompany me to 
 the old buildings of the Louvre 1 " 
 
 " On the site of the Eue de I'Astruce t " 
 
 " Precisely." 
 
 " What shall I see there ] " 
 
 " Oh, come first ! " 
 
 " It is a long way, Duke." 
 
 " We can go in five minutes through the galleries." 
 
 " D'Epernon — " 
 
 " Well, Sire 1 " 
 
 " If what you are about to show me be not worth see- 
 ing, take care." 
 
 " I answer for it. Sire." 
 
 " Come, then," said the king, rising. 
 
 The duke took his cloak, presented the king's sword to 
 him, then, taking a light, preceded his Majesty. 
 
8G THE FORTY-FIVE. 
 
 CHAPTEE XIII; 
 
 THE DORMITOET. 
 
 In less than five minutes they arrived at their destination. 
 The duke took out a key, and after crossing a court, 
 opened an arched door, the bottom of which was over- 
 grown with long grass. They went along a dark corridor 
 and then up a staircase to a room, of which D'Epernon 
 had also the key. He opened the door, and showed the 
 king forty-five beds, and in each of them a sleeper. 
 
 The king looked at all this with a troubled curiosity. 
 " \Yell," said he, " who are these people 1 " 
 
 " People who sleep to-night, but will not do so to- 
 morrow night, except, of course, by turns." 
 
 " Why not r' 
 
 " That your Majesty may sleep in peace." 
 
 " Explain yourself. Are these your friends 1 " 
 
 " Chosen by me, Sire ; intrepid guards, who will not 
 leave your Majesty, and who, gentlemen all, will be able 
 to go wherever your Majesty goes, and will let no one 
 approach you." 
 
 " And you thought of this, D'Epernon ? " 
 
 "I alone. Sire." 
 
 " We shall be laughed at." 
 
 " No, we shall be feared." 
 
 " But they will ruin me ! " 
 
 " H ow can a king be ruined 1 " 
 
 " I cannot pay my Swiss." 
 
THE DORMITORY. 87 
 
 " Look at these men, Sire. Do you think thev would 
 be yery expensive to keep 1 " 
 
 " But they could not always live like this ; they would 
 be stifled. And look at their doublets ! " 
 
 " Oh, I confess they are not all very sumptuously 
 clothed, but if they had been born dukes and peers — " 
 
 " Yes, I understand ; they would have cost luc 
 more ? " 
 
 " Just so. ' 
 
 " Well, how much will they cost ? That will ]3erhaps 
 decide me, for in truth, D'Epernon, they do not look very 
 inviting." 
 
 " Sire, I know they are rather thin and burnt by our 
 southern sun, but I was so when I came to Paris. They 
 will fatten and whiten like me." 
 
 " How they snore ! " 
 
 " Sire, you must not judge them to-night ; they have 
 supped well." 
 
 " Stay, there is one speaking in his sleep ; let us 
 listen." 
 
 Indeed, one of the gentlemen called out, " If you are a 
 woman, fly ! " 
 
 The king approached him softly. " Ah, ah ! " said he, 
 " he is a gallant." 
 
 " What do you think of him, Sire 1 " 
 
 " His face pleases me ; and he has white hands and a 
 well-kept beard." 
 
 " It is Ernauton de Carmainges, a flne fellow, who is 
 capable of much." 
 
 " He has left behind him some love, I suppose, poor 
 fellow. But what a queer figure his next neighbor is ! " 
 
 " Ah ! that is M. de Chalabre. If he ruins your 
 Majesty, it will not be without enriching himself, I 
 answer for it." 
 
88 THE FORTY-FIVE. 
 
 " And that one with such a sombre air ; he does not 
 seem as though he dreamed of love." 
 
 "What number, Sire?" 
 
 " Number 12." 
 
 "M. de Saiute-Maline, a brave fellow, with a heart of 
 bronze." 
 
 " Well, Lavalette, you have had a good idea." 
 
 " I should think so. Imagine the effect that will be 
 produced by these new watch-dogs, who will follow you 
 like your shadow." 
 
 " Yes, yes ; but they cannot follow me like a shadow 
 in that garb. My body is of good style ; and I will 
 not have it disgraced by its shadow, or rather by 
 its shadows." 
 
 "Ah ! we return, Sire, to the question of money." 
 
 " Did you expect to avoid it 1 " 
 
 " Xot at all ; on the contrary, it is in all aifairs the 
 fundamental question. But about this also, I have an 
 idea." 
 
 "D'Epernon!" 
 
 " My zeal for your Majesty doubles my imagination." 
 
 " Well, let us hear it." 
 
 " If it depended upon me, each of these gentlemen 
 should find by his bed to-morrow morning a purse con- 
 taining a thousand crowns, as payment for the first six 
 months." 
 
 " One thousand crowns for six months ! six thousand 
 livres a year ! You are mad, Duke ; an entire regiment 
 would not cost that." 
 
 " You forget, Sire, that they are to be your Majesty's 
 shadows ; and you have yourself said that you wish your 
 shadows to be decently clad. Each will have to take 
 from his thousand crowns enough for arms and equip- 
 ments. Set down fifteen hundred livres to effect this in 
 
THE DORMITORY. Si) 
 
 a manner to do you honor, and tliere would remain forty- 
 five hundred livres for the first year. Then for subse- 
 quent years you could give three thousand livres." 
 " That is more reasonable." 
 " Then your Majesty accepts?" 
 " There is only one difficulty, Duke." 
 " What is it 1 " 
 " Want of money." 
 
 " Sire, I have found a method. Six months ago a tax 
 was levied on shooting and fishing." 
 " Well 1 " 
 
 " The tax has yielded in the first six mouths sixty-five 
 thousand crowns, which have not yet been turned into 
 the treasurj', and await your Majesty's disposal." 
 " I destined it for the war, Duke." 
 
 " The first interest of the kingdom is the safety of the 
 king."^ 
 
 " Well ; there still would remain twenty thousand 
 crowns for the army.'' 
 
 " Pardon, Sire; bat I had disposed of them, also." 
 " Ah ! " 
 
 " Yes, Sire ; your Majesty had promised me money." 
 " I was sure of it," said the king. " You give me a 
 guard so that you may obtain your money.'' 
 "Oh, Sire!" 
 
 "But why that number forty-five?" asked the king, 
 passing to a new idea. 
 
 " I will explain, Sire. The number three is primordial 
 and divine ; furthermore, it is convenient. For instance, 
 when a cavalier has three horses, he is never reduced to 
 going on foot. When the first is weary, the second is at 
 hand; and the third replaces the second in case of wounds 
 or disease. You will always have, then, three times fif- 
 teen gentlemen, — fifteen in active employment, thirty 
 
90 THE FORTY-FIVE. 
 
 resting. Each day's service will last twelve hours, and 
 during those twelve hours you will always have five on 
 the right hand, five on the left, two before, and three 
 behind. Let any one attack you with such a guard as 
 that ! " 
 
 " Par la mordieu ! it is a skilful combination, Duke ; 1 
 congratulate you." 
 
 " Look at them. Sire ; will they not have a good 
 effect % " 
 
 " Yes, when dressed they will not look bad. WeU, so 
 be it." 
 
 " Well, then, Sire, I have a favor to ask.'' 
 
 " I should be astonished if you had not." 
 
 " Your Majesty is bitter to-day." 
 
 " Oh, I only mean that having rendered me a service, 
 you have the right to ask for a return." 
 
 " Well, Sire, it is an appointment." 
 
 " Why, you are already colonel-general of infantry ; 
 more would crush you." 
 
 " In your Majesty's service I am a Samson." 
 
 " What is it, then ^ " 
 
 " I desire the command of these forty-five gentlemen." 
 
 "What! you wish to march before me, behind me? 
 You carry your devotedness to that point ? You wish to 
 be captain of guards % " 
 
 " No, I should have a deputy ; only I desire that they 
 should know me as their head." 
 
 " Well, you shall have it. But who is to be youi 
 deputy 1 " 
 
 " M. de Loignac, Sire." 
 
 " Ah ! that is good." 
 
 " He pleases your Majesty ? " 
 
 " Perfectly." 
 
 "Then it is decided?" 
 
THE DORMITORY. 91 
 
 " Yes ; let it be as you -wisb." 
 
 " Then I will go at once to the treasurer, and get my 
 forty-five purses." 
 
 " To-night ?" 
 
 " They are to find them to-morrow when they wake." 
 
 " Good ; then I will return." 
 
 "Content, Sire?" 
 
 " Tolerably." 
 
 " "Well guarded, at all events." 
 
 " By men who sleep." 
 
 " They will not sleep to-morrow, Sire." 
 
 D'Epernon conducted the king to the door of the cor- 
 ridor, and left him, saying to himself, " If I am not king, 
 I have guards like a king ; and they cost me nothing, 
 parfandious ! " 
 
92 THE FORTY-FIVE. 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 THE SHADE OP CHICOT. 
 
 The king, as we have said, was never deceived as to the 
 character of his friends ; he knew perfectly well that 
 D'Epernon was working for his own advantage, hut as he 
 had expected to he obliged to give without receiving any- 
 thing in return, whereas he had got forty-five guards, he 
 was pleased with the idea. Besides, it was a novelty 
 which was a thing that a poor king of France could not 
 always get, and especially Henri III., irho, when he had 
 gone through his processions, counted his dogs, and ut- 
 tered his usual number of sighs, had nothing left to do. 
 Therefore he became more and more satisfied as he 
 returned to his room. 
 
 " These men are doubtless brave, and perhaps will be 
 very devoted," thought he; "and forty-five swords always 
 ready to leap from their scabbards are a grand thing." 
 
 This thought brought to bis mind the other devoted 
 swords that he regretted so bitterly ; and he sank again 
 into that deep melancholy into which at this period he 
 fell so often that it might be called his habitual condition. 
 The times so inauspicious, men so wicked, crowns so loos- 
 ening on the heads of kings, — impressed him again with 
 that strong desire either to die or to become animated, 
 which the English, our superiors in melancholy, had al- 
 ready baptized by the name of " spleen." He looked 
 around for Joyeuse, and not seeing him, inquired for 
 him. 
 
THE SHADE OF CHICOT. 93 
 
 "Monsieur the Duke has not yet returned," said the 
 usher. 
 
 " Then call my valet de cliamhre." 
 
 When he was in bed they asked if his reader should 
 attend, for Henri ^^•as subject to long fits of wakefulness, 
 and was often read to sleep. 
 
 "No," rejDlied the king. "I want no one; only if M. 
 de Joyeuse returns, bring him to me." 
 
 " If he returns late, Sire 1 " ^ 
 
 " Alas I he is always late ; but whatever be the hour, 
 bring him here." 
 
 The servants extinguished the candles and lighted a 
 lamp of essences, which gave a pale blue flame that the 
 king liked. Henri, brave in the presence of a real danger, 
 had all the fears and weaknesses of children and women. 
 He feared apparitions ; he feared ghosts. Following the 
 shadows made on the wall by his light, searching with 
 his eyes the obscure corners of his chamber, listening for 
 the slightest noise, he at length fell asleep. But his sleeji 
 was of short duration ; he awoke, thinking he heard a 
 noise in the room. 
 
 " Joyeuse," he asked, " is it you '{ " 
 
 No one replied. The light burned dim, and threw 
 faint circles on the ceiling of carved oak. 
 
 " Alone .still ! " murmured the king. " Mon Dieu ' 
 give me the stren,i;th to be always alone in my life, as I 
 shall be after death." 
 
 "Eh, eh! alone after death? That is not certain,'' 
 answered a strident voice that vibrated with a metallic 
 ring a few feet from the bed; "and the worms, — how 
 about the worms'?" 
 
 The king started up and looked round him in terror 
 " Oh, I know that voice ! " he murmured. 
 
 " Ah ! that is fortunate," replied the voice. 
 
94 THE FORTY-FIVE. 
 
 " It is like the voice of Chicot." 
 
 "You burn, Henri; you burn." 
 
 Then the king, getting half out of bed, saw a man 
 sitting in the very chair which he had pointed out to 
 D'Epernon. 
 
 " Heaven protect me ! " cried he ; " it is the shade of 
 Chicot." 
 
 " Ah ! my poor Henriquet, are you still so foolish ? " 
 
 " What do you mean f " 
 
 " Shades cannot speak, imbecile, since they have no 
 body, and consequently no tongue." 
 
 " Then you are Chicot himself," cried the king, 
 joyfully. 
 
 " I have nothing to say about that ; we shall see later 
 what I am, — we shall see." 
 
 " Then you are not dead, my poor Chicot 1 " 
 
 " Here you are, screaming like an eagle. Yes, on the 
 contrary, I am dead, a hundred times dead." 
 
 " Chicot, my only friend ! " 
 
 " You, at least, are not changed ; you say always the 
 same thing." 
 
 " But you, Chicot, are you changed ] " 
 
 " I hope so." 
 
 " Chicot, my friend, why did you leave me 1 " 
 
 " Because I am dead." 
 
 " You said just now that you were not dead." 
 
 " Dead to some ; alive to others." 
 
 " And to me I, " 
 
 " Dead." 
 
 "Why dead tome^' 
 
 " It is easy to comprehend ; you are not the master 
 here." 
 
 " What do you mean 'i " 
 
 " You can do nothing for those who serve you." 
 
THE SHADE OF CHIUOT. 95 
 
 " Chicot ! " 
 
 " Do not be angry, or I shall be so also." 
 
 " Speak then, my friend," said the king, fearing that 
 Chicot would vanish. 
 
 " Well, I had a little affair to settle with M. de ilayenne, 
 you remember ] " 
 
 " Perfectly." 
 
 " I settled it ; I beat this valiant captain without 
 mercy. He sought for me to hang me ; and you, whom 
 I thought would protect me, abandoned me, and made 
 peace with him. Then I declared myself dead and 
 buried, by the aid of my friend Gorenflot, so that M. 
 de Mayenne has ceased to search for me." 
 
 " What a frightful courage you bad, Chicot ! Did you 
 not know the grief your death would cause me 1 " 
 
 " Yes, it is courageous, but not at all frightful. I have 
 never lived so tranquilly as since the world thought me 
 dead." 
 
 " Chicot, my head turns. You frighten me ; I know 
 not what to think." 
 
 " Well ! settle something." 
 
 " I think that you are dead and — " 
 
 " Then I lie ; you are polite." 
 
 " You conceal from me a part of the truth ; but 
 presently, like the orators of antiquity, you wUl tell me 
 terrible truths." 
 
 "Ob, as to that, I do not say no. Prepare, poor 
 king ! " 
 
 " If you are not a shade, how could you come unnoticed 
 into my room, through the guarded corridors'!" Ami 
 Henri, abandoning himself to new terrors, threw himself 
 down in the bed and covered up his head. 
 
 "Come, come!" cried Chicot; "you have only to 
 touch me to be convinced." 
 
96 THE FORTY-FIVE. 
 
 " You are not, then, a messenger of vengeance 1 " 
 
 " Ventre de hiche 1 have I horns like Satan, or a flam- 
 ing sword like the archangel Michael % " 
 
 "But how did you come?" 
 
 " Why, I have still the key that you gave me, and 
 which I hung round my neck to enrage your gentlemen, 
 and with this I entered." 
 
 " By the secret door, then ? " 
 
 " Certainly." 
 
 " And why to-day more than yesterday % " 
 
 " Ah ! that you shall hear." 
 
 Henri, sitting up again, said like a child, " Do not tell 
 me anything disagreeahle, Chicot. Oh, if you only knew 
 how glad I am to see you again I " 
 
 " I will tell the truth ; so much the worse if it be 
 disagreeahle." 
 
 " But your fear of Mayenne is not serious 1 " 
 
 '■ Very serious, on the contrary. You understand that 
 M. de Mayenne gave me fifty blows with a stirrup-leather, 
 in return for which I gave him one hundred with the 
 sheath of my sword. No doubt he thinks, therefore, that 
 he still owes me fifty, so that I should not have come to 
 you now, however great your need of me, had I not 
 known him to be at Soissons." 
 
 " Well, Chicot, I take you now under my protection ; 
 and I wish — " 
 
 " What do you wish 1 Take care, Henriquet ! every 
 time you say ' I wish,' you are on the point of saying 
 something silly." 
 
 "I wish that you should be resuscitated and appear 
 openly." 
 
 " There ! I said so.'' 
 
 " I will defend you." 
 
 " Good ! " 
 
THE SHADE OF CHICOT. 97 
 
 " Chicot, I pledge my royal word." 
 
 " Ball ! I have better than that." 
 
 "What?" 
 
 " My hole ; and there I remain." 
 
 " I will protect you, I tell you," cried the king, jumping 
 oat of bed. 
 
 " Henri, you will catch cold ; go back to bed, I pray." 
 
 "You are right, but you exasperate me. How! when 
 I have enough guards, Swiss, Scotch, and French, for my 
 own defence, should I not have enough for yours 1 " 
 
 " Let us see ; you have the Swiss — " 
 
 " Yes, commanded by Tocquenot." 
 
 "Good ! then you have the Scotch— " 
 
 " Commanded by Larchant." 
 
 " Very well ! and you have the French guards — " 
 
 "Commanded by Crillon. And then — but I do not 
 know if I ought to tell you — " 
 
 " I did not ask you." 
 
 " A novelty, Chicot ! " 
 
 "A novelty?" 
 
 " Yes ; imagine forty-five brave gentlemen." 
 
 " Forty-five 1 What do you mean ? " 
 
 " Forty -five gentlemen." 
 
 " Where did you find them 1 Not in Paris, I suppose 1 " 
 
 " No ; but they arrived here yesterday." 
 
 " Oh ! " cried Chicot, with a sudden iHuminatioii, 
 " I know these gentlemen." 
 
 " Eeally ! " 
 
 " Forty-five beggars, who only want the wallet, — 
 figures to make one die with laughter." 
 
 " Chicot, there are splendid men among them." 
 
 " Gascons, like your colonel-general of infantry." 
 
 "And like you, Chicot. However, I have forty-five 
 formidable swords at command." 
 
 VOL. I. — 7 
 
98 THE FORTY-FIVE. 
 
 " Commanded by that forty-sixth formidable sword 
 called D'Epernon." 
 
 " Not exactly." 
 
 " By whom, then 1 " 
 
 " Loignac." 
 
 " And it is with them you. think to defend yourself?" 
 
 " Yes, mordieu ! yes," said Henri, irritated. 
 
 " Well, I have more troops than you." 
 
 " You have troops % " 
 
 " Why not ■? " 
 
 " What are they 1 " 
 
 " You shall hear. First, all the army that MM. de 
 Guise are raising in Lorraine." 
 
 " Are you mad 1 " 
 
 " No ; a real army, — at least six thousand men." 
 
 " But how can you, who fear M. de Mayenne so much, 
 be defended by the soldiers of M. de Guise 1 " 
 
 " Because I am dead." 
 
 " Again that pleasantry." 
 
 " Now, it was to Chicot that M. de Mayenne owed a 
 grudge. I have therefore taken advantage of my death 
 to change my body, my name, and my social position." 
 
 " Then you are no longer Chicot 1 " 
 
 " No." 
 
 " What are you, then 1 " 
 
 " I am Robert Briquet, merchant and Leaguer." 
 
 " You a Leaguer 1 " 
 
 " A devoted one, so that I keep away from M. de 
 Mayenne. I have, then, for my defence (for me. Bri- 
 quet, member of the holy Union) : first, the army of 
 Lorraine, — six thousand men; remember that number." 
 
 " I listen." 
 
 " Then, about one hundred thousand Parisians." 
 
 " Famous soldiers ! " 
 
THE SHADE OF CHICOT. 99 
 
 •' Sufficiently so to annoy you much, my prince. Six 
 thousand and a hundred thousand are one hundred and 
 six thousand. Then there is the pope, the Spaniards, 
 M. de Bourhon, tlie Flemings, Henri de Navarre, the Due 
 d'Anjou — " 
 
 " Have you done 1 " interrupted Henri, impatiently. 
 
 " There still remain three classes of people who are 
 opposed to you." 
 
 "What are they T' 
 
 " First, the Catholics, who hate you because you de- 
 stroyed only three quarters of the Huguenots ; then the 
 Huguenots, who hate you because you have destroyed 
 three quarters of them ; and the third party is that which 
 desires neither j'ou nor your brother nor !M. de Guise, 
 but your brother-in-law, Henri de Navarre." 
 
 " Provided that he abjure. But these people of whom 
 you speak are all France." 
 
 " Precisely. These are my troops as a Leaguer ; now 
 add, and compare." 
 
 " You are joking, are yon not, Chicot "l " 
 
 " Is it a time to joke, when you are alone against all 
 the world, my poor Henriquet 1 " 
 
 Henri assumed an air of royal dignity. " Alone I am," 
 said he ; " but at the same time I alone command. You 
 show me an army ; but where is the chief? You will say 
 M. de Guise; but do I not keep hira at Nancy? ;\[. 
 de Mayenne, you say yourself, is at Soissons, the Due 
 d'Anjou is at Brussels, and the King of Navarre at Pan ; 
 so that if I am alone I am free. I am like a hunter in 
 the midst of a plain waiting to see his prey come within 
 his reach." 
 
 Chicot scratched his nose. The king thought he 
 was convinced. " What can you reply to that ? " he 
 asked. 
 
100 THE FORTY-FIVE. 
 
 " How eloquent you are always, Henri ! Your tongue 
 remains your own ; that is, in fact, more than I expected, 
 and I offer you my sincere congratulations. In your dis- 
 course I object to only one thing." 
 
 "What is it?" 
 
 " Oh, nothing, almost nothing, — a figure of rhetoric, 
 merely ; I object to your comparison." 
 
 " In what respect 1 " 
 
 " You say that you are the hunter lying in wait for the 
 game, while I, on the contrary, maintain that you are the 
 game, whom the hunters track to his lair." 
 
 " Chicot ! " 
 
 " Well, man lying in wait, let me hear whom you have 
 seen approach." 
 
 " No one, pardieu ! " 
 
 " Yet some one has come." 
 
 " Of those whom I named ? " 
 
 " Not exactly, but nearly." 
 
 " Who 'i " 
 
 " A woman." 
 
 " My sister Margot 1 " 
 
 " No ; the Duchesse de Montpensier." 
 
 " She ! at Paris 1 " 
 
 " Mon Dieuf yes." 
 
 " Well, what if she be ? I do not fear women." 
 
 " True ; but she comes to announce the arrival of her 
 brother." 
 
 " Of M. de Guise ? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " And you think that embarrasses me ? " 
 
 " Oh ! you 1 nothing embarrasses you." 
 
 " Give me ink and paper." 
 
 " What for ] To sign an order for M. de Guise to 
 remain at Nancy ] " 
 
THE SHADE OF CHICOT. 101 
 
 "Exactly; the idea must be good, since you had it 
 also." 
 
 " Execrable, on the contrary.'' 
 
 " Why ? " 
 
 " As soon as he receives it he will know he is wanted 
 at Paris ; and he will come." 
 
 The king grew angry. " If you only returned to talk 
 like this," said he, " you had better have stayed away." 
 
 " What would you have, Henri? Ghosts are not flatterers." 
 
 "You confess, then, that you are a ghost 1 " 
 
 " I have never denied it." 
 
 " Cliicot ! " 
 
 " Come, don't get angry, for near-sighted as you are, 
 you will become blind. Let us see. Did u't you say 
 that you kept your brother in Flanders ] " 
 
 " Certainly, and I maintain that it is good policy." 
 
 " Xow listen, and let us not get excited ; with what 
 purpose do you think il. -de Guise remains at Xancy ? " 
 
 " To organize an army." 
 
 "Well; and for what purpose does he destine this 
 
 army 
 
 1" 
 
 " Ah, Chicot ! you fatigue me with all these questions." 
 " You will sleep better after it. He destines this 
 army — " 
 
 " To attack the Huguenots in the north — " 
 " Or rather, to thwart your brother of Anjou, who has 
 called himself Due de Brabant, and wishes to build him- 
 self a throne in Flanders, and who constantly solicits your 
 aid in the prosecution of that purpose." 
 
 " Aid which I always promise him, and which, of course, 
 I shall never send." 
 
 " To the great joy of the Due de Guise. Well, if you 
 were to feign to send this aid ; if they only went half 
 way — " 
 
102 THE FORTY-FIVE. 
 
 " Ah, yes ! I understand ; M. de Guise would not leav ■ 
 the frontier." 
 
 " And the promise of Madame de Montpensier that her 
 brother would be here in a week — " 
 
 " Would be broken." 
 
 " You see, then 1 " 
 
 " So far, good ; but in the south — " 
 
 " Ah, yes ; the B^arnais — " 
 
 " Do you know what he is doing ?" 
 
 " No." 
 
 " He claims the towns which were his wife's dowry," 
 said the king. 
 
 " Insolent ! to whom the honor of an alliance with the 
 House of France is not sufficient, and who permits him- 
 self to claim what belongs to him ! " 
 
 "Cahors, for example ; as if it would be good policy to 
 give up such a town to an enemy." 
 
 " No, indeed, that would not be good policy ; but it 
 would be the act of an honest man perhaps." 
 
 " M. Chicot ! " 
 
 " Let it be as if I had said nothing ; you know I don't 
 meddle with your familj' affairs." 
 
 " But to return to Flanders. I will send some one to 
 my brother. But whom can I send % To -whom can I 
 trust n. mission of so great importance 1 Oh ! now I 
 think of it, you shall go, Chicot." 
 
 " A dead man go to Flanders 1 Come, now ! " 
 
 " No ; you shall go as Robert Briquet." 
 
 " Good ! a hourgeois., a Leaguer, a friend of INL de Guise, 
 performing the functions of an ambassador near M. le Duo 
 d'Anjou ! " 
 
 " That is to say, you refuse % " 
 
 "Pardieu!^'' 
 
 " You disobey me % " 
 
THE SHADE OF CHICOT. 103 
 
 "I disobey you? Do I owe you obedience'? Havo 
 you ever given me anything which binds me to you "? I 
 am poor and obscure. !Make me duke and peer; erect my 
 land of Cbiooterie into a marquisate ; endow me with five 
 hundred thousand crowns ; and then we will talk about 
 embassies." 
 
 Henri was about to reply, when the door opened, and 
 the Due de Joyeuse was announced. 
 
 "Ah! there is your man," said Chicot; "who could 
 make a better ambassador 1 " 
 
 " Decidedly," murmured Henri, " this devil of a man 
 is a better adviser than any minister of mine has ever 
 been." 
 
 "Ah! you agree to it, then?" said Chicot. He then 
 buried himself in the great chair, so as to be quite invis- 
 ible in the dim light. M. de Joyeuse did not see him. 
 The king uttered a cry of joy on seeing his favorite, 
 and held out his hand. 
 
 "Sit down, Joyeuse, my child," said he; "how late 
 you are ! " 
 
 "Tour Majesty is very good," answered Joyeuse, ap- 
 proaching the bed, on which he sat down. 
 
104 THE FORTY-FIVE. 
 
 CHAPTEE XV, 
 
 THE DIFFICULTY OF FINDING A GOOD AMBASSADOR. 
 
 Chicot was hidden in his great chair, and Joyeuse was 
 half lying on the foot of the bed in which the king was 
 bolstered up, when the conversation began. 
 
 " Well, Joyeuse," said Henri, " have you wandered 
 much about the town t " 
 
 "Yes, Sire," replied the duke, carelessly. 
 
 " How quickly you disappeared from the Place de 
 Greve ! " 
 
 " Sire, to speak frankly, I do not like to see men 
 suffer." 
 
 " Tender heart ! " 
 
 " No ; egotistical heart, rather. Their sufferings act on 
 my nerves." 
 
 " You know what occurred 'i " 
 
 " No." 
 
 " Salcede denied all." 
 
 " Ah ! " 
 
 " You take that very indifferently, Joyeuse." 
 
 " I confess I do not attach much importance to it ; 
 besides, I was certain he would deny everything." 
 
 " But since he confessed before the judges — " 
 
 "All the more reason that he should deny it afterwards. 
 The confession put the Guises on their guard, and they 
 were at work while your Majesty remained quiet." 
 
 " AVhat ! you foresee such things, and do not warn mel" 
 
 '' I am not your minister, to talk politics." 
 
DIFFICULTY OF FINDING A GOOD AMBASSADOR. 105 
 
 " Well, Joyeuse, I want your brother.'' 
 
 " He, like myself, is at your Majesty's service." 
 
 " Then I may count on him^ " 
 
 "Doubtless." 
 
 " I wish to send him on a little mission." 
 
 " Out of Paris 1 " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " In that case, it is impossible." 
 
 " How so 1 " 
 
 " Bouchage cannot go away just now.'' 
 
 The king looked astonished. " What do you mean t " 
 said he. 
 
 " Sire," said Joyeuse, quietly, " it is the simplest thing 
 possible. Bouchage is in love ; but he has carried on his 
 negotiations badly, and everything is going wrong. The 
 poor boy is growing thinner and thinner.'' 
 
 " Indeed," said the king, " I have remarked it.'' 
 
 "And he has become sad, mordieu 1 as if he had lived 
 in your Majesty's court." 
 
 A kind of grunt proceeding from the corner of the room 
 interrupted Joyeuse, who looked round astonished. 
 
 " It is nothing, Joyeuse," said the king, laughing, 
 "only a dog asleep on the footstool. You say, then, 
 that Bouchage has become sad % " 
 
 " Sad as death. Sire. It seems he has met with some 
 woman of a funereal turn of mind. However, one may 
 succeed as well with this sort of woman as witli others, if 
 he knows how to take them." 
 
 "You would not have been embarrassed, libertine^" 
 
 " You understand, Sire, that no sooner had he made me 
 his confidant than I undertook to save him." 
 
 " So that — " 
 
 " So that already the cure has begun." 
 
 ' What ! is he less in love 1 " 
 
10(3 THE FORTY-FIVE. 
 
 " Xo ; but he has more hope of making her so. For 
 the future, instead of sighing with the lady, we mean to 
 amuse her in every possible way. To-night I stationed 
 thirty Italian musicians under her balcony." 
 
 " Fie ! " said the king ; " that is common." 
 
 "What! common, — thirty musicians who have no 
 equals in the entire world 1 " 
 
 " Ah, upon my word, music would not have amused 
 me when I was in love with Madame de Cond^." 
 
 " Ko ; but you were in love. Sire." 
 
 " Madly," said the king. 
 
 Another grunt was heard, which sounded very much 
 like a mocking laugh. 
 
 " You see that this is quite another thing, Sire," said 
 Joyeuse, seeking, but in vain, to see whence came that 
 strange interruption. " The lady, on the contrary, is 
 indifferent as a statue, and cold as an icicle." 
 
 " And you think music will melt the icicle, will ani- 
 mate the statue t " 
 
 " I do not say that she will come at once and throw 
 herself into the arms of Bouohage ; but she will be pleased 
 on seeing that all this noise is made on her account. If 
 she do not care for this, we shall have plays, encliant- 
 ments, poetry, — in fact, all the pleasures of the earth ; so 
 that even if we do not bring gayety back to her, 1 hope 
 we shall to Bouchage." 
 
 " Well, I hope so ; but let us drop Bouchage, since it 
 would be so trying to him to leave Paris. I hope you are 
 not also, like him, the slave of some passion 1 " 
 
 " I never was more free. Sire." 
 
 " Oh ! I thought you were in love with a beautiful 
 lady 'I " 
 
 " Ah, yes ! the mistress of M. de Tilayenne, — a woman 
 who adored me." 
 
DIFFICULTY OF FINDING A GOOD AMBASSADOR. 107 
 
 " Well 1 " 
 
 " "Well, imagine that this evening, after having given 
 my lesson to Bouchage, I went to see her with mj' head 
 full of his love-story, and believing myself almost ;is 
 much in love as he. I found a trembling, frightened 
 woman. The first idea that occurred to me was that I 
 had interrupted some one. I tried to reassure her ; but 
 it was useless. I interrogated her ; but she did not reply. 
 I tried to embrace her ; and she turned her head away. 
 I grew angry, and we quarrelled ; and she told me she 
 should never be at home to me any more." 
 
 " Poor Joyeuse ! " said the king, laughing, " what did 
 you do 1 " 
 
 " Pardieu, Sire ! I took my hat and cloak, bowed, and 
 went out, without once looking back." 
 
 " Bravo, Joyeuse ! it was courageous.'' 
 
 "The more so, Sire, that I thought I heard her sigh." 
 
 " But j'ou will return ? " 
 
 " Xo, I am proud." 
 
 "Well, my friend, this rupture is for your good." 
 
 " Perhaps so, Sire ; but I shall probably be horribly 
 bored for a week, having nothing to do. It may perhaps 
 amuse me, however ; it is something new, and I think it 
 high-toned." 
 
 " Certainly it is ; I have made it so," said the king. 
 " However, I will occupy you with something." 
 
 " Something lazy, I hope % " 
 
 A third grunt came from the chair ; one might have 
 thought the dog was laughing at the words of Joyeuse. 
 
 " That is a very intelligent dog," said Henri. " He 
 divines what I want you to do." 
 
 " What am I to do. Sire 1 " continued Joyeuse. 
 
 " Get on your boots." 
 
 " Oh, that is against all my ideas." 
 
108 THE FORTY-FIVE. 
 
 " Get on horseback." 
 
 " On horseback ! impossible." 
 
 " And why ? " 
 
 " Because I am an admiral, and admirals have nothing 
 to do "with horses." 
 
 " Well, then, Admiral, if it be not your place to mount 
 a horse, it is so at all events to go on board ship. So you 
 will start at once for Rouen, where you will find your 
 admiral's ship, and make ready to sail immediately for 
 Antwerp." 
 
 " For Antwerp ! " cried Joyeuse, in a tone as despairing 
 as though he had received an order to set out for Canton 
 or Valparaiso. 
 
 " I said so," replied the king, in a cold and haughty 
 tone, " and there is no need to repeat it." 
 
 Joyeuse, without making the least further resistance, 
 fastened his cloak and took his hat. 
 
 " "What a trouble I have to make myself obeyed ! " con- 
 tinued Henri. " Ventrebleu ! if I forget sometimes that I 
 am the master, others might remember it." 
 
 Joyeuse bowed stiffly, and said, " Your orders. Sire % " 
 
 Tlie king began to melt. " Go," said he, " to Rouen, 
 where I wish you to embark, unless you prefer going by 
 land to Brussels." 
 
 Joyeuse bowed without answering. 
 
 " Do you prefer the land route, Duke ? " asked Henri. 
 
 " I have no preference .when I have an order to 
 execute. Sire." 
 
 " There, now you are sulky. Ah ! kings have no 
 friends." 
 
 " Those who give orders can expect to find only 
 servants." 
 
 " Monsieur," replied the king, angry again, " you will 
 gi I, then, to Rouen ; you will go on board your ship, and 
 
DIFFICULTY OF FINDIXC A GOOD AMBASSADOR. 109 
 
 will take the gan-isons of Caudebec, Harflenr, and Dieppe, 
 which I will replace afterwards. You will put them on 
 board six transports, and place them at the service of my 
 brother, who expects aid from me." 
 '■ My commission, if you please, Sire." 
 " And since when have you been unable to act by virtue 
 of your rank as admiral r' 
 
 ''I only obey, Sire, and as much as possible avoid 
 responsibility." 
 
 " Well, then, ilousieur tlie Duke, you will receive the 
 commission at your hotel before you depart.'' 
 " And when will that be 1 " 
 " In an hour." 
 
 Joyeuse bowed and turned to the door. The king's 
 heart misgave him. " What ! " cried he, " not even the 
 courtesy of an adieu'? You are not polite ; but that is a 
 common reproach to naval people." 
 
 " Pardon me, Sire, but I am a still worse courtier than 
 I am a seaman ; " and shutting the door violently, he went 
 out. 
 
 " See how those love me for whom I have done so 
 much ! " cried the king ; " ungrateful Joyeuse ! " 
 
 " Well, are you going to recall him 1 " said Chicot, 
 advancing. " Because for once in your life you have 
 been firm, you repent it ! " 
 
 " Ah ! so you think it very agreeable to go to sea in 
 the month of October. I should like to see you do it.'' 
 " You are quite welcome to do so ; my greatest desire 
 just now is to travel." 
 
 " Then if I wish to send you somewhere you will not 
 object to it 1 " 
 
 " Not only I do not object, but I request it.'' 
 
 " On a mission ? " 
 
 "Yes." 
 
110 THE FORTY-FIVE. 
 
 " Will you go to Navarre 1 " 
 " I would go to the Devil, great king." 
 " Are you joking, buifoon 1 " 
 
 " Sire, I was not very gay during my life, and I swear 
 to you I am even sadder since my death." 
 " But you refused just now to leave Paris." 
 " My gracious sovereign, I was wrong, very wrong, and 
 I repent." 
 
 " So that now you wish to leave Paris 1 " 
 "Immediately, illustrious king; this instant, grand 
 monarch." 
 
 " I no longer understand you," said Henri. 
 " You have not, then, heard what was said by the 
 Grand Admiral of France ? " 
 " What was that ? " 
 
 " That he had broken with the mistress of M. de 
 Mayenne." 
 
 "Yes; well, what of itr' 
 
 " If that woman, in love with a charming fellow like 
 the duke, — for Joyeuse is charming — " 
 "Doubtless." 
 
 " If that woman dismisses him, sighing, it is of course 
 for some reason." 
 
 " Probably ; otherwise she would not dismiss him." 
 
 " Well, that reason, do you know what it is 1 " 
 
 "No." 
 
 " You cannot guess 1 " 
 
 « No." 
 
 " It is that M. de Mayenne is about to return." 
 
 " Oh, oh ! " said the king. 
 
 " You comprehend at last ? I congratulate you." 
 
 " Yes, and I begin to believe that Mayenne will return." 
 
 " Well, then, I will go to Navarre if you wish to send 
 
DIFFICULTY OF FINDING A GOOD AMBASSADOR. Ill 
 
 " I wish it, certainly." 
 
 "I wait your orders, gracious prince," said Chicot, 
 assuming the same attitude as Joyeuse. 
 
 " But you do not know if the mission will suit you. I 
 have certain projects of embroiling Margot with her 
 husband." 
 
 " ' Divide to reign ' was the A B C of politics one 
 hundred years ago." 
 
 " Then you have no repugnance 1 " 
 
 " It does not concern me ; do as you wish. I am 
 ambassador, that is all ; and as long as I am in\iolable, 
 that is all I care for." 
 
 " But still you must know what to say to my brother- 
 in-law." 
 
 " I say anything ! Certainly not." 
 
 "Notr' 
 
 " I will go where you like ; but I will say nothing." 
 
 " Then you refuse 1 " 
 
 " I refuse to give a message ; but I wUl take a letter." 
 
 " Well, I win give you a letter.'' 
 
 " Give it me, then." 
 
 " What ! you do not think such a letter can be written 
 at once? It must be well weighed and considered." 
 
 " Well, then, think over it. I will come or send for it 
 early to-morrow." 
 
 " Why not sleep here'! " 
 
 "Herer' 
 
 " Yes, in your chair." 
 
 "Feste/ that is done with; I shall sleep no more at 
 the Louvre. A ghost to be seen asleep in an armchair, — 
 wliat an absurdity ! " 
 
 " But you must know my intentions concerning Margot 
 and her husband. My letter will make a noise, and they 
 wiU question you ; you must be able to reply. A^'hat the 
 
112 THE FORTY-FIVE. 
 
 devil ! you represent me ; I don't want you to appear 
 like a fool." 
 
 " Mon Dieu.f" said Chicot, shrugging his shoulders, 
 " how ohtuse you are, great king ! Do you think I am 
 going to carry a letter two hundred and fifty leagues 
 without knowing what is in it? Be easy; at my first 
 stopping-place I shall open your letter and read it. 
 What ! have you sent ambassadors for ten years to all 
 parts of the world and know no better than that ? Come, 
 rest in peace, and I will return to my solitude." 
 
 "Where is it?" 
 
 " In the cemetery of the Grands Innocents, great 
 prince." 
 
 Henri looked at him in astonishment again. 
 
 "Ah! you did not expect that," said Chicot. "Well, 
 tiU to-morrow, when I or my messenger will come — " 
 
 " How shah. I know your messenger when he arrives ? " 
 
 " He will say he comes from the Shade." And Chicot 
 disappeared so rapidly that the superstitious mind of 
 Henri doubted whether it was in fact a body or a shade 
 which had passed through that door without a sound, 
 under that tapestry without moving a fold. 
 
THE DEATH OF CHICOT. 113 
 
 CHAPTEE XVI. 
 
 THE DEATH OP CHICOT. 
 
 Chicot, in actual substance, — we grieve to disappoint 
 those of our readers wiio favor the marvellous to the point 
 of believing that we should have the audacity to introduce 
 a ghost into this story, — Chicot, then, had taken his 
 departure after saying to the king, under the guise of 
 badinage according to his custom, all the truths that he 
 wished to declare. 
 
 This is what had happened. After the death of the 
 king's friends, after the troubles and conspiracies fomented 
 by the Guises were entered upon, Chicot had reflected. 
 Courageous, as we have seen him to be, and indifferent to 
 events, he was yet disposed to make the most of all the 
 incidents of experience, and find amusement in them, as 
 do all men of superior endowments ; for it is only the addle- 
 brained who become weary of this world and seek diver- 
 sion in the other. 
 
 Chicot's reflections led him to the conclusion that M. 
 de Mayenne's vengeance was likely to prove more effl- 
 cacious than the king's protection ; and he said to him- 
 self, with his own characteristic philosophy, that in this 
 world nothing can annul material fact ; and, therefore, all 
 the king's halberds and all his courts of justice could pro- 
 vide no remedy for an opening — even though almost im- 
 
 VOL. I. — 8 
 
114 THE FORTY-FIVE. 
 
 perceptible — which the blade of M. de Mayenne might 
 make in Chicot's jacket. Besides, he was weary of play- 
 ing the part of a jester, and of those royal familiarities 
 which seemed to be leading him straight to destruction. 
 
 Chicot began, therefore, by putting between his own 
 person and M. de Mayenne's sword the greatest possi- 
 ble distance. To that end he set out for Beaune, with 
 the threefold purpose of getting away from Paris, em- 
 bracing his friend Gorenflot, and tasting the famous 
 wine of 1550, which is so warmly discussed in the letter 
 which closes our story of " La Dame de Monsoreau." It 
 must be admitted that the consolation thus sought was 
 suf&cient to him. At the end of two months he could see 
 that he had conspicuously increased in bulk, and reflected 
 that in this way he was effectually disguised. But at the 
 same time he observed that as he became more rotund he 
 was coming to resemble Gorenflot more than was fitting 
 for a man of intelligence. With him spirit still dominated 
 matter. 
 
 After Chicot had imbibed the contents of several hun- 
 dred bottles of the famous wine of 1550, and had devoured 
 the twenty-two volumes comprised in the library of the 
 priory, — in which the prior had found the Latin maxim, 
 Bonum vinum laetificat cor hominis,^ — he was aware of a 
 great weight in his stomach, and a great void in his head. 
 
 " I might become a monk in good earnest," he said to 
 himself ; " but with Gorenflot I should be too much the 
 master, and in any other abbey I should be not master- 
 ful enough. To be sure, the frock would conceal me for- 
 ever from the eyes of M. de Mayenne; but, by all the 
 devils ! there must be other means, less commonplace, 
 
 1 Good wine rejoices the heart of man. 
 
THE DEATH OF CHICOT. 115 
 
 worth seeking. I have read in another hook, not included 
 in Gorenflot's library : Qiiere et invenies." * 
 
 Chicot sought, therefore, and this is what he found. 
 Under the circumstances it was sufficiently original. He 
 made a confidant of Gorenflot, and persuaded him to write 
 to the king under his dictation. 
 
 Gorenflot wrote with difficulty, it is true ; but he man- 
 aged to state that Chicot had retired to the priory ; that 
 his sorrow on being obliged to separate from his master, 
 when the latter had become reconciled with M. de May- 
 enne, had affected his health ; that he had struggled 
 against his regrets, but his grief had proved to he greater 
 than his strength, and he had finally succumbed. 
 
 Chicot also wrote a letter to the king. This letter, 
 dated in 1580, was divided into five paragraphs. These 
 paragraphs were written from day to day, and reflected 
 the progress of his disease. The first paragraph was 
 written and signed with a firm hand ; the second betrayed 
 his faltering strength, and was signed in a tremulous 
 hand ; at the end of the third he wrote " Chic — ; " at 
 the end of the fourth, " Ch — ;" at the end of the fifth 
 only " C," with a scrawl. 
 
 That scrawl from the hand of a dying man produced on 
 the king a painful effect, and explains his taking Chicot 
 for a ghost. 
 
 We would gladly here present to our readers the letter 
 of Chicot ; but Chicot was, as we say nowadays, a very 
 eccentric man. The style is the man ; and his epistolary 
 style was so very eccentric that we dare not reproduce his 
 letter here, however effective we might expect it to be. 
 
 At the end of that letter, lest Henri's interest should 
 grow cold, Gorenflot added that since the death of his 
 
 1 Seek and ye shall find. 
 
116 THE FOETY-FIVE. 
 
 friend the priory of Beaune had hecome odious to him, 
 and he would prefer to live in Paris. 
 
 This postscript Chicot had with much difficulty drawn 
 from Gorenflot's fingers ; for Gorenflot was well satisfied 
 with his situation at Beaune, as was also Panurge. He 
 piteously begged Chicot to remember that wine is always 
 adulterated, unless one is on the spot to choose it for him- 
 self. But Chicot promised the worthy prior that he would 
 himself come every year to provide him with choice wines ; 
 and as, on this point among many others, Gorenflot recog- 
 nized Chicot's superiority, he at last yielded to his friend's 
 persuasions. 
 
 In reply to Gorenflot's letter and Chicot's words of 
 farewell, the king wrote with his own hand as follows : — 
 
 MoNSiEUE LB Prieuk, — You will give a sacred and poetic 
 burial to poor Chicot, whom I regret with all my heart; for he 
 was not only a devoted friend, but was also a gentleman of 
 rank, though unable to trace his genealogy beyond his great- 
 great-grandfather. 
 
 You will surround him with flowers, and arrange so that he 
 shall lie towards the sun, which he especially loved, being 
 from the South. As to yourself, whose grief I honor the more 
 since I share it, you will leave your priory of Beaune, accord- 
 ing to the desire which you have expressed to me. I have too 
 much need at Paris of devoted and intelligent men to allow 
 you to remain at a distance. I therefore appoint you prior of 
 the Jacobins, with a residence near the Porte Saint-Antoine, in 
 Paris, a neighborhood to which our poor friend was especially 
 
 attached. 
 
 Your affectionate 
 
 Henri, 
 
 Who begs you not to forget him in your holy prayers. 
 
 It may be easily imagined that an autograph like that, 
 a letter written entirely by a royal hand, made the prioi 
 
THE DEATH OF CHICOT. 117 
 
 open his eyes ; that he admired the power of Chicot's 
 genius, and hastened to take flight toward the honors that 
 awaited him. For ambition had ah-eadj', as may be re- 
 called, started one of its tenacious off-shoots in the heart 
 of Gorenflot, whose name had always been " Modeste," 
 and who, since he had become prior of Beaune, was called 
 " Dom ilodeste Gorenflot." 
 
 Everytiiing took place according to the desires of the 
 king, and those of Chicot at the same time. .1 bundle of 
 sticks, designed to represent the corpse physically and 
 allegorically, was buried in a sunny place, in the midst of 
 flowers, beneath a flourishing vine. Then, once dead and 
 buried in effigy, Chicot assisted Gorenflot in his prepara- 
 tions for removal. 
 
 Dom Modeste was installed with great pomp in the 
 priory of the Jacobins. 
 
 Chicot slipped into Paris under cover of night. He 
 purchased, near the Porte Bussy, a small house which cost 
 him three hundred crowns. When he wished to visit 
 Gorenflot he had three routes : that by way of the city, 
 which was the shortest ; that along the bank of tlie river, 
 Avhicli was the most romantic ; and that which followed 
 the walls of Paris, which was the most sure. But Chicot, 
 who was a dreamer, chose generally the route along the 
 Seine ; and since at that time the river was not yet con- 
 fined between walls of stone, the water came, as says the 
 poet, to lap its sloping shores, on which the dwellers in 
 the Cite could often see Chicot's long shadow outlined by 
 the bright light of the moon. 
 
 Once installed in his new abode, and having changed 
 his name, Chicot gave himself to the task of changing his 
 appearance. He called himself Robert Briquet, as we 
 have already seen, and as he walked, was bent slightly 
 
118 THE FORTY-FIVE. 
 
 forward. Moreover, anxiety and the lapse of five or six 
 years had rendered him nearly bald ; the black and curly 
 hair of other days had withdrawn, as the ebbing sea re- 
 tires, from his forehead back towards the nape of his neck. 
 We have already said that he was an adept in the art, so 
 prized by ancient actors, of changing by skilful contrac- 
 tions the natural play of the muscles and the habitual 
 expression of the features. 
 
 By dint of assiduous practice, Chicot was able, even in 
 broad daylight, to become at will a veritable Eobert 
 Briquet, — that is to say, a man whose mouth was 
 stretched from ear to ear, whose chin went up to his nose, 
 and whose eyes were crossed in a way to make one 
 shudder, — all this without grimace, but not without in- 
 terest to the lovers of change ; for Chicot's face, delicate, 
 long, and angular as it was, became broad, ruddy, dull, 
 and sodden. His long arms and legs he could in no way 
 contrive to reduce ; but by perseverance he managed, as 
 we have said, to acquire a curve in his back, and that 
 made his arms seem almost as long as his legs. 
 
 To these various exercises Chicot joined the precaution 
 of avoiding intimate relations with any one. For how- 
 ever disjointed he might be, he could not keep himself in 
 the same posture eternally; but how could he ajDpear 
 humped at twelve o'clock when at ten he had been seen 
 upright ? What excuse can you give a friend who sees 
 you suddenly change your face because while walking 
 with him you happen to meet one you suspect? 
 
 Robert Briquet adopted therefore the life of a recluse, — 
 a life which agreed, moreover, with his inclination. His 
 sole diversion was to visit Gorenflot and consume with 
 him that famous wine of 1550, which the worthy prior 
 had taken good care not to leave in the cellars of Beaune. 
 
THE DEATH OF CHICOT. 119 
 
 But vulgar souls, not less than great, are subject to 
 change. Gorenflot changed. He beheld, fallen within 
 his power and discretion, the man who thitherto had been 
 the arbiter of his destiny. Chicot, coming to dine at the 
 prioTj', seemed to him a Chicot in bondage, and from that 
 moment Gorenflot thought too much of himself, and too 
 little of Chicot. 
 
 Chicot noticed the change in his friend, but was not 
 oifenJed ; the changes he had met in his companionship 
 with King Henri had taught him to bear such things 
 philosophically. He put himself more on his guard, and 
 that was all. Instead of visiting the priory every day, he 
 began to go there only once a week ; then he went once a 
 fortnight, and finally only once a month. And Gorenflot 
 was so puffed up that he appeared to perceive no differ- 
 ence. Clricot was too philosophical to be sensitive ; he 
 laughed in his sleeve at Gorenflot's ingratitude, and 
 scratched his nose and chin as usual. 
 
 "Water and time," he said, "are the two most power- 
 ful resolvents tliat I know : the one breaks rock, the. other 
 self-conceit. Let us wait." 
 
 Chicot waited; and while he waited those events hap- 
 pened which we have recited, and from the midst of which 
 there seemed to him to arise certain new combinations 
 which portended political catastrophe ; and, therefore, 
 since his king, whom he still loved, — dead though he was, 
 — seemed to him, in the face of coming events, to incur cer- 
 tain dangers similar to those from which he, Chicot, had 
 already rescued him, he took it upon himself to visit the 
 king in the role of ghost, with the sole purpose of reveal- 
 ing to him the future. 
 
 We have seen how the announcement of j\I. de May- 
 enne's approaching arrival — an announcement involved in 
 
120 THE FORTY-FIVE. 
 
 the return of Joyeuse, and -which Chicot had sagaciously 
 evolved — had caused Chicot to be transformed from ghost 
 to flesh and blood, and from the condition of a prophet to 
 that of an ambassador. 
 
 Now that all which might seem obscure in our narrative 
 has been explained, by our readers' permission, we will 
 follow Chicot as he goes from the Louvre and takes his 
 way to his little house in Bussy Square. 
 
THE SEKENADE. 121 
 
 CHAPTEE XVII. 
 
 THE SEREXADE. 
 
 From the Louvre Chicot had not far to go to his home. 
 He ^vent to the bank of the Seine and got into a little 
 boat which he had left there. 
 
 " It is strange," thought he, as he rowed and looked at 
 the still-lighted window of the king's room, "that after so 
 many years, Henri is still the same. Others have risen 
 or fallen ; while he has gained some wrinkles, and that is 
 all. He has the same weak, yet elevated mind ; still 
 fantastical and poetical j still the same egotistical being, 
 always asking for more than one has to give him, — friend- 
 ship from the indifferent, love from the friendly, devotion 
 from the loving, — and more sad than any one else in his 
 kingdom. I believe, in fact, that I am the only one who 
 has fathomed that strange compound of debauchery and 
 repentance, of impiety and superstition, as I alone am 
 acquainted with the Louvre, through the corridors of 
 which so many favorites have passed on their way to the 
 tomb, to exile, or to oblivion." He breathed a sigh, 
 rather of reflection than of melancholy, and applied him- 
 self vigorously to his oars. " By the way," he said sud- 
 denly, "the king did not speak of giving me any money 
 for my journey ; that proves at least that he thinks me a 
 friend." And he laughed quietly. 
 
 He soon arrived at the opposite bank, where he fastened 
 his boat. On entering the Eue des Augustins, he was 
 
122 THE FORTY-FIVE. 
 
 struck by the sound of instruments and voices in a quar- 
 ter usually so quiet at that late hour. " Is there a wed- 
 ding here '? " thought he. " Ventre de hiche ! I had only 
 five hours to sleep, and now this will keep me awake." 
 
 As he advanced, he saw a dozen torches carried by 
 pages, while thirty musicians were playing on different 
 instruments. The band was stationed before a house that 
 Chicot, with surprise, recognized as his own. The invis- 
 ible general who directed the affair had disposed musi- 
 cians and pages in such a manner that all had their faces 
 turned towards the house of Eobert Briquet, and gazed at 
 his windows in ardent contemplation. On observing that, 
 Chicot was for a moment stupefied. Then, slapping his 
 thighs with his bony hands, he said, "But there is some 
 misunderstanding. All that noise cannot be made on my 
 account." Approaching nearer, he mingled with the spec- 
 tators who had been attracted to the scene, and looking 
 attentively around, he became satisfied that all tlie light 
 of the torches illumined his house, as all the harmony 
 surrounded it ; no one in that crowd was giving attention 
 to the house opposite or to any others in that vicinity. 
 
 "In fact," Chicot said to himself, "it is for me I Has 
 some unknown princess fallen in love with me '? " But 
 that idea, flattering as it was, did not satisfy him ; and he 
 turned towards the house facing his, but it showed no 
 signs of life. 
 
 " They must sleep soundly there," said he ; " ventre de 
 hiche ! such a noise is enough to wake the dead. Pardon 
 me, my friend," said he, addressing himself to a torch- 
 bearer, " but will you tell me, if you please, for whom all 
 this music is designed ? " 
 
 "For the bourgeois who lives there," replied he, point- 
 ing out to Chicot his own house. 
 
 " Decidedly, it is for me ! " thought he. " To whom 
 
THE SERENADE. 123 
 
 do you belong'?" he asked of a tambourine player, at 
 that moment unoccupied. 
 
 " To the bourgeois who lives there." 
 
 " Ah ! they not only come for me, but they belong to 
 me, — still better. Well, we shall see ; ' and elbowing 
 his way through the crowd, he opened his door, went up- 
 stairs, and appeared at his balcony, in which he placed a 
 chair and sat down. "Without appearing to notice the 
 laughter which greeted his appearance, he said, " Gentle- 
 men, are you sure there is no mistake 1 Is all this really 
 for meT' 
 
 "Are you M. Eobert Briquet '? " asked the director of 
 the orchestra. 
 
 " Himself." 
 
 " Then we are at your service, Monsieur," replied the 
 Italian, with a movement of his baton which started a 
 new outbreak of harmony. 
 
 "Certainly it is unintelligible," thought Chicot. He 
 looked around; all the inhabitants of the street were at 
 their windows, excepting those of the opposite house, 
 which, as we have said, remained dark and quiet. But 
 on glancing downwards, he saw a man wrapped in a dark 
 cloak, and who wore a black hat with a red feather, lean- 
 ing against the portico of his own door, and looking earn- 
 estly at the opposite house. The leader of the band 
 from time to time left his post and spoke softly to this 
 man. Chicot instantly understood that here lay all the 
 real interest of the scene, and from that moment gave that 
 person all his attention. Suddenly a gentleman on horse- 
 back, followed by two squires, appeared at the corner of 
 the street and pushed his way through the crowd. 
 
 " M. de Joyeuse ! " murmured Chicot, who recognized 
 at once the Grand Admiral of France, booted and spurred 
 in obedience to the king's order. The crowd dispersed ; 
 
124 THE FORTY-FIVE. 
 
 the music ceased. The cavalier approached the gentle- 
 man under the balcony. "Well, Henri," said he, "what 
 news ? " 
 
 " Nothing, Brother, nothing." 
 
 "Xothing?" 
 
 " No, she has not even appeared." 
 
 " They have not made noise enough." 
 
 " They have roused all the neighborhood." 
 
 " They did not cry, as I told them, that it was all in 
 honor of tliis bourgeois." 
 
 " They cried it so faithfully that there he is, sitting in 
 his balcony, listening to the serenade." 
 
 " And she has not appeared 1 " 
 
 " Neither she nor any one." 
 
 " The idea was ingenious, however," said Joyeuse, dis- 
 appointed ; " for she might, like the rest of the people, 
 have profited by the music given to her neighbor." 
 
 " Ah, you do not know her. Brother." 
 
 " Yes, I do ; or at all events, I know women, and as 
 she is but a woman, we will not despair." 
 
 " Ah ! you say that in a discouraged tone. Brother." 
 
 " Not at all ; only give the bourgeois his serenade 
 every night." 
 
 " But she wiU go away.'' 
 
 " Not if you do not speak to her, or seem to be doing 
 it on her account, and remain concealed. Has the hou7-- 
 geois spoken 1 " 
 
 " He has addressed the orchestra ; and tliere he is, 
 about to speali again." 
 
 In fact. Briquet, resolved to bring the matter to an ex- 
 planation, rose to adilress once more the leader of the band. 
 
 " Hold your tongue up there and go in ! " cried Joyeuse, 
 out of humor. " What the devil ! since you have had 
 your serenade, you have nothing to say ; so keep quiet ! " 
 
THE SERENADE. 125 
 
 " My serenade ! " replied Chicot, in his most polite 
 manner j " but I should like to know at least to whom 
 my serenade is addressed ? " 
 
 " To your daughter, imbecile ! " 
 
 " Pardon, ilonsieur ; but I have no daughter." 
 
 "To year wife, then." 
 
 " Thank God, I am not married ! " 
 
 " Then to yourself ; and if you do not go in — " 
 cried Joyeuse, urging his horse towards the balcony. 
 
 " Ventre de biche / but if the music be for me — " 
 
 " Old fool ! " growled Joyeuse. " If you do not go in 
 and hide your ugly face, they shall break their instru- 
 ments over j-our head." 
 
 " Let the man alone. Brother," said Henri ; " the fact 
 is, he must be very much astonished." 
 
 "And what right has he to be astonished, morbleu ? 
 Besides, if we get up a quarrel, perhaps she will look to 
 see what is the matter. So let us pommel the bourgeois ; 
 let us burn his house, if necessary ; but, corbleu ! let us 
 make a commotion ! " 
 
 " No, for pity's sake, Brother, do not let us force her 
 attention ! we are beaten, and must submit." 
 
 Chicot had not lost a word of this last dialogue, which 
 had thrown some light on his still confused ideas. He 
 therefore mentally prepared for his defence, knowing the 
 humor of him who attacked ; but Joyeuse yielded to his 
 brother's request, and dismissed the pages and musicians. 
 Then he said to his brother, " I am in despair; every- 
 thing conspires against us." 
 
 " What do you mean 1 " 
 
 " I have no longer time to aid you." 
 
 " I see now that you are in travelling-dress ; I did not 
 remark it before.'' 
 
 " I set off to-night for Antwerp, by desire of the king." 
 
126 THE FORTY-FIVE. 
 
 " When did he give you the order 1 " 
 
 " This evening." 
 
 " Mon Dieu !' 
 
 " Come with me, I entreat." 
 
 "Do you order me, Brother V said Henri, turning 
 pale at the thought. 
 
 " No ; I only beg you." 
 
 " Thank you, Brother. If I were forced to give up 
 spending my nights under this window — " 
 
 " Well 1 " 
 
 " I should die." 
 
 " You are mad." 
 
 " My heart is here, Brother ; my life is here." 
 
 Joyeuse crossed his arms with a mixture of anger and 
 pity. " If our father," he said, " begged you to let 
 yourself be attended by Miron, who is at once a philos- 
 opher and a doctor — " 
 
 " I should reply to our father that I am well, and that 
 my brain is sound, and that Miron cannot cure love- 
 sickness." 
 
 " Well, then, Henri, I must make the best of it. She 
 is but a woman, and at my return I hope to see you 
 more joyous than myself" 
 
 " Yes, yes, my good brother, I shall be cured ; I shall 
 be happy, thanks to your friendship, which is my most 
 precious possession." 
 
 " After your love." 
 
 " Before my life." 
 
 Joyeuse, deeply affected, notwithstanding his apparent 
 frivolity, interrupted him. 
 
 " Let us go, Brother," said he. 
 
 " Yes, Brother, I follow you," said Bouchage, sighing. 
 
 " Yes, I understand, — the last adieux to the window 
 but you have also one for me, Brother." 
 
THE SERENADE. 127 
 
 Henri passed his arms round tlie neck of his brother, 
 who leaned down to embrace him. 
 
 " Xo ! " cried he. " I will accompany you to the 
 gates." And with a last look towards the window, he 
 followed his brother. 
 
 Chicot continued to watch. Gradually every one dis- 
 appeared ; and the street was deserted. Then one of 
 the windows of the opposite house was opened, and a 
 man looked out. 
 
 " There is no longer any one here, Madame," said he ; 
 " you may leave your hiding-place and go down to your 
 own room." And lighting a lamp, he gave it into a 
 hand stretched out to receive it. 
 
 Chicot looked earnestly ; but as he caught sight of her 
 pale but sublime face, he shuddered and sat down, 
 entirely subjugated, in his turn, by the melancholy 
 influence of the house. 
 
128 THE FORTY-FIVE. 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 Chicot's purse. 
 
 Chicot passed the remainder of the night dreaming in 
 his armchair. " Dreaming " is the proper word, for the}' 
 were dreams, rather than thoughts, that occupied his 
 mind. To revisit the past, to see clearly in the light of 
 a single glance an entire epoch almost effaced from 
 memory, — that is not to think. Chicot dwelt that 
 night in a world already left by him far hehind, peopled 
 by shades illustrious or gracious, whom the glance of 
 a pale woman, like a faithful lamp, showed to him 
 passing one after another, with their trains of remem- 
 brances happy or terrible ; so that he who on returning 
 from the Louvre regretted his lost sleep did not even 
 think of going to bed. When the dawn began to silver 
 the glass of his windows, " The hour for ghosts has 
 passed," he said; "it is time to think of the living." 
 He rose, girded on his long sword, threw a cloak over 
 his shoulders, and with the firmness of a sage, examined 
 the bottom of his purse and his shoes. The latter 
 seemed to him in good condition for a campaign ; the 
 former deserves particular attention. 
 
 Chicot, a man of an ingenious imagination, had made in 
 the principal beam which ran through his house a cavity, 
 a foot and a half long and six inches wide, which he 
 used as a strong-box, to contain a thousand crowns in 
 gold. He had made the following calculation : " I spend 
 the twentieth part of one of these crowns every day ; 
 
CHICOT'S PURSE. 129 
 
 therefore I have enough to last me for twenty thousand 
 daj's. I cannot live so long as that ; but I may live half 
 as long, and as I grow older my wants and expenses will 
 increase. This will provide for twenty-five or thirty 
 good years, and that is enough." He was therefore 
 tranquil as to the future. 
 
 This morning, on opening his store, " Ventre de biche I " 
 he cried, " times are hard ; and I need not be delicate 
 ■with Henri. This money did not come from him, but 
 from an old uncle. If it were still night, I would go and 
 take one hundred crowns from the king's pocket ; but it 
 is day, and I now have no resource but in myself or in 
 Gorenflot." 
 
 This idea of drawing money from Gorenflot made Chi- 
 cot smile. " It would bo odd," thought he, "if Goren- 
 flot should refuse a hundred crowns to the friend through 
 whom he -was appointed prior to the Jacobins. Ah !" he 
 continued, shaking his head, " he is Gorenflot no longer. 
 Yes ; but Eobert Briquet is always Chicot. But that 
 letter from the king, — that famous letter which is to 
 kindle a conflagration in the court of Navarre, — I was 
 to go for it before day ; and here it is day already." 
 
 Chicot replaced the board which covered his hiding- 
 place, and fastened it with four nails ; then, ready tu 
 depart, he looked for the last time around that little 
 chamber, in which for many happy days he had been in- 
 accessible and safe. Then he gave a glance to the house 
 opposite. " Those devils, the Joyeuses," he said, " are 
 quite capable of burning my house down some night to 
 attract the lady to her window. And my thousand 
 crowns ! really, I think it would be better to hide them in 
 the ground. However, if they burn my house, the king 
 shall pay me for it." 
 
 Thus reassured, Chicot left the house, and at that mo- 
 VOL I. — 9 
 
130 THE FORTY-FIVE. 
 
 ment saw at the window of the opposite house the servant 
 of the unknown lady. This man, as we have said, was 
 completely disfigured by a scar extending from the left 
 temple over a portion of the cheek ; but although bald and 
 with a gray beard, he had a quick, active appearance, and 
 a fresh and young-looking complexion. On seeing Chicot, 
 he drew his hood over his head, and was going in ; but 
 Chicot called out to him, " Neighbor ! the noise here last 
 night has disgusted me with my house, and I am going 
 for some weeks to my farm. Will you be so obliging as 
 to look after my house a little 1 " 
 
 " Willingly, Monsieur." 
 
 " And if you see robbers 1 " 
 
 " Be easy, Monsieur ; I have a good arquebuse." 
 
 " I have still one more favor to ask." 
 
 " What is it 1 " 
 
 " I hardly like to call it out." 
 
 " I wiU come down to you." 
 
 He came down accordingly, with his hood drawn 
 closely round his face, saying, as a sort of apology, " It 
 is very cold this morning." 
 
 " Yes," said Chicot, " there is a bitter wind. Well, 
 Monsieur, I am going away." 
 
 " You told me that before ! " 
 
 " Yes, I know ; but I leave a good deal of money 
 behind me." 
 
 " So much the worse. Why not take it with 
 you 1 " 
 
 " I cannot ; a man is duller and less resolute when he 
 has to save his purse at the same time with his life. 
 Therefore I leave my money here ; but I leave it well 
 hidden, — so well that I have nothing to fear but fire. If 
 that should happen, will you who are my neighbor watch 
 the burning of a certain great beam, the end of which you 
 
CHICOT'S PURSE. 131 
 
 can see there on the right 1 Watch it and search in its 
 ashes." 
 
 " Eeally, Monsieur, you embarrass me. This confidence 
 would have been far better made to a friend than to a 
 stranger, of whom you know nothing." 
 
 " It is true, Monsieur, that I do not know you ; but I 
 believe in faces, and I think yours that of an honest man." 
 
 " But, Monsieur, it is possible that this music may 
 annoy my mistress also, as well as yourself ; and then 
 she may move." 
 
 " "Well, that cannot be helped ; and I must take my 
 chance." 
 
 " Thanks, Monsieur, for your confidence in a poor un- 
 known ! I will try to be worthy of it ; " and bowing, 
 he went into the house. 
 
 Chicot murmured to himself, " Poor young man ! what 
 a wreck ! and I have seen him so gay and so handsome ! " 
 
132 THE FORTY-FIVE. 
 
 CHAPTEE XIX. 
 
 THE PEIORY OF THE JACOBIJTS. 
 
 The priory wliich the king had bestowed upon Gorenflot 
 in recompense for his loyal services, and especially in 
 recognition of his brilliant eloquence, was situated near 
 the Porte St. Antoine. This was at that time a quarter 
 much frequented, for the king frequently visited the 
 Chateau de Vincennes, and several noblemen liad built 
 charming residences in_ its neighborhood. 
 
 It was a good position for the priory, which arose 
 proudly on the road to Vincennes. The priory was built 
 on four sides of an immense court, planted with trees ; it 
 had a kitchen-garden behind, and a number of out-houses, 
 which made it look like a small village. Two hundred 
 monks occupied the dormitories situated at the end of the 
 court, while in the front four large windows, with a bal- 
 cony before them, gave to the apartments of the priory 
 air and light. 
 
 Like a city prepared to stand a siege, the priory was 
 maintained by its own resources and dependencies ; its 
 pasture-land fed a troop of fifty oxen and ninety-nine 
 sheep, — for by some traditional law, no religious order 
 was allowed to possess one hundred of anything, — while 
 certain out-buildings sheltered ninety-nine pigs of a par- 
 ticular breed, which were most carefully reared and fat- 
 tened. The espaliers of the priory, which were exposed to 
 the midday sun, furnished peaches, apricots, and grapes ; 
 whUe preserves of these fruits were skilfully made by a 
 
THE PRIORY OF THE JACOBINS. 133 
 
 certain Brother Eusebe, who was the architect of the fa- 
 mous rock constructed of confectionery which had been 
 presented to the two c^ueens by the ffutel de Ville of Paris 
 at the last state banquet which had taken place there. 
 
 In the interior of this paradise for gourmands and slug- 
 gards, in a sumptuous apartment on the first floor, whose 
 balcony overlooked the high-road, we shall find Gorenflot, 
 ornamented with an additional chin, and characterized by 
 that sort of venerable gravity which tlie constant habit of 
 repose and good living gives to the most vulgar faces. 
 Half-past seven in the morning had just struck. The prior 
 had profited by the rule which gave to him an hour's 
 more sleep than to the other monks, and now, although he 
 had risen, he was quietly continuing his sleep in a large 
 and luxurious armchair. The furniture of the room was 
 more mundane than religious. A carved table, covered 
 with a rich cloth ; books of religious gallantry (that sin- 
 gular mixture of love and devotion which we meet with 
 only at that epoch of art) ; expensive vases ; and curtains 
 of rich damask, — were some of the luxuries of which Dom 
 Modeste Gorenflot had become possessed by tlie grace of 
 God, of the king, and especially of Chicot. 
 
 Gorenflot slept, as wo have said, in his chair, when the 
 door opened softly, and two men entered. The first was 
 about thirty-five years of age, thin and pale, and with a 
 look which commanded even before he spoke ; lightnings 
 seemed to dart from his eyes when they were open, al- 
 though their expression was generally softened by a care- 
 ful lowering of the white eyelids. This was Brother 
 Borromee, who had been for the last three weeks treasurer 
 of the convent. The other was a young man about seven- 
 teen or eighteen, with piercing black eyes, a bold look, of 
 small stature, but well-formed, and whose turned-up sleeves 
 displayed two strong arms quick in gesticulation. 
 
134 THE FORTY-FIVE. 
 
 " The prior sleeps still, Father Borromee," said he. 
 " Shall we wake him 1 " 
 
 " On no account, Brother Jacques." 
 
 " Keally, it is a pity to have a prior who sleeps so long, 
 for we might have tried the arms this morning. Did you 
 notice what heautiful cuirasses and arquebuses there were 
 among them ? " 
 
 " Silence, Brother ! you will be heard." 
 
 " What a misfortune ! " cried the young man, impa- 
 tiently, stamping his foot ; " it is so fine to-day, and the 
 court is so dry." 
 
 " We must wait, my child," replied Borromee, with a 
 feigned submission which the fire of his eyes contradicted. 
 
 " But why do you not order them to distribute the arms 1 " 
 
 " I order ! " 
 
 "Yes, you." 
 
 " You know that I am not the master here ; there is 
 the master." 
 
 "Yes, asleep, when every one else is awake," replied 
 Jacques, impatiently. 
 
 " Let us respect his rank and his sleep," said Borromee, 
 overturning a chair, however, as he spoke. 
 
 At the sound Gorenflot looked up and said sleepily, 
 " Who is there 1 " 
 
 " Pardon us," said Borromee, " if we interrupt your 
 pious meditations ; but I have come to take your orders." 
 
 " Ah ! good-morning, Brother Borromee ; what orders 
 do you want 1 " 
 
 " About the arms." 
 
 " What arms 1 " 
 
 " Those which your Eeverence ordered to be brought 
 here." 
 
 " I ! and when 1 " 
 
 " About a week ago." 
 
THE PRIORY OF THE JACOBINS. 135 
 
 " I ordered arnas ? " 
 
 " Without doubt," replied Borromee, firmly. 
 
 "And what for r' 
 
 " Your Eevereuce said to me, ' Brother Borromee, it 
 would be wise to procure arms for the use of the brethren ; 
 gymnastic exercises develop the bodily forces, as pious 
 exhortations do those of the soul.' " 
 
 " I said that 1 " 
 
 " Yes, reverend prior ; and I, an unworthy but obedient 
 brother, hastened to obey." 
 
 " It is strange ; but I remember nothing about it." 
 
 " You even added this Latin maxim, ' Alilitat spiritu, 
 militat gladio.'" 
 
 " What ! " cried Gorenflot, immeasurably astonished, 
 "I added that maxim T' 
 
 " I have a faithful memory," said Borromee, lowering 
 his eyes. 
 
 " Well, if I said so," Gorenflot replied, gently moving 
 his head up and down, " it is because I had my reasons 
 for saying so, Brother Borromee. In fact, that has always 
 been my opinion, that it is necessary to exercise the body ; 
 and when I was simply a monk I fought with the word 
 and with the sword, — militat — spiritu. Very good, 
 Brother Borromee ; it was an inspiration from the Lord." 
 
 " Then I will finish executing your orders, reverend 
 prior," said Borromee, retiring with Jacques. 
 
 " Go ! " said Gorenflot, majestically. 
 
 " Ah ! " said Borromee, " I had forgotten ; there is a 
 friend in the parlor who asks to see your Eeverence." 
 
 " What is his name 1 " 
 
 " Maitre Eobert Briquet." 
 
 " Oh, he is not a friend, — only an acquaintance." 
 
 " Then your Eeverence will not see him 1 " 
 
 "■ Oh, yes ! let him come up ; he amuses me." 
 
136 THE FORTY-FIVE. 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 THE TWO FRIENDS. 
 
 When Chicot entered, the prior did not rise, but merely 
 bent his head. 
 
 " Good-morning,'' said Chicot. 
 
 " Ah, there you are ! you appear to have come to life 
 again." 
 
 " Did you think me dead 1 " 
 
 " Of course ; I saw you no more." 
 
 " I was busy." 
 
 "Ah!" 
 
 Chicot knew that before being warmed by two or 
 three bottles of old Burgundy, Gorenflot was sparing of 
 his words ; and since, considering the time of the morn- 
 ning, it was probable that he was still fasting, Chicot sat 
 down to wait. 
 
 " Will you breakfast with me, M. Briquet 1 " asked 
 Gorenflot. 
 
 " Perhaps." 
 
 " You must not be angry with me if it has become 
 impossible for me to give j^ou as much time as I could 
 wish." 
 
 " And who the devil asked you for your time ? I did 
 not even ask you for breakfast ; you offered it." 
 
 " Certainly I offered it ; but — " 
 
 " But you thought I should not accept." 
 
 "Oh, no! is that my habit V 
 
THE TWO FRIENDS. 137 
 
 " All ! a superior man like you can adopt any habits. 
 Monsieur the Prior," replied Chicot, with one of those 
 smiles that were peculiarly his own. 
 
 Gorenflot looked at Chicot ; he could not tell whether 
 he was laughing at him or .speaking seriously. Chicot 
 rose. 
 
 " Why do you rise, M. Briquet f " asked Gorenflot. 
 
 " Because I am going away." 
 
 " And why are you going away, when you said you 
 would breakfast with me?" 
 
 " I did not say I would ; I said ' perhaps.' " 
 
 " You are angry'?" 
 
 Chicot laughed. " I angry ! " said he, " at what ? Be- 
 cause you are impudent, ignorant, and rude? Oh, my 
 dear monsieur, I have known you too long to be angry 
 at your little imperfections ! " 
 
 Gorenflot, astounded by that naive sally on the part of 
 his guest, remained with his mouth open and his arms 
 extended. 
 
 " Adieu," said Chicot. 
 
 " Oh, do not go ! " 
 
 "My journey will not wait." 
 
 " You travel I " 
 
 " I have a mission." 
 
 " From whom ] " 
 
 " From the king." 
 
 " A mission from the king ! then you have seen him 
 again 1 " 
 
 " Certainly." 
 
 " And how did he receive you 1 " 
 
 " With enthusiasm ; he has a memory, king as 
 he is." 
 
 " A mission from the king ! " stammered Gorenflot. 
 
 " Adieu," repeated Chicot. 
 
138 THE FOBTY-FIVE. 
 
 Gorenfiot rose, and seized him by the hand. " Come ! 
 let us explain ourselves," said he. 
 
 " On what ? " 
 
 " On your irritability to-day." 
 
 " I ! I am the same to-day as on all other days." 
 
 "No." 
 
 " A simple mirror of the people I am with. You laugh, 
 and I laugh; you are rude, so am I." 
 
 " Well, I confess I was preoccupied." 
 
 " Really ! " 
 
 " Can you not be indulgent to a man who has so much 
 work on his shoulders 1 Governing this priory is like 
 governing a province. Eemember, I command two hun- 
 dred men. I am at the same time manager, architect, 
 intendant, — all that without including my spiritual 
 functions." 
 
 " Ah ! it is too much indeed for an unworthy servant 
 of God." 
 
 " Ah ! you are ironical, M. Briquet. Have you lost all 
 your Christian charity ? " 
 
 " I had Christian charity, then t " 
 
 " I think that you are envious. Be careful ; envy is a 
 ■capital sin." 
 
 "Envious! of whom 'J" 
 
 " Why, you say to yourself, Dom Modeste Gorenfiot is 
 rising ; he is on the ascending grade.'' 
 
 " While I am on the descending grade, I suppose ? " 
 
 "It is the fault of your false position, M Briquet." 
 
 " M. Gorenfiot, do you remember the text, ' He who 
 humbles himself shall be exalted 1 ' " 
 
 " Nonsense ! " cried Gorenfiot. 
 
 " Ah ! now he doubts the Holy Writ, — the heretic ! " 
 
 " Heretic ! it is the Huguenots who are heretics." 
 
 ■" Schismatic, then." 
 
THE TWO FRIENDS. 139 
 
 "Come, what are you trying to say, M. Briquet? 
 Eeally, you bewilder me." 
 
 " Nothing, but that I am setting out on a journey, and 
 that I have come to make you my adieux ; so good-by, 
 Seigneur Dom Modeste." 
 
 '■ You will not leave me thus ? " 
 
 " Yes, pardieu ! " 
 
 " A friend ! " 
 
 " In grandeur one has no friends." 
 
 " Chicot ! " 
 
 " I am no longer Chicot ; you reproached me with my 
 false position just now." 
 
 " But you must not go without eating ; it is not whole- 
 some. You have yourself told me so twenty times. 
 Come, let us breakfast.'' 
 
 " Oh, you live too badly here." 
 
 " Badly here ! " murmured the prior, in astonishment. 
 
 " I think so." 
 
 " Yo\i had to complain of your last dinner here % " 
 
 " The horrible taste is still in my mouth ; phew ! " 
 
 "Of what? speak!" 
 
 " The pork cutlets were burned." 
 
 " Oh ! " 
 
 " The stuffed ears did not crackle under your teeth." 
 
 " Ah ! " 
 
 " The capon was soft." 
 
 " Good heavens ! " 
 
 "The soup was greasy." 
 
 "For pity's sake ! " 
 
 " The gravy was covered with oil, which yet floats in 
 my stomach." 
 
 "Chicot! Chicot!" sighed Dom Modeste, in the same 
 tone in which Csesar, dying, said to his assassin, " Brutus ! 
 Brutus ! " 
 
140 THE FORTY-FIVE. 
 
 " And then you have no time to give me." 
 
 " I ! " 
 
 " Yon said so, did you not 1 It only remains for you 
 to become a liar." 
 
 " Oh, I can put off" my business ; it was only a lady 
 who asks me to see her." 
 
 « See her, then." 
 
 " Xo, no, dear M. Chicot ! although she has sent me a 
 hundred bottles of Sicilian wine.'' 
 
 "A hundred bottles of Sicilian wine ! " 
 
 " I will not receive her, although she is probably some 
 great lady. I will receive only you, dear il. Chicot. 
 She wishes to become my penitent, — that great lady who 
 sends bottles of Sicilian wine by the hundred. Well, I 
 will refuse her my spiritual counsels ; I will send word to 
 her to choose another director." 
 
 "You will do all that?" 
 
 " To breakfast with you, dear M. Chicot ; to repair 
 my wrongs towards you." 
 
 " Your wrongs spring from your savage pride, Dom 
 Modesto." 
 
 " I will humble myself, my friend." 
 
 " From your idleness." 
 
 "Chicot ! Chicot! beginning to-morrow, I will mortify 
 myself by joining my monks in their exercise." 
 
 " Your monks in their exercise I " said Chicot, opening 
 his eyes. " In what exercise, — that of the fork 1 " 
 
 " No, of arms." 
 
 " Arms ! " 
 
 "Yes ; but it will be fatiguing to command." 
 
 "Who had this idea r' 
 
 "I, it seems." 
 
 " You ! impossible ! " 
 
 " Yes ; I gave the order to Brother Borromee." 
 
THE TWO FRIENDS. 141 
 
 " Who is he 1 " 
 
 " The new treasurer." 
 
 " And whence comes this treasurer'?" 
 
 " M. le Cardinal de Guise recommended him." 
 
 " In person 1 ' 
 
 " No, by letter." 
 
 " Is it he whom 1 saw down below*?" 
 
 " That is the man." 
 
 "He who announced me?" 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " Oh, oh ! " said Chicot, involuntarily ; " and what 
 qualification has he, — this treasurer, so warmly recom- 
 mended by the Cardinal de Guise 1 " 
 
 " He reckons like Pythagoras." 
 
 "And it is with him you decided on these exercises of 
 arms 1 " 
 
 " Yes, my friend." 
 
 " That is to say, he proposed to you to arm your 
 monks'! " 
 
 " Xo, my dear M. Chicot ; the idea was entirely mine." 
 
 "And for what end'?" 
 
 "To arm them." 
 
 " No pride, hardened sinner ; pride is a capital sin. 
 That idea did not originate with you." 
 
 " Oh, I do not know. And yet it must have been 
 mine, for it seems that I pronounced a very good Latin 
 text on the occasion.'' 
 
 " You ! Latin ' Do you remember it 1 " 
 
 "'Militat spiritu — '" 
 
 "'Militatgladio.'" 
 
 " Yes, yes ; that was it." 
 
 " Well, you have excused yourself so well that I par- 
 don you. You are still my true friend." 
 
 Gorenflot wiped away a tear. 
 
142 THE FORTY-FIVE. 
 
 " jSTow let us breakfast, and I promise to be indulgent." 
 " Listen ! I will tell the cook that if the fare be not 
 
 regal, he shall be placed in confinement ; and we will try 
 
 some of the wine of my penitent." 
 " I will aid you with my judgment." 
 
THE BREAKFAST. 143 
 
 CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 THE BREAKFAST. 
 
 GoEENPLOT was not long in giving his orders. The cook 
 ■was summoned. 
 
 " Brother Eusebe," said Gorenflot, in a severe voice, 
 " listen to what my friend M. Briquet is about to tell you. 
 It seems that you are negligent ; and I hear of grave faults 
 in your last soup, and a fatal negligence in the crackling 
 of your ears. Take care, Brother, take care ! a single step 
 in a wrong direction may be irremediable.'' 
 
 The monk grew red and pale by turns, and stammered 
 out an excuse. 
 
 " Enough," said Gorenflot ; " what can we have for 
 breakfast to-day 1 " 
 
 " Eggs fried with cocks' combs." 
 
 " What else 1 " 
 
 " Mushrooms." 
 
 " Welir' 
 
 " Crabs cooked with Madeira." 
 
 " Those are all trifles ; tell us of something solid." 
 
 "A ham, boiled with pistachios." 
 
 Chicot looked contemptuous. 
 
 "Pardon!" cried Eusebe; "it is cooked in sherry 
 wine." 
 
 Gorenflot hazarded an approving glance towards Chicot. 
 
 " Good, is it not, M. Briquet 1 " said he. 
 
 Chicot made a gesture of half-satisfaction. 
 
 " And what have you besides'? " 
 
144 THE FOETY-riVE. 
 
 " You can have some eels.'' 
 
 " Oh, we will dispense with the eels," said Chicot. 
 
 "I think, M. Briquet," replied the cook, "that you 
 can taste of my eels without regretting it." 
 ■ " What ! are they rarities '? " 
 
 " I nourish them in a particular manner." 
 
 " Oh, oh ! " 
 
 " Yes," added Gorenflot ; " it appears that the Romans 
 or the Greeks, I forget which, — a people of Italy, in 
 short, — nourished their lampreys as Eusebe does his eels. 
 He read of it in an old author called Suetonius." 
 
 " What ! Brother Eusebe," cried Chicot, " you give 
 men to your eels to eat ? " 
 
 " Xo, Monsieur ; I mince the intestines and livers of 
 fowls and game with a little pork, and make a kind of 
 sausage-meat, which I throw to my eels, and they are 
 kept in soft water, often renewed, in which they become 
 large and fat. The one which I shall offer you to-day 
 weighs nine pounds." 
 
 " It must be a serpent ! " said Chicot. 
 
 " It swallowed a chicken at a meal." 
 
 " And how will it be dressed 1 " 
 
 " Skinned and fried in anchovy paste, and done with 
 bread-crumbs ; and I shall hare the honor of serving it 
 up with a saiice flavored with garlic and allspice, lemons 
 and mustard." 
 
 " Perfect ! " cried Chicot. 
 
 Brother Eusebe breathed again. 
 
 " Then we shall want sweets," said Gorenflot. 
 
 " I will invent something that shall please you." 
 
 " Well, then, I trust to you ; be worthy of my 
 confidence." 
 
 Eusebe bowed and retired. Ten minutes after, they 
 sat down, and the programme was faithfully carried out. 
 
THE BKEAKFAST. 145 
 
 They began like famished men, drank Rhenish wine, Bur- 
 gundy, and Hermitage, and then attacked that of the fair 
 penitent. 
 
 " What do you think of it?" asked Gorenflot. 
 
 " Good, but light. What is your penitent's name ? " 
 
 " I do not know ; she sent an ambassador." 
 
 They ate as long as they could, and then sat drinking 
 and talking, when suddenly a great noise was heard. 
 
 " What is that?" asked Chicot. 
 
 " It is the exercise which is beginning." 
 
 "Without the chief? Your soldiers are badly disci- 
 plined, I fear.'' 
 
 " Without me ! never ! " cried Gorenflot, who had 
 become excited with wine. " That cannot be, since it 
 is I who command, I who instruct ; and stay, liere is 
 Brother Borromee, who comes to take my orders." 
 
 Indeed, as he spoke, Borromee entered, throwing on 
 Chicot a sharp and oblique glance. 
 
 " Reverend prior," said he, " we only wait for you to 
 examine the arms and cuirasses." 
 
 " Cuirasses ! " thought Chicot ; " I must see this,'' and 
 he rose quietly. 
 
 " You will be present at our manoeuvres ? " said 
 Gorenflot, rising in his turn, like a block of marble on 
 legs. " Your arm, my friend ; you shall see some good 
 instruction." 
 
 VOL. I. — 10 
 
146 THE FORTY-FIVE. 
 
 CHAPTER XXII. 
 
 BKOTHEE BOEEOMEE. 
 
 When Chicot, sustaining the reverend prior, arrived in 
 the courtyard, he found there two bands of one hundred 
 men each, waiting for their commander. About fifty 
 among the strongest and most zealous had helmets on 
 their heads, and long swords hanging to belts from their 
 waists. Others displayed with pride rounded cuirasses, 
 on which they liked to make a noise with an iron gaunt- 
 let. Brother Borromee took a helmet from the hands 
 of a novice, and placed it on his head. While he did so, 
 Chicot looked at it and smiled. " You have a handsome 
 helmet there, Brother Borromee," said he. " Where did 
 you buy it, my dear prior 1 " 
 
 Gorenflot could not reply, for at that moment they 
 were fastening a magnificent cuirass upon him, which, 
 although spacious enough to have covered Hercules 
 Farnese, painfully compressed the undulations of the 
 flesh of the worthy prior. " Not so tight ! " cried 
 he. "I shall stifle; stop!" 
 
 "You asked the reverend prior, I believe," said 
 Borromee, "where he had purchased my helmet." 
 
 " I addressed that question to the reverend prior, and 
 not to you/' Chicot replied, " because I presume that in 
 this convent, as in aU others, nothing is done except on 
 the order of the superior." 
 
 " Certainly," said Gorenflot, "nothing is done here but 
 by my order. What were you asking, dear M. Briquet ? " 
 
BROTHER BORROMEE. 147 
 
 " I ask Brother Borromee if he knows where that 
 helmet was obtained." 
 
 " It made part of a lot of armor that the reverend prior 
 bought yesterday to arm the convent." 
 
 " I ! " said Gorenflot. 
 
 " Yes ; do you not remember that Ihey brought several 
 cuirasses and helmets here, according to your Reverence's 
 orders 1 " 
 
 "It is true," said Gorenflot. 
 
 " Ventre de hiche ! " thought Chicot ; " my helmet is 
 much attached to me, for after I carried it myself to the 
 H6tel Guise, it comes, like a lost dog, to find me at the 
 priory of the Jacobins ! " 
 
 At a sign from Borromee, the monks now formed into 
 lines, while Chicot sat down on a bench to look on. 
 
 Gorenflot stood up. " Attention ! " whispered Borromee 
 to him. 
 
 Gorenflot drew a gigantic sword from the scabbard, and 
 waving it in the air, cried in the voice of a stentor, 
 "Attention!" 
 
 "Your Eeverence will fatigue yourself, perhaps, in giv- 
 ing the orders," said Borromee, softly ; " if it please you 
 to spare your precious health, I will command to-day." 
 
 " I do indeed wish it," said Dom Modeste. " In fact, 
 I am suffering ; I am stifling. Go on.'' 
 
 Borromee bowed and placed himself at the head of the 
 troop. 
 
 " What a complaisant servant ! " said Chicot. " That 
 fellow is a jewel." 
 
 " He is charming ; I told you so." 
 
 " I am sure he does the same for you every day." 
 
 "Oh, every day ! He is as submissive as a slave." 
 
 "So that you have really nothing to do here, — Brother 
 Borromee acts for you % " 
 
148 THE FORTY-FIVE. 
 
 " Oh, nio7i Dieu, yes ! " 
 
 It was wonderful to see Borromee with his arms in his 
 hands, his eye dilated, and his vigorous arm wielding 
 his sword in so skilful a manner that one would have 
 thought him a trained soldier. Each time that Borromee 
 gave an order, Gorenflot repeated it, adding, " Brother 
 Borromee is right ; but I told you all that yesterday. 
 Pass the pike from one hand to the other ! Raise it to 
 the level of the eye ! A half-turn to the left is exactly 
 the same thing as a half-turn to the right, except that 
 it is just the contrary." 
 
 " Ventre de hiche ! you are a skilful instructor!" said 
 Chicot. 
 
 " Yes, T understand it well." 
 
 " And you have in Borromee an apt pupil." 
 
 " He understands me. Oh, yes ! he is very intelligent." 
 
 While the monks went through their exercises, Goren- 
 flot said, "You shall see my little Jacques.'' 
 
 " Who is Jacques 1 " 
 
 " A nice lad, calm-looking, but strong, and quick as 
 lightning. Look ! there he is with a musket in his 
 hand, about to fire." 
 
 " And he fires well." 
 
 " That he does." 
 
 " But stay — " 
 
 " What is it, then 1, " 
 
 "But if— but no!" 
 
 " Do you know my little Jacques 1 " 
 
 "ll not at all." 
 
 " But you thought for a moment that you did t " 
 
 " Yes, I thought I had seen him in a certain church 
 one day, or rather one night, when I was shut up in a 
 confessional. But no, I was mistaken ; it was not he." 
 
 This time, we must confess, Cliicot's words were not 
 
BROTHER BORROMEE. 149 
 
 exactly in accordance with the truth. He was too good 
 a physiognomist ever to forget a face that he had once 
 seen. Meanwhile Jacques loaded a heavy musket, and 
 placing himself at one hundred yards from the mark, 
 tired, and the ball lodged in the centre, amid the ap- 
 plause of the monks. 
 
 " That was well done ! " cried Chicot. 
 
 "Thank you, Monsieur!" said Jacques, whose cheeks 
 colored with pleasure. 
 
 " You manage your arms well, my child," added Chicot. 
 
 " I study. Monsieur." 
 
 " But he is best at the sword," said Gorenflot ; " those 
 who understand it say so ; and he is practising from 
 morning till night." 
 
 " Ah ! let us see," said Chicot. 
 
 " No one here, except perhaps myself, is capable of 
 fencing with him ; but will you try him yourself, Mon- 
 sieur]" said Borromee. 
 
 " I am but a poor bourgeois," said Chicot ; " formerly I 
 have used my sword like others, but now my legs tremble, 
 and my arm is weak." 
 
 " But you practise still 1 " 
 
 " A little," replied Chicot, with a smile. " However, 
 you. Brother Borromee, who are all muscle and tendon, 
 give a lesson to Brother Jacques, I beg, if the prior will 
 permit it." 
 
 " I order it," declaimed the prior. 
 
 All the monks came to make a ring around the pupil 
 and the professor. Gorenflot leaned towards his friend 
 and naively said, " It is almost as interesting as to chant 
 vespers, is it not 1 " 
 
 " That is what the light-horse say," replied Chicot. 
 
 The two combatants prepared for the trial. Borromee 
 had the advantage in height and experience. The blood 
 
150 THE FORTY-FIVE. 
 
 mounted to the checks of Jacques and animated them 
 with a feverish color. Borromee gradually dropped all 
 appearance of a monk, and was completely the master of 
 arms. He accompanied each thrust with a counsel or a 
 reproach ; but often the vigor and quickness of Jacques 
 triumphed over the skill of his teacher, who was several 
 times touched. When they paused, Chicot said, " Jacques 
 touched six times, and Borromee nine ; that is well for the 
 scholar, but not so well for the master." 
 
 A flash, unperceived by all but Chicot, leaped from 
 Borromee's eyes, and revealed a new trait in his character. 
 
 " Good ! " thought Chicot, " he is proud." 
 
 "Monsieur," replied Borromee, in a tone which he 
 endeavored to render calm, " the exercise of arms is 
 a difficult one, especially for poor monks.'' 
 
 " Nevertheless," said Chicot, " the master ought to be 
 at least half as good again as his pupil ; and if Jacques 
 were calmer, I am certain he would fence as well as 
 you." 
 
 " I do not think so,'' replied Borromee, biting his lips 
 with anger. 
 
 " Well, I am sure of it." 
 
 " M. Briquet, who is so clever, had better try Jacques 
 himself," replied Borromee, in a bitter tone. 
 
 " Oh ! I am old." 
 
 " Yes, but learned." 
 
 " Ah ! you mock," thought Chicot ; " but wait." Then 
 he said, " I am certain, however, that Brother Borromee, 
 like a wise master, often let Jacques touch him out of 
 complaisance." 
 
 "Ah ! " cried Jacques, frowning in his turn. 
 
 " No," replied Borromee ; " I love Jacques, certainly, 
 but I do not spoil him in that manner. But try your- 
 self, M. Briquet." 
 
BROTHER BORROMfcE. 151 
 
 " Oh, no ! " 
 
 " Come, only one pass ! " 
 
 " Try," said Gorenflot. 
 
 " I will not hurt you, Monsieur," said Jacques ; " I have 
 a very light hand." 
 
 " Dear child ! " murmured Chicot, with a strange glance 
 followed by a smile. " Well ! " said he, " since every one 
 wishes it, I will try ; " and he rose slowly, and prepared 
 himself with about the agility of a tortoise catching flies. 
 
152 THE FORTY-FIVE. 
 
 CHAPTER XXIII. 
 
 THE LESSON. 
 
 Fencing was not at that time the science that it is now. 
 The swords, sharp on each side, were used almost as often 
 to strike with the edge as to thrust with the point ; be- 
 sides, the left hand, armed with a dagger, was at the same 
 time offensive and defensive, and hence resulted a number 
 of slight wounds, which in a real combat kept up a con- 
 tinual excitement. Fencing, then in its infancy, consisted 
 in a multitude of evolutions, in which the actor moved 
 continually, and which, on a ground chosen by chance, 
 might be continually impeded by the character of its 
 surface. 
 
 It was common to see the fencer throw himself for- 
 ward, draw back again, or jump to the right or left ; so 
 that agility, not only of the hand, but of the legs and of 
 the whole body, was one of the first conditions of the art. 
 Chicot did not appear to have learned in this school, but 
 seemed to anticipate the modern style, of which the su- 
 periority and grace is in the agility of the hands and im- 
 movability of the body. He stood erect and firm, with 
 a wrist at once strong and supple, and with a sword 
 which seemed a flexible reed from the point to the mid- 
 dle of the blade, and an inflexible steel from the middle 
 to the guard. 
 
 After the first passes, Jacques, seeing before him this 
 man of bronze, whose wrist alone seemed alive, gave 
 some impatient passes, which merely made Chicot ex- 
 
THE LESSON. 15S 
 
 tend his arm, and at every opening left by the young 
 man, strike him full on the chest. At each of these 
 strokes of the button, Jacques, red with anger and eager- 
 ness, made a leap backwards. For ten minutes he dis- 
 played aU the resources of his wonderful agility ; he flew 
 like a tiger, twisted like a serpent, and bounded from 
 right to left. But Chicot, with his calm air and hi& 
 long arm, seized his time, and putting aside his adver- 
 sary's foil, still sent his own to the same place, while 
 Borromee grew pale with anger. At last, Jacques 
 rushed a last time on Chicot, who, parrying his thrust 
 with force, threw the poor fellow off his equilibrium ; 
 and he fell, while Chicot himself remained firm as a 
 rock. 
 
 " You did not tell us that you were a pillar of the 
 fencing-school," said Borromee, biting his nails with 
 vexation. 
 
 " I, a poor bourgeois ! " said Chicot ; " I, Robert Briquet, 
 a pillar of the fencing-school ! Ah, Monsieur ! " 
 
 " But, Monsieur, to manage a sword as you do you 
 must have practised enormously." 
 
 " Oh, mon Dieu ! yes, Monsieur, I have sometimes held 
 the sword, and have always found one thing." 
 
 " What is that ] " 
 
 " That for him who holds it, pride is a bad counsellor, 
 and anger a bad assistant. Now, listen, Jacques," he 
 added ; " you have a good wrist, but neither legs nor 
 head. You are quick ; but you do not reason. There are 
 three essential things in arms, — first the head, then the 
 hands, and then the legs. With the first you can defend 
 yourself; with the first and second you may conquer; but 
 with all three you can always conquer." 
 
 " Ah, Monsieur," said Jacques, " try Brother Borromee ;. 
 I should like to see it." 
 
154 THE FORTY-FIVE. 
 
 " No," said the treasurer ; " I should be beaten, and 
 I would rather confess it than prove it." 
 
 " How modest and amiable he is ! " said Gorenflot. 
 
 " On the contrary," whispered Chicot, " he is stupid 
 with vanity. At his age I would have given anything for 
 such a lesson ; " and he sat down again. 
 
 Jacques approached him, and admiration triumphing 
 over the shame of defeat, " Will you give me some les- 
 sons, M. Briquet 1 " said he ; " the prior will permit it, 
 will you not, your Eeverence 1 " 
 
 " With pleasure, my child." 
 
 " I do not wish to interfere with your master," said 
 Chicot, bowing to Borromee. 
 
 " Oh, I am not his only master," said he. " Neither 
 the honor nor the defeat is wholly due to me." 
 
 " Who is the other, then t " 
 
 " Oh, no one ! " cried Borromee, fearing he had com- 
 mitted an imprudence. 
 
 " Who is he, Jacques 1 " asked Chicot. 
 
 " I remember," said Gorenflot ; " he is a little fat man 
 who comes here sometimes, — a well-appearing man, who 
 is a good drinker." 
 
 " I forget his name," said Borromee. 
 
 " I know it," said a monk who was standing by. " It 
 is Bussy Leclerc." 
 
 " Ah, a good sword ! " said Chicot. 
 
 Jacques reiterated his request. 
 
 *' I cannot teach you," said Chicot. " I taught myself 
 by reflection and practice, and I advise you to do the 
 same." 
 
 Gorenflot and Chicot now returned to the house. 
 
 " I hope," said Gorenflot, with pride, " that this is a 
 house devoted to the king's service, and good for some- 
 thing, eh ? " 
 
THE LESSON. 155 
 
 " Peste ! I should think so ! " said Chicot. " One sees 
 fine things, reverend prior, in visiting you." 
 
 " And all this in one month, — in less than a 
 month." 
 
 " And done by you % " 
 
 " Done by me, by me alone, as you see," said Goren- 
 ilot, straightening himself. 
 
 " It is more than I expected, my friend ; and when I 
 return from my mission — " 
 
 " Ah, true, dear M. Chicot ; let us speak of your 
 mission." 
 
 " Tlie more willingly because I have a message to send 
 to the king before I go." 
 
 " To the king, my dear friend 1 You correspond with 
 the kingT' 
 
 " Directly." 
 
 " And you want a messenger 1 " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " Will you have one of our monks 1 It would be an 
 honor to the priory.'' 
 
 " Willingly." 
 
 " Then you are restored to favor 1 " 
 
 " More than ever." 
 
 " Then," said Gorenflot, " you can tell the king all that 
 we are doing here in his interest." 
 
 " I shall not fail to do so." 
 
 " Ah, my dear Chicot ! " cried Gorenflot, who already 
 believed himself a bishop. 
 
 " But first I have two requests to make." 
 
 " Speak." 
 
 " First, money, which the king will restore to you." 
 
 " Money ! I have my coffers full." 
 
 "Faith ! you are fortunate." 
 
 " Will you have a thousand crowns ? " 
 
156 THE FORTY-FIVE. 
 
 " No, that is far too much ; I am modest in my tastes, 
 humble in my desires, and my title of ambassador does 
 not make me proud ; I conceal it rather than boast of it ; 
 therefore one hundred crowns will suffice." 
 
 " Here they are ; and the second thing 1 " 
 
 "An attendant." 
 
 " Au attendant 1 " 
 
 " Yes, to accompany me ; I like society." 
 
 " Ah, my friend, if I were but free, as formerly." 
 
 " But you are not." 
 
 " Greatness enslaves me," murmured Gorenflot. 
 
 " Alas ! " said Chicot, " one cannot do everything at 
 once. But not being able to have your honorable com- 
 pany, my dear prior, I will content myself with that of 
 the little Jacques ; he pleases me." 
 
 " You are right, Chicot ; he is a rare lad, who wiU go 
 far." 
 
 " I will begin by taking him two hundred and fifty 
 leagues, if you will permit it." 
 
 "He is yours, my friend." 
 
 The prior struck a bell, and when the servant appeared, 
 said, " Let Brother Jacques come here, and also our 
 messenger." 
 
 Ten minutes after, both appeared at the door. 
 
 " Jacques," said Gorenflot, " I give you a special 
 mission." 
 
 " Me 1 " cried the young man, astonished. 
 
 " Yes, you are to accompany M. Robert Briquet on a 
 long journey." 
 
 " Oh ! " cried he, enthusiastically, " that will be delight- 
 ful. We shall fight every day, shall we not. Monsieur 1 " 
 
 " Yes, my child." 
 
 " And I may take my arquebuse 1 " 
 
 " Certainly." 
 
THE LESSON. 157 
 
 Jacques bounded joyfully from the room. 
 ' As to the message, I beg you to give your orders. 
 Advance, Brother Panurge." 
 
 " Panurge ! " said Chicot, to whom the name recalled 
 certain pleasing remembrances, " Panurge ! " 
 
 "Alas! yes," said Gorenflot ; "I have chosen this 
 brother, called Panurge like the other, to make journey.s 
 as the other did." 
 
 " Then our old friend is out of service." 
 
 " He is dead." 
 
 " Oh ! " said Chicot, in a tone of sympathy ; " but then 
 he must have become quite old." 
 
 " Nineteen years, my friend ; he was nineteen years 
 old." 
 
 " That is a case of remarkable longevity," said Chicot ; 
 " it is only in convents that one finds such instances." 
 
158 THE FORTY-FIVE. 
 
 CHAPTER XXIV. 
 
 THE PENITENT. 
 
 Panurgb advanced. There was certainly nothing in either 
 his moral or his physical character that entitled him to 
 receive the name of an ass; he resembled a fox rather, 
 with his small eyes, pointed nose, and projecting jaw. 
 Cliicot looked at him a moment, and in that moment 
 measured his value as a messenger of the convent. 
 Panurge remained humbly near the door. 
 
 " Come here, Monsieur the Courier,'' said Cliicot. " Do 
 you know the Louvre'? " 
 
 "Yes, Monsieur." 
 
 " And in the Louvre a certain Henri de Valois 1 " 
 
 " The king 1 " 
 
 " I am not so sure about that ; but people generally 
 call him so." 
 
 " Is it to him that I am to go ^ " 
 
 " Precisely ; you will ask to speak to him." 
 
 " Will they let me 1 " 
 
 " Yes, till you come to his valet de chamhre. Your 
 frock is a passport, for the king is very religious." 
 
 " And what shall I say to the valet de chamhre i " 
 
 " Say you are sent by the Shade." 
 
 "What shade?" 
 
 " Curiosity is a vice, my brother." 
 
 " Pardon ! " 
 
 " Say then that you are sent by the Shade." 
 
 " Yes." 
 
THE PENITENT. 15i> 
 
 ■" And that you want the letter." 
 
 "What letter?" 
 
 '' A-gaiu ! " 
 
 " Ah ! true." 
 
 " My Keverend," said Chicot, turning to Gorenflot, 
 "decidedly I liked better the other Panurge.'' 
 
 " Is that all I am to iol" asked the courier. 
 
 " You will add that the Shade will wait for it, going 
 slowly along the road to Charenton." 
 
 " It is on that road, then, that I am to join you 1 " 
 
 " Exactly." 
 
 Panurge went to the door and lifted the portiere to go 
 out. It appeared to Chicot that in lifting the portiere 
 Brother Panurge had unmasked a listener. Chicot's acute 
 mind was satisfied that Brother Borromee was listening. 
 
 " Ah, you listen," thought he ; " so much the better, 
 I wiU say something for your benefit." 
 
 "So," said Gorenflot, "here you are, honored with a 
 mission from the king, dear friend t " 
 
 " Yes, confidential." 
 
 " It relates to politics, I presume." 
 
 " So do I." 
 
 " What ! you don't know with what mission you are 
 charged 1 " 
 
 " I know that I am to carry a letter, that is all." 
 
 " A State secret, probably ? " 
 
 "I think so." 
 
 " And you have no suspicion 1 " 
 
 " We are sufficiently alone for me to tell you what I 
 think, are we not ? " 
 
 " Speak ; I am a tomb for secrets.'' 
 
 " Well, the king has finally decided to send aid to the 
 Due d'Anjou.'' 
 
 " Eeally 1 " 
 
160 THE FORTY-FIVE. 
 
 " Yes ; M. de Joyeuse was to set out last night for that 
 purpose." 
 
 " But you, my friend ? " 
 
 "I go towards Spain." 
 
 " How do you travel 1 " 
 
 " Oh, anyhow ; on foot, on horseback, in a carriage, — 
 just as it happens." 
 
 " Jacques will be good company for you." 
 
 " Thanks, my good friend. I have now, I think, only 
 to make my adieux." 
 
 "Adieu ; I will give you my benediction." 
 
 " Bah ! it is useless between us." 
 
 " You are right ; but it does for strangers ; " and they 
 embraced. 
 
 " Jacques ! " called the prior ; " Jacques ! " 
 
 Borromee appeared. 
 
 " Brother Jacques ! " repeated the prior. 
 
 " Jacques has gone." 
 
 " What ! gone t " cried Chicot. 
 
 " Did you not wish some one to go to the Louvre f " 
 
 " Yes ; but it was Panurge," said Gorenflot. 
 
 " Oh ! stupid that I am," cried Borromee, " I under- 
 stood it to be Jacques." 
 
 Chicot frowned ; but Borromee appeared so sorry that it 
 was impossible to say much. " I will wait, then," said 
 he, " tiU Jacques returns." 
 
 Borromee bowed, frowning in his turn. " By the 
 way," said he, "I forgot to announce to your Eeverence — 
 and I came up for that — that the unknown lady has 
 arrived and desires to speak to you." 
 
 " Is she alone 'i " asked Gorenflot. 
 
 " No ; she has a squire with her." 
 
 " Is she young t " 
 
 Borromee lowered his eyes. 
 
THE PENITENT. 161 
 
 "Good ! he is a hypocrite," said Chicot to himself. 
 
 " She appeared still youug," said Borromee. 
 
 "My friend," said Goreiiflot, turning towards Chicot, 
 " you understand 1 " 
 
 " I will leave you," said Chicot, " and wait in a neigh- 
 boring room or in the court." 
 
 " It is far from here to the Louvre, Monsieur," said 
 Borromee ; " and Jacques may be delayed, or they may 
 hesitate to confide an important letter to a child." 
 
 " You make these reflections rather late," replied Chi- 
 cot ; " however, I will go on the road to Charenton, and 
 you can send him after me.'' And he turned to the 
 staircase. 
 
 " Xot that way, if you please," said Borromee, "the 
 lady is coming up, and she does not wish to meet 
 any one.-" 
 
 " You are right," said Chicot, smiling ; " I will take 
 the little staircase." 
 
 " Do you know the way 1 " 
 
 " Perfectly." And Chicot went out through a cabinet 
 which led to another room, from which led the secret 
 staircase. The room was full of armor, swords, muskets, 
 a,ud pistols. 
 
 " They hide Jacques from me," thought Chicot, " and 
 they hide the lady ; therefore, of course I ought to do 
 exactly the opposite to what they want me to do. I Avill 
 wait for the return of Jacques, and I will watch the 
 mysterious lady. Oh, here is a fine shirt-of-mail thrown 
 into a corner; it is much too small for the prior, and 
 would fit me admirably. I will borrow it from Gorenflot, 
 and give it to him again when I return." And he folded 
 it together and slipped it under his doublet. He had 
 just finished when Borromee entered. 
 
 Chicot pretended to be admiring the arms. 
 
 VOL. 1. — 11 
 
162 THE FORTY-FIVE. 
 
 " Is Monsieur seeking some arms to suit him'?" asked 
 Borromee. 
 
 " I ! mon Dieu ! what do I want with arms ] " 
 
 " You use them so well." 
 
 " Theory, all theory ; I may use my arms well, but the 
 heart of a soldier is always wanting in a poor bourgeois 
 like me. And then my hreath fails me, and my legs are 
 execrable ; that is my principal defect." 
 
 "Permit me to observe, Monsieur, that that defect is 
 even more important in travelling than in a passage-at- 
 arms." 
 
 " Ah ! you know that I am travelling 1 " said Chicot, 
 carelessly. 
 
 " Panurge told me," replied Borromee, coloring. 
 
 " That is queer ; I thought I had n't spoken of that to 
 Panurge. But no matter ; I have no reason to conceal 
 myself. Yes, my brother, I am making a little journey j 
 I am going to my own country, where I have property." 
 
 " Do you know, M. Briquet, that you have procured 
 Brother Jacques a great honor V 
 
 " That of accompanying me '? " 
 
 "Yes, but especially that of seeing the king." 
 
 " Or his valet ; for it is quite probable that Jacques 
 will get no farther." 
 
 " You are, then, on intimate footing at the Louvre '? " 
 
 " Oh, most intimate. Monsieur ! It is I who furnish 
 the king and the young noblemen of the court with 
 hosiery." 
 
 " The king 1 " 
 
 " I had his custom already when he was Due d'Anjou. 
 On his return from Poland he remembered me, and made 
 me furnisher for his court." 
 
 " It is a fine acquaintance you have there, M. Briquet." 
 
 " The acquaintance with his Majesty ? " 
 
THE PENITENT. 163 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " Every one would n't say so, Brother Borromee." 
 
 «' Oh ! the Leaguers 1 " 
 
 " Every one is more or less a Leaguer now." 
 
 " You, surely, are not much of a Leaguer ? " 
 
 " 1 1 why do you say that 1 " 
 
 " When one knows the king personally." 
 
 " Eh, eh ! I have my politics, like every one 
 else." 
 
 " Yes, but your politics are in harmony with those of 
 the king." 
 
 " Don't be too sure of that ; we often dispute." 
 
 " If you disagree, how is it that he intrusts you with 
 a mission 1 " 
 
 " A commission, you mean." 
 
 " Mission or commission, it is the same ; the one or the 
 other implies confidence." 
 
 " Pshaw ! if I know enough to take my measures, that 
 is all the king expects.'' 
 
 " Your measures ] " 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " Political or financial measures T' 
 
 " No, measures of cloth." 
 
 " What ! " said Borromee, stupefied. 
 
 " Certainly ; you can easily comprehend." 
 
 " I listen." 
 
 " You know that the king has made a pilgrimage to 
 Notre-Dame de Chartres." 
 
 "Yes, to obtain an heir." 
 
 "Exactly. You know there is a sure way of arriving 
 at the result which the king desires." 
 
 " It appears, at any rate, that the king does not 
 employ that method." 
 
 " Brother Borromee ! " 
 
164 THE FORTY-FIVE. 
 
 " What is it 1 " 
 
 " You know well that the only question is to obtain an 
 heir to the crown by miracle, and not otherwise." 
 
 " And that miracle they seek — " 
 
 " At Notre-Dame de Chartres." 
 
 " Ah, yes ! the chemise 1 " 
 
 " Yes, the king has taken her chemise from that good 
 Notre-Dame, and has given it to the queen ; and in ex- 
 change for that chemise he wishes to bestow a robe like 
 that of the Notre-Dame de Toledo, which is said to be the 
 most beautiful and the richest robe of the Virgin in the 
 world." 
 
 " So that you are going — " 
 
 " To Toledo, dear Brother Borromee ; to Toledo, to 
 take the measure of that robe and make one like it." 
 
 Borromee appeared to hesitate whether he ought to 
 believe or not the words of Chicot. After mature reflec- 
 tion, we are authorized to think he did not believe. 
 
 " You can judge, then," continued Chicot, as if not sus- 
 pecting what was going on in the treasurer's mind, " how 
 agreeable to me must be the company of men of the 
 Church under such circumstances. But time passes, and 
 Jacques cannot be long delayed ; I will go and wait for 
 him at the Croix Faubin." 
 
 "I think that will be best." 
 
 " Then you will tell bim as soon as he comes ? " 
 "Yes." 
 
 " And send him after me 1 " 
 " I will not fail." 
 
 '■' Thanks, Brother Borromee ; I am enchanted to have 
 made your acquaintance." 
 
 He went out by the little staircase, and Borromee 
 locked the door behind him. 
 
 " I must see the lady," thought Chicot. 
 
THE PENITENT. 165 
 
 He went out of the priory and went on the i-oad he had 
 named ; then, when out of sight, lie turned back, crept 
 along a ditch, and gained, uuseen, a thick hedge which 
 extended before the priory. Here he waited to see 
 Jacques return or the lady go out. 
 
166 THE FOETY-FIVE. 
 
 CHAPTER XXV, 
 
 THE AMBUSH. 
 
 Chicot made a slight opening through the hedge, that 
 he might see those who came and went. The road was 
 almost deserted as far as he could see ; there was no one 
 but a man poorly clothed measuring the ground with a 
 long pointed stick. Chicot had nothing to do, and 
 therefore was preparing to watch this man, when a more 
 important object attracted his attention. 
 
 The window of Gorenflot's room opened with folding- 
 doors upon a balcony ; and Chicot saw them open, and 
 Gorenflot come out, with his most gallant manner and 
 winning smile, leading a lady almost hidden under a 
 mantle of velvet and fur. 
 
 "Oh!" thought Chicot, "here is the penitent. She 
 looks young ; it is very odd, but I find resemblances in 
 every one 1 .see. And here comes the squire. As for 
 him, there is no mistake ; I know him, and if he be 
 Mayneville, . — ventre de biche ! — why should not the 
 lady be Madame de Montpensier % And, yes, morhleu ! 
 it is the duchess ! " 
 
 After a moment, he saw the pale head of Borromee 
 behind them. 
 
 " What are they about ? " thought Chicot. "Does the 
 duchess want to board with Gorenflot ? " 
 
 At this moment Chicot saw M. de Mayneville make a 
 sign to some one outside. Chicot looked round: but there 
 
THE AMBUSH. 167 
 
 was no one to be seen but the man measuring. Tt was to 
 him, however, that the sign was addressed, for he had 
 ceased measuring, and was looking towards the balcony. 
 Gorenflot continued his courtesies to the penitent. M. 
 de Mayneville whispered something to Borromee, and 
 the latter began immediately to gesticulate behind the 
 prior, in a manner unintelligible to Chicot, but appar- 
 ently clear to this man, for he went to another place, 
 where, on a new sign from Borromee and Mayneville, 
 he remained fixed like a statue. After a few seconds, 
 upon another sign made by Brother Borromee, he began 
 a sort of exercise which engaged Chicot's attention the 
 more, because he could not divine its purpose. He be- 
 gan to run quickly towards the gate of the priory, while 
 M. de Mayneville held his watch in his hand. 
 
 " The devil ! " said Chicot ; " all this looks suspicious. 
 The enigma is well put, but perhaps I could solve it, 
 could I but see the face of that man of measures." 
 
 At that moment the man looked around ; and Chicot 
 recognized Nicolas Poulain, — the man to whom he had 
 sold his armor the day before. Shortly after, they all 
 re-entered the room and shut the window, and then the 
 duchess and her squire came out of the priory and went 
 towards the litter which waited for them. Gorenflot ac- 
 companied them to the door, exhausting himself in bows 
 and salutations. The curtains of the litter were still 
 open, when a monk, in whom Chicot recognized Jacques, 
 advanced from the Porte St. Antoine, approached, and 
 looked earnestly into it. The duchess then went away, 
 and Nicolas Poulain was following, when Chicot called 
 out from his hiding-place, " Come here, if you please ! " 
 
 Poulain started, and turned his head. 
 
 " Do not seem to notice, M. Mcolas Poulain," said 
 Chicot. 
 
168 THE FORTY-FIVE. 
 
 The lieutenant started again. " Who are you, and 
 what do you want 1 " asked he. 
 
 " I am a friend, new but intimate. What I want will 
 take long to explain ; come here to me." 
 
 "To you?" 
 
 " Yes ; here in the ditch." 
 
 " What for 1 " 
 
 " You shall know when you come." 
 
 "But—" 
 
 " Come and sit down here, without appearing to notice 
 me." 
 
 " Monsieur ! " 
 
 " Oh ! jSI. Eobert Briquet has the right to be exacting." 
 
 " Robert Briquet ! " cried Poulain, doing as he was 
 desired. 
 
 " That is right ; it seems you were taking measures in 
 the road." 
 
 "11" 
 
 " Yes ; there is nothing surprising that you should be 
 a surveyor, especially as you acted under the eyes of such 
 great people." 
 
 " Great people ! I do not understand." 
 
 " What ! you did not know ? " 
 
 " What do you mean ] " 
 
 " You did not know who that lady and gentleman on 
 the balcony were ? " 
 
 "I declare — " 
 
 " Oh, how fortunate I am to be able to enlighten you 1 
 Only imagine, M. Poulain ; you had for admirers Madame 
 de Montpensier and M. de Mayneville. Do not go away. 
 If a still more illustrious person — the king — saw you — " 
 
 " The king t " 
 
 " His Majesty, yes, M. Poulain ; he is very quick, I 
 assure you, to admire and recompense labor." 
 
THE AMBUSH. IG^ 
 
 " Ah, M. Briquet, for pity's sake ! " 
 
 " If you move, dear M. Poulain, you are a dead man ;. 
 keep still, therefore, and avoid that disgrace." 
 
 " But in the name of Heaven, what do you want 
 with me?" 
 
 " Your good, — nothing else ; have I not said that I 
 am your friend 1 " 
 
 " Monsieur," cried Nicolas Poulain, in despair, " I do- 
 not know what wrong I have ever done to the king, or to- 
 you, or to anybody ! " 
 
 " Dear M. Poulain, my ideas may be wrong, but it 
 seems to me that the king would not approve of his 
 lieutenant of the provosty acting as surveyor for il. de 
 Mayneville ; and that he might also take it ill that you 
 should omit in your daily report the entrance of Madame 
 de Montpensier and M. de Mayneville yesterday into liis 
 good city of Paris." 
 
 " M. Briquet, an omission is not a crime ; and his- 
 Majesty is too good — " 
 
 " M. Poulain, I see clearer than you ; and I see — " 
 
 " What ? " 
 
 " A gallows." 
 
 " M. Briquet ! " 
 
 " And more, — a new cord, four soldiers at the four 
 cardinal points, a number of Parisians around, and a 
 certain lieutenant of my acquaintance at the end of 
 the cord." 
 
 Nicolas Poulain trembled so that he shook the hedge. 
 " Monsieur ! " cried he, clasping his hands. 
 
 " But I am your friend, dear M. Poulain, and I wUl 
 give you a counsel." 
 
 " A counsel 1 " 
 
 " Yes ; and very easy to follow. Go at once, — at once, 
 you understand, — to — " 
 
170 THE FORTY-FIVE. 
 
 " Whom ? " 
 
 " Let me think. To M. d'Epernon." 
 
 " M. d'Epernon, the king's friend "i " 
 
 " Exactly ; you will take him aside — " 
 
 " M. d'Epernon 1 " 
 
 " Yes, and you will tell him all ahout that measuring of 
 the road." 
 
 " Is this madness. Monsieur 1 " 
 
 " It is wisdom, on the contrary, the highest wisdom." 
 
 " I don't understand." 
 
 " It is clear, nevertheless. If I denounce you as the 
 man of the cuirasses and measures, they wUl hang you ; 
 but if, on the contrary, you disclose all with a good grace, 
 they wiU reward you. You do not appear convinced, 
 however. Well, that will give me the trouble of return- 
 ing to the Louvre, but I do not mind doing that for 
 you ; " and he began to rise. 
 
 " No, no ; stay here ! I will go." 
 
 " Good ! But you understand, — no subterfuges, or 
 to-morrow I shall send a little note to the king, of whom 
 I have the honor — such as you see me, or rather such as 
 you do not see me — to be the intimate friend ; so that if 
 you are not hanged till the day after to-morrow, you will 
 only be hanged the higher." 
 
 "I will go," said the lieutenant, terrified ; "but you 
 strangely abuse — " 
 
 " Eh. dear M. Poulain, erect altars to me. Five min- 
 utes ago you were a traitor, and I make you the savior of 
 your country. Now, go quickly, for I am in a hurry ! 
 The Hotel d'Epernon; do not forget." 
 
 Nicolas Poulain ran off with a despairing look. 
 " Ah, it was time ! " said Chicot, " for some one is 
 leaving the priory. But it is not Jacques ; that fellow 
 is half as tall again." 
 
THE AMBUSH. 171 
 
 Chicot then hastened to the Croix Fauhin, where he 
 had given the rendezvous. Tlie monk who was there to 
 meet him was a giant in height ; his monk's rohe, has- 
 tily thrown on, did not hide his muscular limbs, and his 
 face bore anything but a religious expression. His arras 
 were as long as Chicot's own ; and he had a knife in 
 his belt. 
 
 As Chicot approached, he turned and said, " Are j'^ou 
 il. Robert Briquet 1 " 
 
 "I am." 
 
 " Then I have a letter for you from the reverend prior.'' 
 
 Chicot took the letter and read as follows : — 
 
 My dear Friend, — I have reflected since we parted ; it 
 is impossible for me to let the lamb which the Lord has con- 
 fided to me go among the devouring wolves of the world. I 
 mean, you understand,, our little Jacques Clement, who has 
 been received by the kiug and has fully performed your 
 errand. Instead of him, who is too young, I send you a good 
 and worthy brother of our order ; his manners are good and 
 his humor innocent, and I am sure you will like him. I send 
 you my benediction. Adieu, dear friend. 
 
 " What fine %vriting ! " said Chicot ; " I will wager it 
 is the treasurer's." 
 
 " It was Brother Borromee who wrote it," said the 
 Goliath. 
 
 " In that case," said Chicot, smiling pleasantl}' at the 
 great monk, " you will return to the priory, my friend." 
 
 it 11" 
 
 " Yes ; and tell his Eeverence that I have changed my 
 mind, and intend to travel alone." 
 
 " "What ! you will not take me, Monsieur 1 " said the 
 man, with astonishment, mixed with menace. 
 
 " Xo, my friend, no." 
 
 " And why, if you please 1 " 
 
172 THE FORTY-FIVE. 
 
 " Because I must be economical, and you would eat 
 too much." 
 
 " Jacques eats as much as I do." 
 
 " Yes ; but Jacques is a monk." 
 
 "And what am I 1" 
 
 " You, my friend, are a gendarme, or a foot-soldier." 
 
 " "What do you mean 1 Do you not see my monk's 
 robe 'i " 
 
 " The dress does not make the monk, my friend ; but 
 the knife makes the soldier. Tell Brother Borromee 
 that, if you please." 
 
 The giant disappeared, grumbling, like a beaten hound. 
 As to our traveller, as soon as he had seen the man enter 
 the great gate of the convent, he hid himself behind 
 a hedge, took off his doublet, and put on the fine shirt- 
 of-mail which we have mentioned. Having done that, 
 he struck across country for the road to Charenton. 
 
THE GUISES. 173 
 
 CHAPTER XXYI. 
 
 THE GUISES. 
 
 On the evening of the same day on which Chicot set out 
 for Navarre, we find again, in a large room at the Hotel 
 Guise, the person who, disguised as a page, had entered 
 Paris behind Carmainges, and who was also, as we know, 
 the penitent of Gorenflot. On this occasion no precau- 
 tion had been taken to disguise her person or her sex. 
 Madame de Montpensier, elegantly dressed, her hair glit- 
 tering with precious stones, was waiting impatiently for 
 some one. 
 
 At last a horse's step was heard ; and the usher almost 
 immediately announced M. le Duo de Mayenne. iladame 
 de Montpensier ran to her brother so hastily that she 
 forgot to proceed on the point of the right foot, as was 
 her habit, in order to conceal her lameness. " Alone, 
 Brother 1 " said she ; " you are alone ■? " 
 
 " Yes, my sister," said the duke, seating himself, after 
 kissing the duchess's hand. 
 
 " But Henri ; where is Henri 1 Do you know that 
 every one expects him here 1 " 
 
 " Henri has nothing to do here, and plenty to do in 
 Flanders and Picardy. We have work to do there ; and 
 why should we leave it to come here, where our work 
 is doner' 
 
 " But where it will be quickly undone, if you do not 
 hasten." 
 
174 THE FORTY-FIVE. 
 
 " Ball ! " 
 
 "Bah as much as you please, Brother; I tell you the 
 citizens will be put off no longer ; they insist upon 
 seeing their Due Henri." 
 
 " They shall see him at the right time. And Salcede 1 " 
 
 " Is dead." 
 
 " "Without speaking 1 " 
 
 " Without uttering a word." 
 
 " Good ! and the arming 1 " 
 
 "Finished." 
 
 "And Paris r' 
 
 " Is divided into sixteen quarters." 
 
 " And each quarter has the chief whom we have 
 appointed 1 " 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Then let us live in peace; and so I shall say to our 
 good bourgeoisie." 
 
 " They will not listen to you." 
 
 " Bah 1 " 
 
 " I tell you they are furious." 
 
 " My sister, you judge others by your own impatience. 
 What Henri says, must he done ; and he says we are to 
 remain quiet." 
 
 " What is to be done, then ] " asked the duchess, 
 impatiently. 
 
 " What do you wish to do ] " 
 
 "Firstly, to take the king." 
 
 "That is your fixed idea; I do not say it is bad, if 
 it could be done, but think how often we have failed 
 already." 
 
 " Times are changed ; the king has no longer defenders.'' 
 
 " No ; except the Swiss, Scotch, and French guards." 
 
 " My brother, when you wish it, I will show you the 
 king on the road with only two lackeys." 
 
THE GUISES. 175 
 
 " I have heard that a hundred times, and never seen 
 it once." 
 
 " You will see it if you stay here only three days." 
 
 " Still another project ? " 
 
 " A plan, if you please." 
 
 " In that case, tell me about it." 
 
 " Oh ! it is only a woman's idea ; and you will laugh 
 at it." 
 
 " God forbid that I should wound your pride as an 
 author ! But let me hear the plan.'' 
 
 " You are laughing at me, Mayenne." 
 
 " Xo, I am listening." 
 
 " Very well ; in four words it is — " 
 
 At this moment M. de Mayneville was announced. 
 
 " My accomplice," said the duchess ; " let him enter." 
 
 M. de Mayneville entered, and approaching the Due de 
 Mayenne, kissed his hand. " One word, Monseigneur," 
 said he ; " your arrival is suspected at the Louvre." 
 
 " How so 1 " 
 
 " I was conversing with the captain of the guard at 
 St. Germain I'Auxerrois, when two Gascons passed." 
 
 " Do you know them 1 " 
 
 " No ; they were quite newly dressed. ' Cap de Bious ! ' 
 .said one, ' you have a magnificent doublet ; but it will not 
 render you so much service as your cuirass of yesterday.' 
 ' Bah ! ' said the other ; ' however heavy the sword of 
 M. de Mayenne may be, it will do no more harm to this 
 satin than to my cuirass ; ' and then he went on in a series 
 of bravadoes, which showed that they knew you were 
 near." 
 
 " And to whom did these men belong ? " 
 
 " I do not know ; they talked so loudly that some 
 passers-by approached, and asked if you were really 
 coming. They were about to reply, when a man ap- 
 
176 THE FORTY-FIVE. 
 
 preached, whom I thiuk was Loignac, and touched them 
 ■on the shoulder. He said some words in a low voice, 
 and they looked submissive, and accompanied him, so 
 that I know no more ; but be on your guard ! " 
 
 " You did not follow them 1 " 
 
 " Yes, but from afar. They went towards the Louvre 
 and disappeared behind the Hotel des Meubles." 
 
 " I have a very simple method of reply,'' said the duke. 
 
 " What is it ? " asked his sister. 
 
 " To go and pay my respects to the king to-night." 
 
 "To the king V 
 
 " Certainly. I have come to Paris ; I bring him news 
 from Picardy, — he can have nothing to say against that." 
 
 " The idea is good," said Mayneville. 
 
 "It is imprudent," said the duchess. 
 
 " It is indispensable. Sister, if they indeed suspect my 
 arrival. Besides it was the advice of Henri that I should 
 go at once and present to the king the respects of the 
 family ; that once done, I am free, and can receive whom 
 I please." 
 
 " The members of the committee, for example, who 
 •expect you." 
 
 " I will receive them at the H6tel St. Denis on my 
 return from the Louvre. You will wait for us, if you 
 please, my sister." 
 
 " Here 1 " 
 
 " No ; at the Hotel St. Denis, where I have left my 
 •equipages. I shall be there in two hours." 
 
THE LOUVRE. 177 
 
 CHAPTEE XXVII. 
 
 THE LOUVRE. 
 
 That same day, about noon, the king came out of his 
 cabinet and called for M. d'Epernon. The duke, when he 
 came, found the king attentively examining a young 
 Jacobin, who blushed and lowered his eyes under the 
 searching scrutiny of the king. 
 
 The king took D'Epernon aside. " Look, what an odd- 
 looking monk ! " said he. 
 
 " Dues 3'our Majesty think sol I think him very 
 ordinary.'' 
 
 " EeaJly ! " Then to the monk the king said, " What 
 is your name 1 " 
 
 " Brother Jacques, Sire." 
 
 " Your family name t " 
 
 " Clement." 
 
 " Good ! You have performed your commission very 
 well." 
 
 " What commission. Sire 1 " said the duke, with his 
 wonted familiarity. 
 
 " Nothing ! " said Henri. " It is a little secret between 
 me and some one you do not know." 
 
 " How strangely you look at the lad, Sire ! You 
 embarrass him." 
 
 " It is true ; I know not why, but it seems to me that 
 I have seen him before ; perhaps it was in a dream. Go, 
 ray child ; I will send the letter to him who asks for it. 
 Be easy. D'Epernon, give him ten crowns." 
 
 VOL. t. — 12 
 
178 THE FORTY-FIVE. 
 
 " Thanks, Sire," said the monk. 
 
 " You did not say that as if you meant it," said 
 D'Epernon, who did not understand a monk despising 
 ten crowns. 
 
 " I would rather have one of those beautiful Spanish 
 knives on the wall," said Jacques. 
 
 " What ! you do not prefer money 1 " 
 
 " I have made a vow of poverty." 
 
 " Give him a knife, then, and let him go, Lavalette," 
 said the king. 
 
 The duke chose one of the least costly and gave it to 
 him. Jacques took it, quite joyful to possess such a 
 beautiful weapon. When he had gone, the king said to 
 D'Epernon, " Duke, have you among your Fortj'-five two 
 or three men who can ride 1 " 
 
 " Twelve, at least. Sire ; and in a month all will be 
 good horsemen." 
 
 " Then choose two, and let them come to me at once." 
 
 The duke went out, and calling Loignac, said to him, 
 " Choose me two good horsemen, to execute a commission 
 for his Majesty." 
 
 Loignac went to the gallery where they were lodged, 
 and called M. de Carmainges and M. de Sainte-Maline. 
 They soon appeared, and were conducted to the duke, 
 who presented them to the king. The duke then with- 
 drew, and the two young men remained. 
 
 " You are of my Forty-five, gentlemen 1 " said the king. 
 
 " I have that honor, Sire," said Sainte-Maline. 
 
 " And you, Monsieur 1 " 
 
 "And I also. Sire," replied Carmainges; "and I am 
 devoted to your Majesty's service, as much as any one in 
 the world." 
 
 " Good ! Then mount your horses, and take the road 
 to Tours ; do you know it ? " 
 
THE LOUVRE. 179 
 
 " We will inquire." 
 
 " Go by way of Charenton." 
 
 " Yes, Sire." 
 
 "And proceed till you overtake a man travelling alone." 
 
 " "Will your ^[ajesty describe him t " said Sainte-!M aline. 
 
 " He has long arms and legs, and has a large sword by 
 his side." 
 
 "May we know his name, SireT' asked Carmai}iges. 
 
 " He is called ' the Shade.' " 
 
 " We will ask the name of every traveller we see, Sire." 
 
 " And we will search the hotels." 
 
 " "When you find him, give him this letter.'' 
 
 Both the young men held out their hands. 
 
 The king remained for a moment embarrassed. " Whit 
 is your name t " said he to one of them. 
 
 " Ernauton de Carmainges, Sire." 
 
 " And yours 1 " 
 
 "Eenede Sainte-Maline." 
 
 " M. de Carmainges, you shall carry the letter ; and you, 
 M. de Sainte-Maline, shall deliver it." 
 
 Ernauton took the precious charge, and was going to 
 place it in his doublet, when Sainte-Maline stopped hiiu, 
 kissed the letter, and then returned it to Ernauton. This 
 made Henri smile. " Come, gentlemen," said he ; "I see 
 I shall be well served." 
 
 " Is this all. Sire 1 " 
 
 "Yes, gentlemen ; only our last recommendation. This 
 letter is more precious than the life of a man. Upon your 
 lives, do not lose it. Give it secretly to the Shade, wlio 
 will give you a receipt for it, which you will bring buL-k 
 to me ; and above all, travel as though it were on your 
 own affairs. Go." 
 
 The two young men went out, — Ernanton full of joy, 
 and Sainte-Maline full of jealousy. M. d'Epernon waited 
 
180 THE FORTY-FIVE. 
 
 for them, and wished to question them, but Ernauton 
 replied, " Monsieur the Duke, the king did not authorize 
 us to speak." 
 
 They went to the stables, and the king's huntsman gave 
 them two strong horses. M. d'Epernon would have fol- 
 lowed them, but at that moment he was told that a man 
 wished to speak to him at once. 
 
 " Who is he 1 " he asked. 
 
 " The lieutenant of the provosty of Paris." 
 
 " Par/andious / am I sheriff or provost 1 " 
 
 " No, Monseigneur ; but you are a friend of the king, 
 and, as such, I beg you to hear me," said a humble voice 
 at his side. 
 
 The duke turned. Near him was a man bowing 
 perpetually. 
 
 " Who are you 1 " asked the duke. 
 
 "Nicolas Poulain, at your service, Monseigneur." 
 
 " And you wish to sjjeak to me ^ " 
 
 " I beg for that favor.'' 
 
 " I have no time." 
 
 " Not even to hear a secret ? " 
 
 " I hear a hundred every day, Monsieur. Yours would 
 make a hundred and one ; that would be one too many.'' 
 
 " But this concerns the life of his Majesty," said 
 Poulain, in a low voice. 
 
 " Oh, oh ! then come into my cabinet.'' 
 
THE REVELATION. 181 
 
 CHAPTER XXVIII. 
 
 THE REVELATION. 
 
 M. d'EpEENON, while crossing the anteohamher, addressed 
 himself to one of the gentlemen who stood there. " What 
 is your name, Monsieur ? " said he. 
 
 " Pertinax de Montcrabeau, Monseigneur.'' 
 
 " Well, M. de Montcrabeau, place yourself at that door, 
 and let no one enter.'' 
 
 " Yes, Monsieur the Duke ; " and M. Pertinax, who 
 was sumptuously dressed, with a blue satin doublet and 
 orange stockings, obeyed. Nicolas Poulain followed tlie 
 duke into his cabinet. He saw the door open and shut, 
 then the portiere fall over the door, and he began to 
 tremble. 
 
 " Now let us hear your conspiracy," said the duke. 
 
 " Oh, Monsieur the Duke, it concerns the most fright- 
 ful crimes." 
 
 " They wish to kill me, I suppose." 
 
 " It does not concern you, Monsieur ; it is the king. 
 They wish to carry him off." 
 
 " Oh, again that old story," replied the duke, disdain- 
 fully. 
 
 " This time the thing is serious. Monsieur the Duke." 
 
 " On what day do they intend to do it 1 " 
 
 " The first time that his Majesty goes to Vincennes in 
 his litter." 
 
 " How will they do it ? " 
 
 " By killing his two attendants." 
 
182 THE FORTY-FIVE. 
 
 "And who mil do it?" 
 
 " Madame de Montpensier." 
 
 D'Epernon began to laugh. " That poor duchess ! what 
 things are attributed to her ! " 
 
 " Less than she projects, Monsieur." 
 
 " And she occupies herself with that at Soissons? " 
 
 " ISTo ; she is in Paris." 
 
 " In Paris ! " 
 
 " I can answer for it." 
 
 " Have you seen her 1 " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " That is to say, you thought you did." 
 
 " I have had the honor of speaking to her." 
 
 " The honor ! " 
 
 " I am wrong ; the misfortune." 
 
 " But, my dear lieutenant, the duchess cannot carry off 
 the king." 
 
 " With her associates, of course." 
 
 " And where will she be when this takes place ? " 
 
 "At a window of the Jacobin priory, which is, as you 
 know, on the road to Vinoennes." 
 
 " What the devil do you tell me 1 " 
 
 " The truth. Monsieur ; all is prepared to stop the 
 litter at the gate of the priory." 
 
 '• And who made the preparations 1 " 
 
 " Alas ! " 
 
 " Finish quickly ! " 
 
 " I did, Monseigneur." 
 
 D'Epernon started back. "You, who denounce them?" 
 
 " Monsieur, a good servant should risk all in the service 
 of the king." 
 
 " Mordieu ! you risk hanging." 
 
 " I prefer death to infamy, or to the death of the king ; 
 therefore I came. And I thought. Monsieur the Duke, 
 
THE REVELATION. 183 
 
 that you, the friend of the king, would not betray me, and 
 ■would turn my news to good account." 
 
 The duke looked fixedly at Poulain. " There must be 
 more in it," said he ; " resolute as the duchess is, she 
 would not attempt such an enterprise alone." 
 
 " She expects her brother." 
 
 " The Due Henri 1 " cried D'fipernon, with the terror 
 one might feel on the approach of a lion. 
 
 " No, ^Monsieur ; only the Due de J\Iayenne." 
 
 "Ah, good!" said D'Eperuon ; "now I must set to 
 work to counteract these fine projects." 
 
 " Doubtless, Monsieur ; it was for that I hastened 
 hither." 
 
 "If you have spoken the truth, you shall be rewarded." 
 
 " Why should I lie, Monseigneur, — I, who eat the 
 king's bread 1 If you do not believe me, I will go to 
 the king himself, and will die, if I must, to prove my 
 words." 
 
 " No, parfandious ! you shall not go to the king ; you 
 shall have to deal with me alone.'' 
 
 " So be it, Monseigneur ; I said that only because you 
 seemed to hesitate." 
 
 • " No, I do not hesitate ; and to begin with, I owe you 
 a thousand crowns, and you shall keep this secret between 
 you and me." 
 
 " I have a family, Monsieur." 
 
 " Well ! a thousand crowns, parfandious !" 
 
 " If they knew in Lorraine that I had spoken, each 
 word would cost me a pint of blood ; and in case of any 
 misfortune, my family must be able to live, therefore I 
 accept a thousand crowns." 
 
 " To the devil with your explanation ! What matters 
 it to me for what reason you accept, so long as you do not 
 refuse 1 The thousand crowns are yours." 
 
]84 THE FORTY-FIVE. 
 
 " Thank you, Monseigneur." 
 
 The duke approached a coifer. Poulain thought it was 
 for the money, and held out his hand, but the duke only 
 drew out a little book and wrote, " Three thousand livres 
 to M. Nicolas Poulain." " It is as if you had them," said 
 he. 
 
 Nicolas bowed, and looked puzzled. 
 
 " Then it is agreed 1 " said the duke. 
 
 " What is agreed, Monseigneur 1 " 
 
 " That you will continue to instruct me?" 
 
 Nicolas hesitated ;; it was the office of a spy that was 
 imposed on him. 
 
 " What ! has your noble devotion vanished already 1 " 
 
 " No, Monseigneur." 
 
 " Then I may count on you ? " 
 
 " You may." 
 
 ■' And I alone know this ? " 
 
 " You alone. " 
 
 " Now you may go, my friend ; and, parfandious ! let 
 M. de Mayenne look to himself ! " 
 
 When D'Epernon returned to the king he found him 
 playing at cup and ball. D'Bpernon assumed a thought- 
 ful air, but the king did not remark it. However, as the 
 duke remained obstinately silent, the king raised his head 
 and said, " Well, Lavalette, what is the matter % Are you 
 dead ? " 
 
 " I wish I were," replied D'fipernon ; " I should not 
 see what I do see." 
 
 " What, my cup and ball ? " 
 
 " Sire, in a time of great peril the subject may be 
 alarmed for the safety of his master.'' 
 
 " What ! again perils % devil take you, Duke ! " 
 
 '•■ Then you are ignorant of what is going on % " 
 
 " Faith! yes, perhaps.'' 
 
THE REVELATION. 185 
 
 " Your most cruel enemies surround you at this moment." 
 
 " Bah ! who are they ] " 
 
 " First, the Duchesse de Montpensier." 
 
 " Yes, that is true ; she came to see Salcede. But what 
 is that to me 1 " 
 
 " You knew it, then 1 " 
 
 " You see I did, since I tell it to you." 
 
 " But that M. de Mayenne has arrived, did you know 
 that also ] " 
 
 " Yes, since yesterday evening." 
 
 " What ! this secret 1 " cried D'Epernon, with a disagree- 
 able surprise. 
 
 " Are there, then, any secrets from the king 1 You are 
 zealous, dear Lavalette, but you are slow. This news 
 would have been good at four o'clock yesterday, but 
 to-day — " 
 
 "Well, Sire, to-day?" 
 
 " It comes a little late, you wiU admit ? " 
 
 " Still too soon, Sire, it seems, since you will not listen 
 to me.'' 
 
 " I have been listening for half an hour." 
 
 " You are menaced ; they lay ambushes for you." 
 
 " Well, yesterday you gave me a guard, and assured me 
 that my immortality was secured. Are your Forty-five no 
 longer worth anything t " 
 
 " Your Majesty shall see what they are." 
 
 " I should not be sorry, Duke ; when shall I see ? " 
 
 " Sooner perhaps than you think." 
 
 "Ah ! you want to frighten me." 
 
 " You shall see, Sire. By the way, when do you go to 
 Viucennes ? " 
 
 " On Saturday." 
 
 " That is enough, Sire." D'Epernon bowed and with- 
 drew. 
 
186 THE FORTY-FIVE. 
 
 CHAPTEE XXIX. 
 
 TWO PEIENDS. 
 
 We will now follow the two young men sent by the king. 
 Scarcely on horseback, Ernauton and Sainte-Maline, de- 
 termined that one should not get before the other, nearly 
 crushed each other in the gateway. The face of Sainte- 
 Maline became purple, and that of Ernauton pale. 
 
 " You hurt me, Monsieur," cried the former after they 
 had passed through ; " do you wish to crush me 1 " 
 
 " You also hurt me, only I did not complain." 
 
 " You wish to give a lesson, I believe '? " 
 
 " I wish to give you nothing." 
 
 " Ah ! " cried Sainte-Maline, urging forward his horse 
 so as to be nearer his companion, " pray repeat that." 
 
 " You are seeking a quarrel, are you not 1 " replied 
 Ernauton, quietly ; " so much the worse for you." 
 
 " And why should T wish to quarrel 1 I do not know 
 you," answered Sainte-Maline, disdainfully. 
 
 " You know me well, Monsieur ; for in the country 
 from which we come my house is but two leagues from 
 yours, and I am well known there, being of an old family. 
 But you are furious at seeing me in Paris when you 
 thought that you alone were sent for ; also, because the 
 king gave me the letter to carry." 
 
 ■ "Well," said Sainte-Maline, white with anger; "I 
 admit all that you say; but there is one result." 
 
 « What is it ? " 
 
 " That I do not like to be near you." 
 
TWO FRIENDS. 187 
 
 " Gro away, then ; pardieu, I do not want to keep you." 
 
 "You appear not to understand mo." 
 
 " On the contrary, I understand perfectly. You would 
 like to take the letter from me and carry it yourself ; but 
 unfortunately you must kill me first." 
 
 " And who tells you that I do not wish to do that "i " 
 
 " To desire and to do are two different things." 
 
 " Descend with me to the banks of the water, and you 
 will see that with me they are the same." 
 
 " My dear monsieur, when the king gives me a letter to 
 carry, I carry it." 
 
 " I will tear it from you by force." 
 
 " You will not force me, I hope, to shoot you like 
 a dog." 
 
 " You ! " 
 
 " Yes ; I have a pistol, and you have not." 
 
 " You shall pay for this." 
 
 " I trust so, after my commission is over ; but mean- 
 while I beg you to observe that as we belong to the king 
 it is setting a bad example to quarrel." 
 
 Sainte-Maline was furious, and bit his fingers with rage. 
 
 " There, there. Monsieur ! " said Ernauton, "keep your 
 hands to hold the sword when we shall come to that." 
 
 " Oh, I shall burst ! " cried Sainte-Maline. 
 
 " A task less for me," said Ernauton. 
 
 It is impossible to say how far the still increasing rage 
 of Sainte-Maline would have carried him, for suddenly 
 Ernauton, in crossing the Eue St. Antoine, saw a litter, 
 and uttering a cry of surprise, stopped short to look ai 
 a woman half-veiled. " My page of yesterday ! " he mur- 
 mured. The lady gave no indication that she recognized 
 him, but leaned back in her litter. 
 
 " Cordieu! you keep me waiting," said Sainte-Maline, 
 — " and that to look at women ! " 
 
188 THE FORTY-FIVE. 
 
 " I beg pardon, Monsieur," said Evnautou, resuming 
 iiis course. 
 
 The young men now rode on without speaking. Sainte- 
 Alahne soon discovered, to his chagrin, that his horse was 
 not as good as Ernauton's, and could hardly keep pace 
 with him. This annoyed him so much that he began to 
 quarrel with his horse, and he so tormented him with 
 whip and spur that at last the animal started off and 
 made for the river Bievre, where he got rid of his rider by 
 throwing him in. One might have heard half a mile otf 
 the imprecations of Sainte-Maline, although he was half 
 stifled by the water. By the time he scrambled out, his 
 horse had got some little way off. He himself was Vet 
 and muddy, and his face bleeding with scratches, and he 
 felt sure that it was useless to try and catch it ; and to 
 complete his vexation he saw Ernauton going down a 
 cross-road which he judged to be a short cut. 
 
 He climbed up the banks of the river, but now could 
 see neither Eniauton nor his own horse. But while he 
 stood there, full of sinister thoughts towards Ernauton, he 
 saw him reappear from the cross-road, leading the run- 
 away horse, which he had made a detour to catch. At 
 this sight Sainte-Maline was full of joy and even of grati- 
 tude ; but gradually his face clouded again as he thought 
 of the superiority of Ernauton over himself, for he knew 
 that in the same situation he should not even have 
 thought of acting in a similar manner. 
 
 He stammered out thanks, to which Ernauton paid no 
 attention, then furiously seized the reins of liis horse and 
 mounted again. They rode on silently till about half-past 
 two, when they saw a man walking with a dog by his 
 side. Ernauton passed him ; but Sainte-Maline, hoping 
 to be more clever, rode up to him and said, " Traveller, do 
 you expect something ^ " 
 
TWO FRIENDS. 189 
 
 The man looked at him. Certainly his aspect was not 
 agreeable. His face still bore marks of anger ; and the 
 mud half dried on his clothes, the blood on his cheeks, 
 and his hand extended more in menace than interrogation, 
 all seemed very sinister to the traveller. 
 
 " If I expect something," said he, " it is not some one ; 
 and if I expect some one it is not you." 
 
 " You are very impolite, my master ! " said Sainte- 
 Maline, glad to find at last an opportunity to let loose his 
 wrath, and farious besides at having aiibrded by his mis- 
 take a new triumph to his adversary. While he spoke, he 
 raised his arm to strike the traveller with his whip, but 
 he, with his stick, struck Sainte-Maline on the shoulder, 
 while the dog rushed at him, tearing his clothes, as well 
 as his horse's legs. 
 
 The horse, irritated by the pain, rushed furiously on. 
 Sainte-Maline could not stop him for some time, but he 
 kept his seat. They passed thus before Eniauton, who 
 saw him go by without even smiling at his misfortune. 
 When Sainte-Maline had succeeded in quieting his horse, 
 and M. de Carmainges had rejoined him, his pride had not 
 diminished, but impelled him to attempt a compromise. 
 " Come, come ! " said he, forcing a smile, " it seems I have 
 fallen on my unlucky day. That man, however, bore a 
 close resemblance to him whom his Majesty described to us." 
 
 Ernauton continued silent. 
 
 " I am speaking to you, Monsieur," said Sainte-Maline, 
 exasperated by that coolness, which he reganled with 
 good reason as a sign of contempt, and which he was de- 
 termined should give place to some definite outbreak, 
 though it should cost him his life, — "I am speaking to 
 you ; don't you hear me 1 " 
 
 " He whom his Majesty described to us," replied Ernau- 
 ton, " had neither stick nor dog." 
 
190 THE FORTY-FIVE. 
 
 " That is true," said Sainte-Maline ; " and if I had 
 reflected, I should have a contusion the less on my shoul- 
 der and two holes less on my thigh. It is good to he 
 wise and calm, I see." 
 
 Ernatiton made no reply ; but rising in his stirrups, and 
 putting his hand above his eyes, he said, " Yonder is the 
 man we seek, waiting for us." 
 
 " Peste ! Monsieur," grumbled Sainte-Maline, jealous 
 of his companion's new advantage, " you have good 
 eyes ; I can see only a black spot, and hardly that.'' 
 
 Ernauton, without replying, continued to advance. 
 Very soon Sainte-Maline also could see and recognize 
 the man designated by the king. An evil impulse seized 
 him, and he pushed on so as to arrive first. Ernauton 
 looked at him with a glance that recalled him to himself, 
 and he went more slowly. 
 
SAINTE-MALINE. 191 
 
 CHAPTER XXX. 
 
 SAINTE-MALINE. 
 
 Ernauton was not deceived ; the man he saw was really 
 Chicot. He on his side had seen the cavaliers coming, 
 and suspecting that it was for him that they came, 
 waited for them. Ernauton and Sainte-Maline looked 
 at each other. 
 
 " Speak, Monsieur, if you wish," said Ernauton to his 
 adversary. 
 
 Sainte-Maline was suffocated by this courtesy. He could 
 not speak ; he could only bend his head. Then Ernauton, 
 advancing, said to Chicot, " Monsieur, would it be indis- 
 creet to inquire your name ? " 
 
 "I am called 'the Shade.'" 
 
 " Do you expect anything 1 " 
 
 " Yes, Monsieur." 
 
 " Will you be good enough to tell us what 1 " 
 
 " A letter." 
 
 " From where ? " 
 
 " From the Louvre." 
 
 " Sealed with what seal ? " 
 
 " The royal seal." 
 
 Ernauton put his hand into the breast of his doublet 
 and drew out a letter. 
 
 " That is it," said Chicot ; " and for greater certainty 
 I was to give you something in exchange, was I not ] " 
 
 " A receipt 1 " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
192 THE FORTY-FIVE. 
 
 " Mousieur," continued Ernauton, " I was told to carry 
 it ; but this gentleman was to deliver it." And he handed 
 the letter to Sainte-Maline, who gave it to Chicot. 
 
 " You see," said Ernauton, " that we have faithfully 
 fulfilled our mission. There is no one here, and no one 
 has seen us give you the letter." 
 
 " It is true, gentlemen ; but to whom am I to give the 
 receipt 1 " 
 
 " The king did not say,'' said Sainte-Maline, looking at 
 his companion with a threatening expression. 
 
 " Write two, Monsieur, and give one to each of us. It 
 is far from this to the Louvre ; and some misfortune may 
 happen to one of us on the road." And as he spoke, 
 Ernauton's eyes flashed in their turn. 
 
 " You are wise," said Chicot, drawing his tablets from 
 his pocket, from which he tore out two pages and wrote . 
 on each : — 
 
 Received from the hands of M. de Sainte-Maline the letter 
 brought by M. Ernauton de Carmainges. 
 
 The Shade. 
 
 " Adieu, Monsieur," said Sainte-Maline, taking his. 
 
 "Adieu, Monsieur, and a pleasant journey to you," 
 added Ernauton. " Have you anything else to send to 
 the Louvre ■?" 
 
 " Nothing, I thank you." 
 
 Then the young men set oif towards Paris, and Chicot 
 in the opposite direction. When he was out of sight, 
 " Now, Monsieur," said Ernauton to Sainte-Maline, " dis- 
 mount, if you please." 
 
 " And what for. Monsieur "i " said Sainte-Maline, with 
 astonishment. 
 
 " Our task is accomplished ; we have now to converse. 
 This place appears excellent for such an interview as ours." 
 
SAINTE-MALINE. 193 
 
 " As you please, Monsieur ; " and they got off their 
 horses. 
 
 Then Ernauton said, " You know, Monsieur, that with- 
 out any cause on my part, you have during the whole 
 journey insulted me grievously. You wished to make 
 me fight at an inopportune time, and I refused; but 
 now the time is good and I am your man." 
 
 But Sainte-Maline was angry no longer, and did not 
 wish to fight. " Monsieur," replied he, " when I insulted 
 you, you responded by rendering me a service. I can no 
 longer use the language towards you that I did then." 
 
 Ernauton frowned. " No, Monsieur," he said ; " but 
 you think now what you said then." 
 
 " How do you know ] " 
 
 " Because your words were dictated by hatred and 
 envy, and they cannot already be extinct in your heart." 
 
 Sainte-Maline colored, but did not reply. 
 
 Ernauton continued, " If the king preferred me to you, 
 it was because I pleased him best ; if I was not thrown 
 into the Bievre like you, it was because I ride better ; if I 
 did not accept your challenge before, it was because I was 
 wiser than you ; if I was not bitten by the dog, it was 
 because I had more sagacity ; if I now summon you to 
 draw your sword, it is because I have more honor; and if 
 you hesitate, I shall say more courage." 
 
 Sainte-Maline looked like a demon, and drew his sword 
 furiously. Ernauton already held his in his hand. 
 
 " Stay, Monsieur," said Sainte-Maline ; " withdraw 
 your last words. They are too strong, you must admit, 
 who know me well, — since, as you have said, we live 
 only two leagues apart. Withdraw them ; be satisfied 
 with my humiliation, and do not disgrace me." 
 
 " Monsieur," said Ernauton, " as I never allow myself 
 to get into a rage, I never say more than I mean ; conse- 
 
 VOL. I. — 13 
 
194: THE FORTY-FIVE. 
 
 quently, I shall withdraw nothing. I also am sensitive ; 
 and being new to the court, I don't want to Lave to blush 
 every time I may meet you. A stroke of the sword, if 
 you please. Monsieur ; it is for my satisfaction as well 
 as yours." 
 
 " Oh, Monsieur, I have fought eleven times," said 
 Sainte-Maline, " and two of my adversaries are dead. 
 Are you aware of that, Monsieur ? " 
 
 " And I, Monsieur, have never fought, for I have 
 never had occasion ; and I did not seek it now. I wait 
 your pleasure. Monsieur." 
 
 " Stay ! " said Sainte-Maline, " we are compatriots, and 
 we are both in the king's service; do not let us quarrel. 
 You are a brave man, and I would give you my hand if I 
 could. What would you have 1 I am envious ; it is my 
 nature. M. de Chalabre or M. de Montcrabeau would 
 not have made me angry ; it was your superior merit. 
 Console yourself, therefore, for my envy cannot injure 
 you ; and unfortunately for me, your merit remains. I 
 should not like any one to know the cause of our quarrel." 
 
 " No one will know it, Monsieur." 
 
 " No one 1 " 
 
 " No ; for if we fight I shall kill you, or you will kill 
 me. I do not despise life ; on the contrary, I cling to it, 
 for I am only twenty-three years of age, have a good name, 
 and am not poor. I shall defend myself like a lion." 
 
 " Well, I, on the contrary, am thirty, and am disgusted 
 with life ; but still I would rather not fight with you." 
 
 " Then you will apologize 1 " 
 
 " No, I have said enough. If you are not content, so 
 much the better, for then you cease to be superior 
 to me." 
 
 "But, Monsieur, one cannot end a quarrel thus, with- 
 out the risk of being laughed at." 
 
SAINTE-ilALINE. 195 
 
 " I know it." 
 
 " Then yon refuse to fight?" 
 
 "With you." 
 
 " After liaving provoked me ? " 
 
 " I confess it." 
 
 " But if my patience fail, and I attack you 1 " 
 
 " I will throw my sword away ; but I shall then have 
 reason to hate you, and the first time I find you in the 
 wrong, I will kiU you." 
 
 Ernauton sheathed his sword. " You are a strange 
 man," said he ; " and I pity you from the bottom of my 
 heart." 
 
 " You pity me 1 " 
 
 " Yes, for you must suffer horribly." 
 
 "Horribly." 
 
 " Do you never love ? " 
 
 " Never." 
 
 " Have you no passions ? " 
 
 " One alone, jealousy ; but that includes all others to a 
 frightful degree. I adore a woman as soon as she loves 
 another ; I love gold when another possesses it. Yes, 
 you are right ; I am unhappy." 
 
 " Have you never tried to become good 1 " 
 
 " I have never succeeded." 
 
 " What do you hope 1 What do you expect to 
 do?" 
 
 " What does the venomous plant ? It has flowers, like 
 other plants, and there are those who know how to make 
 them useful. What do the bear and bird of prey 1 They 
 destroy, biit certain breeders know how to train them for 
 the chase. So shall I be in the hands of MM. d'Epernon 
 and de Loignac, till the day when they shall say, ' This 
 plant is hurtful ; let us tear it up. This beast is furious ; 
 let us kill him.' " 
 
196 THE FORTY-FIVE. 
 
 Ernautou was calmed ; Sainte-Maline was no longer an 
 object of anger, but of .pity. 
 
 " Good fortune should cure you,'' said he ; " when you 
 succeed, j'ou will hate Ifess." 
 
 " However high I should rise, others would be higher." 
 
 They rode on silently for some time. At last Ernauton 
 held out his hand to Sainte-Maline, and said, " Shall I try 
 to cure you ? " 
 
 " No, do not try that ; you would fail. Hate me, on 
 the contrary, and I shall admire you." 
 
 An hour after, they entered the Louvre ; the king had 
 gone out, and would not return until evening. 
 
LOIGNAC'S ADDRESS TO THE FORTY-FIVE. 197 
 
 CHAPTER XXXI. 
 
 LOIGNAC'S ADDRESS TO THE FORTY-FIVE. 
 
 Each of the young men placed himself at a wiiulow to 
 watch for the king's return. Ernauton, however, soon 
 became abstracted in wondering who the woman could be 
 who had entered Paris as his page, and whom he had 
 since seen in such a splendid litter ; and with a heart 
 more disposed to love-adventure than to making ambitious 
 calculations, he forgot why he was sitting there till, sud- 
 denly raising his head,. he saw that Sainte-Maline was no 
 longer there. He understood at once that he had seen the 
 king arrive, and had gone to him. He rose quickly, trav- 
 ersed the gallery, and arrived at the king's room just as 
 Sainte-Maline was coming out. 
 
 " Look ! " cried he, joyfully ; " see what the king has 
 given me ! " and he showed a gold chain. 
 
 " I congratulate you. Monsieur," said Ernauton, quietly ; 
 and he entered in his turn. 
 
 Sainte-Maline waited impatiently until he came out 
 again, which he did in about ten minutes, although it 
 appeared an hour to Sainte-Maline. When Ernauton 
 came out, he looked all over him, and seeing nothing, he 
 cried joyfully, " And you, Monsieur, what has he given to 
 your' 
 
 " His hand to kiss," repHed Ernauton. 
 
 Sainte-Maline crushed his chain impatiently in his 
 hands ; and they both returned in silence. As they en- 
 tered the hall the trumpet sounded ; and at this signal all 
 
198 THE FORTY-FIVE. 
 
 the Forty -five came out of their rooms, wondering what 
 was the matter, while they profited by this reunion to 
 examine one another. Most of them were richly dressed, 
 though generally in bad taste. They resembled a corps 
 of officers in civilian garb, — the military manner being 
 what, with few exceptions, they most affected. 
 
 The most discreet might be known b}' their quiet colors, 
 the most economical by the substantial character of their 
 equipments, and the most gay by their white or rose- 
 colored satins. Perducas de Pincornay had bought from 
 some Jew a gold chain as thick as a cable. Pertinax de 
 Montcrabeau was all bows and embroidery ; he had bought 
 his costume from a merchant who had purchased it of a 
 gentleman who had been wounded by robbers. It was 
 rather stained with blood and dirt, it was true ; but he 
 had managed to clean it tolerably. There remained two 
 holes made by the daggers of the robbers, but Pertinax 
 had had them embroidered in gold. 
 
 Eustache de Miradoux did not shine ; he had had to 
 clothe Lardille, Militor, and the two children. All the 
 gentlemen were there admiring one another, when M. de 
 Loignac entered frowning, and placed himself in front of 
 them with a countenance anything but agreeable. 
 
 "Gentlemen," said lie, "are you all hereV 
 
 " All ! " they replied. 
 
 " Gentlemen, you have been summoned to Paris as a 
 special guard to the king; it is an honorable title, but it 
 engages you too mtich. Some of you seem not to have 
 understood your duties ; I will therefore recall them to 
 you. If you do not assist at the deliberations of the 
 council, you will constantly be called upon to execute the 
 resolutions passed there ; therefore the responsibility of 
 those secrets rests upon you. Suppose now that one of 
 the officers on whom the safety of the State and the tran- 
 
LOIGNAC'S ADDRESS TO THE FORTY-FIVE. 199 
 
 quillity of the crown reposes, betray the secrets of the 
 council, or a soldier charged with a commission does not 
 execute it, — his life is the forfeit ; you know that 1 " 
 
 " Doubtless," replied many voices. 
 
 "Well, gentlemen, this very day a measure of his 
 Majesty's has been betrayed, and a step which he wished 
 to take rendered perhaps impossible." 
 
 Terror began to replace pride in the minds of the Forty- 
 five, and they looked at one another with suspicion and 
 disquietude. 
 
 "Two of you gentlemen," continued Loignac, "have 
 been heard in the open street chattering like a couple of 
 old women, and that about grave things." 
 
 Sainte-Maline advanced. "Monsieur," said he, "pray 
 explain at once, that suspicion may not rest on us 
 all." 
 
 " That is easy. The king heard to-day that one of hi.s 
 enemies — precisely one of those whom we have been en- 
 rolled to guard him against — had arrived in Paris to 
 conspire against him. This name was pronounced secretly, 
 but was overheard by a soldier on guard ; that is to say, 
 by a man who should be regarded as a wall, — deaf, dumb, 
 and immovable. However, that man repeated this name 
 in the street with a noise and boasting which attracted 
 the attention of the passers-by, and raised quite a commo- 
 tion. I know it, for I was there, and heard and saw all ; 
 and had I not placed my hand on his shoulder to stop 
 him, he would have compromised such grave interests 
 that had he not been quiet at my touch, I should have 
 been compelled to poniard him on the spot." 
 
 Pertinax de Montcrabeau and Perducas de Pincornay 
 turned deadly pale ; and Montcrabeau tried to stammer 
 out some excuses. All eyes were turned towards them. 
 
 " Nothing can excuse you," said Loignac. " Even if 
 
200 THE FORTY-FIVB, 
 
 you were drunk, yon should be punished for that ; if 
 you were only boastful and vain, you still ought to 
 be punished. Consequently," continued Loignac, " M. 
 de Montcrabeau, and you, also, M. de Pincornay, shall 
 be punished." 
 
 A terrible silence ensued. Then Pertinax said, "Pardon, 
 Monsieur ! we are provincials, new to the court, and un- 
 accustomed to politics." 
 
 " You should not have accepted the honor of serving 
 the king without weighing its responsibilities." 
 
 " For the future we wiU be as mute as sepulchres, we 
 swear to you ! " 
 
 " Good ; but can you repair the evil you have done 
 to-day r' 
 
 " ^Ye will try." 
 
 " It is impossible, I tell you." 
 
 " Then for this time pardon us.'' 
 
 " You live," continued Loignac, " with a sort of license 
 which I must rej)ress by a strict discipline. Those who 
 find the terms too hard will return home ; I can easily 
 replace them. But I warn you that justice will be done 
 among us secretly and expeditiously. Traitors will be 
 punished with death on the spot." 
 
 ilontcrabeau nearly fainted ; and Pertinax grew paler 
 than ever. 
 
 " I shall have," Loignac continued, " for smaller offences 
 lighter~punishments, as imprisonment, for instance. For 
 this time, I spare the lives of M. de Montcrabeau and M. 
 de Pincornay, because they probably acted in ignorance. 
 I do not punish them with imprisonment because I may 
 need them this evening or to-morrow. I give them, con- 
 sequently, the third punishment I shall use for delinquents, 
 — a fine. You have received one thousand livres apiece^ 
 gentlemen ; you will each return one hundred. And I 
 
LOIGNAC'S ADDKESS TO THE FORTY-FIVE. 201 
 
 will use that money to reward those whose conduct I 
 approve." 
 
 " One hundred livres ! " cried Pincornay ; " Gap de 
 Bious ! I have n't them. I have spent them on my 
 equipment." 
 
 " Sell your chain, then. But I have a word more to 
 say. I have remarked many signs of irritation between 
 different members of your body ; whenever a difference 
 arises I wish the matter referred to me, and I alone shall 
 have the power of allowing a duel to take place. Duel- 
 ling is much in fashion now, but I do not wish that in 
 following the fashion my company should continually be 
 made incomplete. The first duel, therefore, that takes 
 place without my permission will be punished with a 
 rigorous imprisonment and a heavy fine. Let those of 
 you to whom these words apply bear them in mind. 
 You may go, gentlemen. By the way, fifteen of you will 
 place yourselves this evening at the foot of the staircase 
 when his Majesty receives, and at the first signal will 
 occupy the antechambers, should the occasion arise ; fif- 
 teen will station themselves outside, mingling in the train 
 of those who visit the Louvre ; and fifteen will remain at 
 home. Also, as you should have some chief, and I can- 
 not be everywhere, I will each day name a chief for the 
 fifteen, so that all shall learn to obey and command. At 
 present I do not know the capacities of any one, but I 
 shall watch and learn. Now go, gentlemen ; and M. de 
 Montorabeau and M. de Pincornay, you will remember 
 that I expect your fines to be paid to-morrow." 
 
 They all retired except Ernauton, who lingered behind. 
 
 "Do you wish anything V asked Loignac. 
 
 " Yes, Monsieur," said Ernauton, bowing ; " it seems 
 to me that you have forgotten to point out to us our 
 duties. To be in the king's service has a glorious sound. 
 
202 THE FORTY-FIVE. 
 
 doubtless, but I should wish to know in what this service 
 consists t " 
 
 " That, Monsieur, is a question to which I cannot reply." 
 
 " May I ask why, Monsieur 1 " 
 
 " Because I myself am often ignorant in the morning of 
 what I shall have to do in the evening." 
 
 " Monsieur, you are placed in such a high position that 
 you must know many things of which we are ignorant." 
 
 " Do as I do, M. de Carmainges : learn those things 
 without being told ; I do not hinder you." 
 
 " I ask you. Monsieur," said Ernauton, " because, com- 
 ing to the court without likes or dislikes, led by no pas- 
 sion, I might be more useful to you than another, without 
 being more valiant." 
 
 " You have neither likes nor dislikes ? " 
 
 " No, Monsieur." 
 
 " You love the king, at least, I suppose ? " 
 
 " I ought to, and I wish to, as a subject and a gentleman." 
 
 " Well, that is the cardinal point by which to regulate 
 your conduct." 
 
 " Very well, Monsieur ; but there is one point which 
 disquiets me." 
 
 " What is it r' 
 
 " Passive obedience." 
 
 "It is an essential condition." 
 
 " So I understand ; but it is sometimes difficult for 
 persons who are delicate on points of honor." 
 
 " That does not concern me, M. de Carmainges." 
 
 " But, Monsieur, when an order displeases you — " 
 
 " I read the signature of M. d'Epernon, and that con- 
 soles me." 
 
 " And M. d'Epernon ? " 
 
 " He reads the signature of his Majesty, and consoles 
 himself as I do." 
 
LOIGNAC'S ADDRESS TO THE FORTY-FIVE. 203 
 
 " You are right, Monsieur, and I am your humble 
 servant ; " and Ernauton was about to retire, when 
 Loignac stopped him. 
 
 " I will say to you," said he, " what I have not said to 
 the others, for no one else has had the courage to speak to 
 me thus." 
 
 Ernauton bowed. 
 
 " Perhaps,'' continued Loignac, " a great personage will 
 come to the Louvre this evening ; if so, do not lose sight 
 of him, and follow him when he leaves." 
 
 " Pardon me. Monsieur ; but that seems the work of a 
 
 spy." 
 
 " Do you think so 1 It is possible ; but look here ; " 
 and he drew out a paper which he presented to Ernauton, 
 who read : — 
 
 Have M. de Mayenne followed this evening, if he presents 
 himself at the Louvre. 
 
 D'Epernox. 
 
 "Well, Monsieur?" 
 
 "I -will follow M. de Mayenne," said Ernauton, bowing 
 
204: THE FORTY-FIVE. 
 
 CHAPTEE XXXTI. 
 
 THE BOURGEOIS OP PARIS. 
 
 M. DE Matenne, with whom they were so much occupied 
 at the Louvre, set out from the Hotel de Guise, hooted 
 and on horseback, as though he had just arrived. He 
 was received by the king affectionately. 
 
 " Well, Cousin," said he, " you have, then, come to 
 visit Paris 1 " 
 
 " Yes, Sire ; 1 come in my brother's name and my own, 
 to recall to your Majesty that you have no more faithful 
 subjects than ourselves." 
 
 "Mordieuf" said the king, "that is so well known 
 that aside from the pleasure your visit gives me, you 
 might have spared yourself this trouble. You must have 
 had some other motive." 
 
 " Sire, I feared that your r(\rravd for us might be 
 shaken by the reports wbicli our enemies circulate 
 about us." 
 
 " What reports t " asked Henri, with that simplicity 
 which made him so dangerous, even to those most 
 intimate with him. 
 
 " What ! " cried Mayenne, rather disconcerted ; " has 
 not your Majesty heard any reports unfavorable to us t " 
 
 " My cousin, know once for all that I allow no one to 
 speak ill of the Guises in my presence." 
 
 " Well, Sire, I do not regret my visit, since I have had 
 the pleasure of finding my king so well disposed towards 
 us ; but I will admit that my precipitation was groundless." 
 
THE BOURGEOIS OF PARIS. 205 
 
 " Oh, there is always something to do in Paris." 
 
 "Yes, Sire ; but we have our business at Soissons." 
 
 " What business, Duke 1 " 
 
 " Your Majesty's, Sire." 
 
 " Ah, true ; continue, Mayenne, to do as you have 
 done. I know how to appreciate the conduct of my 
 subjects." 
 
 The duke retired, smiling. The king rubbed his 
 hands, and Loignac made a sign to Ernauton, who spoke 
 to his valet, and then followed M. de ilayenne. There 
 Avas no fear of missing him, for Pinoornay's indiscretion 
 had made known the arrival in Paris of a prince of the 
 House of Guise, and the good Leaguers were pouring 
 from their houses to meet him. In vain ilayneville 
 checked the more zealous, saying, " Not so much zeal, 
 ray friends ! not so much zeal ! Good God ! you will 
 compromise us." 
 
 The duke had an escort of two or three hundred men 
 when he arrived at the Hotel St. Denis, — a circum- 
 stance which made it easy for Ernauton to follow him 
 without being noticed. 
 
 As the duke entered his hotel, Ernauton saw a litter 
 pierce through the crowd. Mayneville approached it ; 
 the curtains were opened ; and Ernauton thought he 
 recognized his former page. The litter disappeared under 
 the gateway, and Mayneville followed ; an instant after, 
 Mayneville appeared on the balcony, and thanked the 
 Parisians in the duke's name, but begged them to dis- 
 perse and go home. 
 
 All went away accordingly, except ten men, who had 
 entered after the duke. These were the deputies of the 
 League, who were sent to thank M. de Mayenne for his 
 visit, and to entreat him to persuade his brother to come 
 also. In fact, these worthy citizens, who were not want' 
 
206 THE FORTY-FIVE. 
 
 ing in imagination, had in their preparatory meetings con- 
 trived a number of plans which needed only the sanction 
 and support of a chief on whom they could rely. 
 
 Bussy-Leclerc came to announce that he had instructed 
 the monks of three monasteries in the use of arms, and 
 had enrolled five hundred bourgeois in a regiment ; that 
 is to say, had got ready an effective force of a thousand 
 men. 
 
 Lachapelle-Marteau had worked among the magistrates, 
 the clerks, and the lawyers. He could offer both counsel 
 and action, — the former represented by two hundred 
 black robes, the latter by two hundred archers. 
 
 Brigard had gained the merchants of the Eue Lombards 
 and the Rue St. Denis. 
 
 Cruce had shared with Lachapelle-Marteau the work 
 among the lawyers, and had gained over the University 
 of Paris. 
 
 Delbar promised for all the sailors in the port, — a for- 
 midable contingent of five hundred men. 
 
 Each of the others had something to offer, even Nicolas 
 Poulain, the friend of Chicot. 
 
 When Mayenne had heard tliem all, he said, " I admire 
 your strength ; but I do not see the end you propose to 
 yourselves." 
 
 Bussy-Leclerc answered, " We want a change, and as 
 we are the strongest — " 
 
 " But how will you arrive at this change % " 
 
 " It seems to me,'' replied Bussy, boldly, " that as the 
 idea of the Union came from our chiefs, it is for them to 
 point out its aim." 
 
 " You are perfectly right," said Alayenne ; " but it is 
 also for them to judge of the proper time for action. 
 The troops of M. de Guise may be ready, but he does 
 not give the signal until he thinks fit." 
 
THE BOUEGEOIS OF PAEIS. 207 
 
 " But, Mouseigneur, we are impatient." 
 
 " For what ] " 
 
 " To arrive at our end. We also have our plan." 
 
 " Ah ! that is different ; if you have your own plan, 
 I say no more." 
 
 "Yes, Monseigneur; but may we count on your aid?" 
 
 " Doubtless, if this plan be approved by my brother 
 and myself." 
 
 " We believe it will be." 
 
 " Let me hear it, then." 
 
 The Leaguers looked at one another, then Marteau ad- 
 vanced. "Monseigneur," said he, "we think the suc- 
 cess of our plan certain. There are particular points 
 where all the strength of the city lies, — the great and 
 the little Chatelet, the Hotel de Ville, the Arsenal, and 
 the Louvre." 
 
 " It is true." 
 
 " All these are guarded, but could easily be surprised." 
 
 " I admit this also." 
 
 " The town itself, however, is defended outside, firstly, 
 by the chevalier of the watch with his archers. We 
 thought of seizing him in his house, which could be 
 easily done, as it is a lonely place." 
 
 Mayenne shook bis head. " However lonely," said he, 
 " you cannot force a door and fire twenty shots without 
 attracting attention." 
 
 " We have foreseen this objection, but one of the archers 
 of the watch is on our side. In the middle of the night 
 two or three of us will go and knock at the door ; the 
 archer will open, and tell his chief that the king wishes 
 to speak to him, which would not appear strange, as he is 
 often sent for in this manner. Once the door is open, we 
 will introduce ten men, — sailors who lodge near, — who 
 will soon finish him." 
 
208 THE FORTY-FIVE. 
 
 " Murder Hm'!" 
 
 " Yes, Monseigneur. At the same time we will force 
 the doors of the other functionaries who might take his 
 place, such as M. d'O, M. de Chiverny, and M. le Pro- 
 cureur Laguesle. Saint Bartholomew has taught us how 
 to manage." 
 
 " This is all well, gentlemen ; but you have not told 
 rae if you mean at the same time to force the doors of the 
 Louvre, — that strong and well-guarded fortress. Be- 
 lieve me, the king is not so easily taken as the chevalier 
 of the watch. He will take to the sword; and remember, 
 he is the king. His presence will have a strong effect on 
 the citizens ; and you will be beaten." 
 
 " We have chosen for this undertaking four thousand 
 men who do not love the Valois enough for his presence 
 to have on them the effect of which you speak." 
 
 " And you think that enough 1 " 
 
 " Doubtless ; we shall be ten to one." 
 
 " Why, the Swiss are four thousand strong." 
 
 " Yes, but they are at Lagny, and that is eight leagues 
 from Paris ; and supposing they were sent for, it would 
 take two hours for the messenger to go on horseback, 
 and eight for them to return on foot. That would make 
 ten hours ; so that they would arrive just in time to be 
 stopped at the gates, for in ten hours we should be mas- 
 ters of Paris." 
 
 "Very good; but supposing all this accomplished, the 
 watch disarmed, the authorities disappeared, and all ob- 
 stacles removed, what do you mean to do 1 " 
 
 " Form a new government of honest men. As for our 
 selves, so long as our commerce is successful, and we have 
 enough for our wives and children, we care for little else. 
 Some among us might desire a command, and they should 
 have it. We are not difl&cult to satisfy." 
 
THE BOURGEOIS OF PARIS. 209 
 
 " I know you are all honest, and would not suffer a 
 mixture in your ranks." 
 
 " No, no ! " cried several voices. 
 
 " Now, M. Poulain," said the duke, " are there many 
 idlers and bad people in Paris 1 " 
 
 Nicolas Poulain, who had hitherto kept in the back- 
 ground, was now forced to advance. " Certainly, Mon- 
 seigneur, there are a great many," he replied. 
 
 " Can you give us an estimate of their number 1 " 
 
 " About four thousand thieves, three thousand or more 
 beggars, and four or five hundred assassins." 
 
 " Well, there are at least eight thousand good-for-noth- 
 ings ; of what religion are they? " 
 
 Poulain laughed. " Of all, iMonseigneur, or rather, of 
 none ; gold is their god, and blood their prophet." 
 
 " Yes ; but their politics 1 Are they Valois, Leaguers, 
 Navarrais, or what ? " 
 
 " Robbers only." 
 
 " Monseigneur," said Cruc^, " do not suppose that we 
 mean to take these people for allies ! " 
 
 " No, I do not suppose so ; and that is what disturbs 
 me." 
 
 " And why so, Monseigneur 1 " they asked with surprise. 
 
 "Because as soon as there are no longer magistrates in 
 Paris, as soon as there is no longer royalty, or public 
 force, or anything to restrain them, they will begin to 
 pillage your shops while you fight, and your houses 
 while you occupy the Louvre. Sometimes they will join 
 the Swiss against you, and sometimes you against the 
 Swiss, so that they will always be the strongest." 
 
 " The devil ! " cried the deputies, looking at one 
 another. 
 
 " I think this is a question tor grave consideration, gen- 
 tlemen," said the duke. " I will think it over, and en- 
 
 VOL. I, — 14 
 
210 THE FOKTY-FIVE. 
 
 deavor to find the means of overcoming the difficulty ; 
 your interests, before our own, has ever been our maxim." 
 
 The deputies gave a murmur of approbation. 
 
 " Now, gentlemen, permit a man vfho has travelled 
 twenty-four leagues on horseback in forty-eight hours to 
 seek a little sleep.'' 
 
 "We humbly take our leave, Monseigneur," said Bri- 
 gard. " What day shall you fix for our next meeting 1 " 
 
 " As soon as possible, gentlemen ; to-morrow or the day 
 after ; " and he left them all astounded by the foresight 
 which had detected a danger of which they had not even 
 dreamed. 
 
 No sooner had he disappeared than a door opened and 
 a woman rushed in. 
 
 " The duchess ! " they cried. 
 
 "Yes, gentlemen; who comes to save you from your 
 embarrassments. What the Hebrews could not do, Judith 
 did. Hope, then, gentlemen, for 1 also have my plan ; " 
 and she disappeared through the same door as her 
 brother. 
 
 " Tudieu/" cried Bussy-Leclerc ; "I believe that is 
 the man of the family." 
 
 " Oh ! " murmured Nicolas Poulain, " I wish I were 
 out of aU. this." 
 
BROTHER BORROMEE. 211 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIII. 
 
 BROTHER BOEEOMEE. 
 
 It was about ten o'clock in the evening when the depu- 
 ties returned home. Nicolas Poulain reroained behind 
 the others, reflecting on the perplexing situation in which 
 he found himself, and considering whether he should 
 report all that lie had heard to M. d'Epernon, when, in 
 the middle of the Rue de la Pierre au Real, he ran against 
 a Jacobin monk. They both began to swear, but looking 
 up, recognized each other. 
 
 " Brother Borromee ! " cried Poulain. 
 
 " Nicolas Poulain ! " exclaimed the monk. 
 
 " How are you 1 " asked Nicolas, cautiousl}^. " Where 
 in the world were you running to in such a hurry at this 
 time of night 1 Is the priory on fire 1 " 
 
 " No ; I was going to the Duchesse de Montpensier's 
 hotel, to speak to M. de Mayneville. " 
 
 " And what for 1 " 
 
 "Oh ! it is very simple," said Borromee, seeking for a 
 specious answer. " Our reverend prior was solicited by the 
 duchess to become her confessor ; he accepted at the time, 
 but since then he has had scruples, and has sent me to 
 tell her not to rely upon him." 
 
 " Very good ; but you are going away from the Hotel 
 de Guise." 
 
 " Exactly so ; for I hear she is at the Hotel St. Denis, 
 with her brother." 
 
212 THE FORTY-FIVE. 
 
 " Quite true ; but why do you deceive me "i It is 
 not the treasurer who is sent with messages of tliat 
 sort." 
 
 " But to a princess ! Now do not detain me, or I shall 
 miss her." 
 
 " She will return ; you might have waited for her." 
 
 " True ; hut I shall not be sorry to see Monsieur the 
 Duke also." 
 
 " Oh, that is more like the truth ! Now that I know 
 with whom your business is to be transacted, I will hin- 
 der you no longer. Adieu, and good luck ! " 
 
 Borromee, seeing the road clear, hastened on. 
 
 "Come, come," said Poulain, looking after him, "there 
 is something new ; but why the devil should I want to 
 know v.rhat is going on ? Is it possible that I am begin- 
 ning to like the occupation to which I am condemned 1 
 Fie ! " 
 
 Meanwhile the brother and sister had been conversing 
 together, and had settled that the king had no suspicions, 
 and was therefore easy to attack. They also agreed that 
 the first thing to be done was to organize the League more 
 generally in the provinces, while the king abandoned his 
 brother, who was the only enemy they had to fear so 
 long as Henri de Navarre occupied himself only with 
 love-aifairs. 
 
 " Paris is all ready, but must wait," said Mayenue. 
 
 At this moment M. de Mayneville entered, and an- 
 nounced Borromee. 
 
 " Borromee ! who is he ? " cried the duke. 
 
 " The man whom you sent me from Nancy, when I 
 asked for a man of action and a man of intelligence." 
 
 " I remember ; I told you I had the two in one, and 
 sent you Captain Borroville. Has he changed his name 
 to Borromee 1 " 
 
BEOTHER BOEROMEE. 213 
 
 " Yes, Monseigneur, Ids name and his uniform. He is 
 now named Borromee, and is a Jacobin." 
 
 " Borroville a Jacobin 1 " 
 
 " Yes, Monseigneur." 
 
 " And why, then, is he a Jacobin t The Devil would 
 be much amused should he recognize liim under his 
 frock." 
 
 " Why is he a Jacobin 1 " The duchess made a sign to 
 ]S[ayneviUe. " You wiU know that later,'' he continued ; 
 " it is our secret, Monseigneur. In the mean time let us 
 liear Captain Borroville, or Brother Borromee." 
 
 " Yes, his visit disturbs me," observed Madame de 
 Montpensier. 
 
 " And me, also, I confess," said Mayneville. 
 
 " Then introduce him immediately," said the duchess. 
 
 As to the duke, he hesitated between a wish to hear the 
 messenger, and the fear of failing an appointment with 
 his mistress. He looked at the door and at the clock. 
 The door opened, and the clock struck eleven. 
 
 "Eh, Borroville," said the duke, unable to restrain his 
 laughter, notwithstanding his ill-humor, " how you are 
 disguised, ray friend ! " 
 
 " Yes, Monseigneur, I am not much at my ease in this 
 devil of a dress, I confess ; but as it is worn in the service 
 of her Highness, I do not complain." 
 
 " Good ! thank you. Captain. And now let us hear 
 what you have to say to us at so late an hour." 
 
 " I could not come sooner ; I have all the priory on my 
 hands." 
 
 " Well, now speak ! " 
 
 " Monsieur the Duke, the king is sending succors to the 
 Due d'Anjou." 
 
 " Bah ! we have heard that the last three years." 
 
 " Yes : but this time it is certain. At two o'clock 
 
214 THE FORTY-FIVE. 
 
 this morning M. de Joyeuse set out for Rouen. He is 
 to take ship to Dieppe, and convey three thousand men 
 to Antwerp." 
 
 " Oh ! who told you that, Borroville 1 " 
 
 " I heard it from a man who is going to Navarre." 
 
 " To Navarre ! to Henri ? " 
 
 " Yes, Monseigneur." 
 
 " And who sends him 1 " 
 
 " The king, with a letter." 
 
 " What is his name 1 " 
 
 " Robert Briquet ; he is a great friend of Gorenflot's." 
 
 " And an ambassador from the king '? " 
 
 " Yes ; I am sure of it, for he sent one of our monks 
 to the Louvre to get the letter." 
 
 " And he did not show you the letter 1 " 
 
 " The king did not give it to him ; he sent it by his 
 own messenger." 
 
 " We must have this letter." 
 
 " Certainly,'' said the duchess. 
 
 " How was it that this did not occur to you % " said 
 Mayneville. 
 
 " I did think of it, and wished to send one of my men, 
 who is a perfect Hercules, with M. Briquet, but he sus- 
 pected, and dismissed him." 
 
 " You must go yourself." 
 
 " Impossible ! " 
 
 " And why '! " 
 
 " Because he knows me." 
 
 " As a monk, but not as captain, I hope." 
 
 " Upon my soul, I don't know ; that Robert Briquet 
 has an eye that is very embarrassing." 
 
 "What is he like V 
 
 " He is tall, — all nerves, muscles, and bones ; shrewd, 
 mocking, and taciturn." 
 
BKOTHEE BORROMfiE. 215 
 
 "Ah, ah! and clever with bis sword'!" 
 
 "Marvellously." 
 
 " A long face 1 " 
 
 " Monseigneur, he has all faces." 
 
 " And an old friend of the prior's 1 " 
 
 " From the time when he was only a monk." 
 
 " Oh, I have a suspicion which I must have cleared up. 
 Borroville, you must go to Soissons, to my brother — " 
 
 " But the priory 1 " 
 
 " Oh, you can invent some excuse to Gorenflot ; he 
 beUeves all you say," said Mayneville. 
 
 " You will tell my brother all you know about the 
 mission of M. de Joyeuse." 
 
 " Yes, Monseigneur." 
 
 " And Navarre — " said the duchess. 
 
 " Oh, I charge myself with that ! " said Mayenne. 
 "Let them saddle me a fresh horse, Mayneville.'' Then 
 he murmured to himself, " Can he be stiU alive ? Yes, 
 it must be he." 
 
216 THE FORTY-FIVE. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIV. 
 
 CHICOT, LATINIST. 
 
 After the departure of the young men, Chicot went on 
 at a rapid pace ; hut as soon as they had disappeared in 
 the valley, he stopped at the top of a hill and looked all 
 round him. Then, seeing no one, he seated himself on the 
 edge of a ditch, leaned back against a tree, and began 
 what he called his examination of conscience. He had 
 now two purses, for he perceived that the packet he had 
 received contained money, besides the letter. It was 
 quite a royal purse, embroidered with an "H" at each 
 end. 
 
 " This is fine ! " said Chicot, examining the purse ; " it 
 is charming on the part of the king. His name, his arms ! 
 no one could be more generous or more stupid. Decidedly 
 I shall never make anything of him. All that astonishes 
 me is that he did not have embroidered on the same purse 
 the letter which he sends by me to his brother-in-law. 
 Now let me see how much money he has sent. One 
 hundred crowns, — just the sum I borrowed from Goren- 
 flot. Ah, pardon, let us not calumniate; here is a little 
 package, — five quadruples in Spanish gold. Come, that 
 is delicate ; it is very polite, Henriquet. But the purse 
 annoys me ; if I were to keep it I should feel as if the 
 very birds, as they flew over my head, would denounce 
 me as a royal messenger." 
 
 So saying, he drew from his pocket Gorenflot's bag, 
 emptied the king's money into it, then placed a stone in 
 
CHICOT, LATINIST. 217 
 
 the purse, and threw it into the Orge, which flowed under 
 the bridge at his feet. 
 
 "So much for myself; now for Henri," said Chicot; 
 and he took up the letter, broke the seal with the utmost 
 tranquillity, and sent the envelope into the river after the 
 purse. " Now," said he, " let us read." And he opened 
 the letter and read as follows : — 
 
 Dear Brother, — The deep love which you felt for our 
 late dear brother and king, Charles IX., still clings to the 
 Louvre and to my heart ; it grieves me, therefore, to have to 
 write to you about vexatious things. You are strong, how- 
 ever, against ill-fortune, so that I do not hesitate to coniniuni- 
 cate these things to you, — things which can be told only to a 
 tried friend. Besides, I have an interest in warning you, — 
 the honor of my name and of your own, my brother. We 
 resemble each other in one thing, that we are each surrounded 
 with enemies. Chicot will explain to you. 
 
 " ' Chicotus explicabit,' " said Chicot, — " or rather, 
 'evolvet,' which is infinitely more elegant." 
 
 M. de Turenne, your servant, causes daily scandal at your 
 court. God forbid that I should interfere in your affairs, 
 except where your honor is concerned ; but your wife, whom 
 to my regret I call my sister, ought to exercise such care for 
 you, instead of me, — which she does not do. 
 
 " Oh, oh ! " said Chicot, continuing his Latin render- 
 ing, " ' queeque omittit facere.' That is severe." 
 
 I advise you, therefore, to watch the communications of 
 ilargot with Turenne, that she does not bring shame on the 
 House of Bourbon. Act as soon as you shall be sure of the 
 fact, into which I pray you to inquire as soon as Chicot shall 
 have explained to you my letter. 
 
 " ' Statim atque audiveris Chicotum litteras explican- 
 tem,' " said Chicot; "let us proceed." 
 
mS THE FORTY-FIVE. 
 
 It would be a grievous calamity if the least suspicion 
 should attach to the legitimacy of your successor, my brother, 
 — a momentous consideration, of which God has forbidden me 
 to think ; for, alas ! I am condemned in advance not to live 
 ^gain in my posterity. 
 
 The two accomplices, whom as brother and king I denounce 
 to you, generally meet at a little chateau called Loignac, — 
 the pretext being generally the chiise. This chateau is, be- 
 sides, the focus for intrigues to which the Guises are not 
 strangers, and you know the strange love with which my sister 
 pursued Henri de Guise. I embrace you, and am ever ready 
 to aid you in all, and for all ; meanwhile aid yourself by the 
 advice of Chicot, whom I send to you. 
 
 " ' Age, auctore Chicot,' " said Chicot. " Here am I 
 installed counsellor of the King of Navarre ! This seems 
 to me a bad commission, and in ilying from one ill I have 
 fallen into a worse one. Eeally, I should prefer Mayenne. 
 But the letter is clever, and if Henriot be like other hus- 
 bands, it will embroil him at once with his wife, Turenne, 
 the Guises, and even with Spain. In fact, if Henri de 
 -Valois is so well informed of all that occurs in Navarre, he 
 must have some spy there ; and that spy is going to annoy 
 Henriot. Then again," he continued, " this letter will 
 lead me into mischief if I meet a Spaniard, a Lorraine, a 
 Bearnais, or a Fleming, curious enough to wish to know 
 what brings me here ; and I should be very foolish not to 
 remember that there is a chance of that. M. Borromee, 
 above all, I suspect may play me some trick. Besides, 
 what did I seek in asking the king for this mis.sion ? 
 Tranquillity. And now I am going to embroil the King 
 of Navarre with his wife. However, that is not my affair, 
 except that I shall make mortal enemies, who will prevent 
 my reaching the happy age of eighty. Faith ! so much 
 the better ; life is pleasant only while one is young. But 
 then I might as well have waited for the knife of M. de 
 
CHICOT, LATINIST. 219 
 
 Mayenne. N'o, for there must be reciprocity in all things. 
 I will pursue my journey ; but I will take precautions, so 
 that if any one kills me he will find on me money only, 
 and will do harm to mo alone. I will finish what I 
 began ; I will translate this fine letter into Latin, and 
 engrave it on my memory. Then I will buy a horse, 
 because from Juvisy to Pau I should have too often to 
 put the right foot before the left if I walked ; but first 
 I will destroy this letter." 
 
 This he proceeded to do, tearing it into an infinite 
 number of little pieces, sending some into the river, others 
 into the air, and burying the rest in holes in the ground. 
 
 " Xow let me think of my Latin theme," said he ; and 
 this study occupied him until he arrived at Corbeil, where 
 he gave little attention to the wonders of the Cathedral, 
 and much to those of a restaurant whence came an appe- 
 tizing smell of dinner. We will not describe either the 
 dinner he made or the horse he bought ; suffice it to say 
 that the dinner was long and the horse was bad. 
 
220 THE FOETY-FIVE. 
 
 CHAPTEE XXXV. 
 
 THE FOUR WINDS. 
 
 Chicot, with his little horse, — which ought to have 
 been a big one to carry him, — after having slept at 
 Fontainebleau, made a detour to the right, and proceeded 
 towards the little village of Orgeval. He would have 
 been glad to make some leagues farther that day, for he 
 wished to increase his distance from Paris ; but his horse 
 stumbled so frequently and so badly that he thought it 
 prudent to make a halt. Besides, he had seen nothing on 
 the road to arouse suspicion. But Chicot never trusted to 
 appearances. Before going to bed he examined with great 
 care the house in which he was to sleep. They showed 
 him handsome chambers, with three or four doors ; but 
 in his judgment those chambers had too many doors, and 
 the doors were not well enough secured. The host had 
 just finished repairing a large closet, with but one door, 
 which opened on the stairway, and which was provided 
 with formidable bolts on the inside. Chicot had a bed 
 prepared in that closet, which at first sight he preferred 
 to the magnificent chambers which had been shown to 
 him. 
 
 Although the hotel had appeared almost uninhabited, 
 he locked the door and placed a heavy table and a chest 
 of drawers against it. He then put his purse under his 
 pillow, and repeated to himself three times the translation 
 of the king's letter. There was an extremely high wind 
 blowing, and as it howled in the neighboring trees, it was 
 
THE FOUR WINDS. 221 
 
 with a fetliug of great satisfaction that Chicot plunged 
 into a very comfortable bed. He had a lamp by his bed- 
 side ; before going to sleep — and partly that he might 
 go to sleep — ho read in a very curious book which had 
 just appeared, written by a certain mayor of Bordeaux, 
 called Montague, or Montaigne. This book had been 
 printed in Bordeaux in 1581 ; it contained the first two 
 parts of a work since then well known, entitled " The 
 Essays." It was interesting enough to be read and re- 
 read — by day. But it had the merit also of being 
 tedious enough not to keep a man from sleeping who had 
 travelled fifteen leagues on horseback, and had taken his 
 bottle of generous wine at supper. Chicot had a great 
 liking for that book, which on leaving Paris he had 
 slipped into his pocket, and with the author of which he 
 was personally acquainted. Cardinal du Perron had called 
 it the breviary of honest men ; and Chicot willingly took 
 it for his breviary. Nevertheless, in reading the eighth 
 chapter he fell into a deep sleep. 
 
 The wind moaned about the house, sometimes like a 
 child crying, and sometimes like a husband scolding liis 
 wife ; and as Chicot slept, it seemed to him, in his 
 dreams, that the tempest came nearer and nearer. All at 
 once a sudden squall of invincible force broke looks and 
 bolts, pushed the chest of drawers, which fell on the 
 lamp, which it extinguished, and on the table, which 
 it smashed. 
 
 Chicot had the faculty of waking quickly, and with all 
 his senses about him ; he understood at once that it 
 would be better to slip out of bed into the recess behind 
 than to get out in front. As he glided into the recess, his 
 left hand seized the bag of crowns, and his right hand 
 grasped the hilt of his sword. He opened his eyes; the 
 darkness was profound. He listened, and it seemed to 
 
222 THE FOETY-FIVE. 
 
 him that everything in the room was going to pieces in 
 the battle of the four winds ; chairs were falling, and the 
 table breaking niore and more under the weight of the 
 drawers. As he understood that he could do nothing 
 against the gods of Olympus, he contented himself with 
 standing in a corner of the recess, with his sword held 
 out before him, so that if any of these mythological 
 personages approached, they would spit themselves upon 
 it. At last he profited by a momentary cessation in the 
 uproar to cry loudly, " Help ! help ! " 
 
 Chicot made so much noise that it seemed to quiet the 
 elements, as if Neptune had pronounced the famous ' Quos 
 ego ; ' and after six or seven minutes, during which Eurus, 
 Notus, Boreas, and Aquilo seemed to beat a retreat, the 
 host appeared with a lantern and enlightened the scene, 
 which looked deplorably like a field of battle. The great 
 chest of drawers was overturned on the broken table ; the 
 door was held only by one of its hinges, and the bolts 
 were broken ; three or four chairs were on the floor with 
 their legs in the air; and to crown all, the crockery, which 
 had been on the table, lay in bits on the floor. 
 
 " What ! it is heU. here, then 1 " cried Chicot, recogniz- 
 ing his host in the light of his lantern. 
 
 " Oh, Monsieur," cried the host, on seeing the frightful 
 havoc, " what has happened?" 
 
 " Tell me, my friend, how many demons have you in 
 your house ? " asked Chicot. 
 
 " Oh, Jesus, what weather ! " replied the host, in a 
 pathetic tone. 
 
 " But the bolts do not hold ; this house must be made 
 of card-board. I would rather go away ; I prefer the road." 
 
 " Oh, my poor furniture ! " sighed the host. 
 
 " But my clothes ! Where are they 1 They were on 
 this chair." 
 
THE FOUR WINDS. 223 
 
 '' Your clothes, my dear monsieur 1 " said the host, inno- 
 cently ; " if they were there, they ought to he there still." 
 
 " What 1 ' if they were there ! ' Do you think I came 
 here yesterdaj' in this costume t " 
 
 " Jlon Dieu ! Monsieur," answered the host, at a loss 
 for a reply to such an argument, " I know you were 
 clothed." 
 
 " It is fortunate that you can admit that." 
 
 " But — " 
 
 "But whatr' 
 
 " The wind has dispersed everything." 
 
 " Ah ! that is an explanation ! " 
 
 "You see." 
 
 " But, my friend, when the wind comes in, it comes 
 from outside ; and it must have come in here if it made 
 this destruction." 
 
 " Certainly, Monsieur." 
 
 "Well, the wind in coming in here should have brought 
 with it the clothes of others, instead of carrying mine 
 out." 
 
 " So it should, and yet the contrary seems to have 
 happened." 
 
 "But what is this? The wind must have walked in 
 the mud, for here are footmarks on the floor." And 
 Chicot pointed out the traces left by a muddy boot, on 
 seeing which the host turned pale. " Now, my friend," 
 continued Chicot, "I advise you to keep a watch over 
 these winds which enter hotels, penetrate rooms by break- 
 ing doors, and retire, carrying away the clothes of the 
 guests." 
 
 The host drew back towards the door. "You call me 
 thief! " said he. 
 
 " You are responsible for my clothes, and they are 
 gone ; you will not deny that ? " 
 
224 THE FORTY-FIVE. 
 
 " Yon insult me." 
 
 Chicot made a menacing gesture. 
 
 " Holloa ! " cried the host ; " holloa ! help ! " 
 
 Four men armed with sticks immediately appeared. 
 
 " Ah, here are Eurus, Notus, Aquilo, and Boreas," said 
 Chicot. " Ventre de hiche ! since the opportunity presents 
 itself, I will deprive the earth of the north wind ; it is a 
 service to humanity, — there will be an eternal spring." 
 And he made such a thrust with, his long sword in the 
 direction of the nearest assailant that the latter, if he had 
 not leaped back with the lightness of a veritable son of 
 jS^olus, would have been pierced through and through. 
 Unfortunately, as in making that backward leap he was 
 facing Chicot, and consequently could not look behind, 
 he landed on the edge of the upper step of the stairway, 
 ■down which he rolled with a great noise. That retreat 
 was a signal for the three others, who disappeaied through 
 the opening before them — or rather, behind them — like 
 ghosts sinking through a trap-door. But the last to 
 disappear had time, while his companions made their 
 descent, to whisper something to the host. 
 
 "Your clothes shall be found," he growled. 
 
 " ^Yell, that is all I ask." 
 
 " They will be brought to yon." 
 
 " Very good. I don't want to go naked ; that is 
 reasonable, it seems to me." 
 
 The clothes soon made their appearance, but visibly 
 deteriorated. 
 
 " Ah ! there are nails in your staircase ; what a devil 
 of a wind it was ! " said Chicot. " But no matter ; it is 
 an honorable restitution. How could I have suspected 
 you % — you have such an honest face." 
 
 The host smiled pleasantly. " Now," he said, "you 
 will go to sleep again, I suppose." 
 
THE FOUR WINDS. 225 
 
 " No, I thank you ; I have slept enough. Leave me 
 your lantern, and I will read." 
 
 Chicot replaced the chest of drawers against the door, 
 got into bed again, and read till daybreak, when he asked 
 for his horse, paid his bill, and went away, saying to 
 himself, "We shall see to-night." 
 
 IS 
 
226 THE FORTY-FIVE, 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVI. 
 
 HOW CHICOT CONTINUED HIS JOURNEY, AND WHAT HAPPENED 
 TO HIM. 
 
 Chicot passed his morning in congratulating himself on 
 the coolness and patience he had disjjlayed through his 
 night of trials. 
 
 "But," thought he, "they never take an old wolf 
 twice in the same snare ; therefore it is nearly certain 
 that they will invent some new deviltry to practise on 
 me to-day, so I must he on my guard." 
 
 The result of this reasoning was that Chicot made a 
 march that day worthy of being immortalized by Xeno- 
 phon. Every tree, rising ground, or wall served him 
 for a point of observation. He also concluded on the 
 road alliances, if not offensive, at least defensive. Four 
 grocers from Paris, who were going to Orleans to order 
 preserves, and to Limoges for dried fruits, allowed Chicot, 
 who called himself a hosier from Bordeaux returning 
 home, to join their company, which was rendered more 
 formidable by four clerks, who were following their 
 masters. It was quite a little army, and scarcely less 
 formidable in mind than in number, so warlike a spirit 
 had the League introduced among the Parisian shop- 
 keepers. At all events, the proverb is true which says 
 that three cowards together have less fear than one brave 
 man alone. At last they reached the town fixed on for 
 supper and sleeping. They supped, and then each went 
 to his room. 
 
CHICOT CONTINUES HIS JOURNEY. 227 
 
 Chicot, who had not been sparing during the repast, 
 either of his fun, which amused his companions, or of 
 the iluscat and Burgundy, went to bed, after having ar- 
 ranged to travel again with the grocers on the morrow. 
 He thought himself guarded like a prince by the four 
 travellers, whose rooms were in the same corridor and 
 close to his own. Inileed, at this epoch, the roads being 
 far from safe, travellers were in the habit of promising 
 one another mutual aid in case of need. Chicot then, 
 after bolting his door and striking the walls, which re- 
 turned everywhere a satisfactory sound, went to bed and 
 to sleep. But during his first sleep an event occurred 
 which the Sphinx himself, the diviner par excellence, 
 could not have foreseen ; but the Devil was mixing him- 
 self up with Chicot's affairs, and he is more cunning 
 than all the sphinxes in the world. 
 
 About half-past nine a blow was struck on the door of 
 the room where the clerks all slept. One of them opened 
 in a very bad humor, and found himself face to face witli 
 the host. '■' Gentlemen," said he, " I see with pleasure that 
 you are sleeping all ready dressed, for I wish to render you 
 a great service. Your masters grew very warm over poli- 
 tics at supper-time ; and it seems that a sheriff of the town 
 heard them and reported it. Now, as we are very lnyal 
 here, the mayor sent down the watch, and they have ar- 
 rested your masters and carried them off. The prison is 
 near the Hotel de Ville. Go, my lads ! Your mules are 
 ready for you ; your masters will join you on the road." 
 
 The four clerks shook like hares, ran downstairs, jumped 
 on their mules, and took the road back to Paris, telling the 
 host to let their masters be informed of their departure ami 
 of the direction they had taken, if they should return to 
 the hotel. 
 
 Having seen them disappear, the host went to knock 
 
228 THE FOETY-FIVE. 
 
 very geutl.y at one of the doors in the corridor. One 
 of the merchants cried out in a loud voice, " Who is 
 there V 
 
 " Silence ! " replied the host, " and come quietly to the 
 door." 
 
 The merchant obeyed, but before opening, he said again, 
 " Who are you t " 
 
 " Your host ; do you not recognize my voice ] " 
 
 " Moil Dieu ! what is the matter % " 
 
 " Why, it seems you talked rather too freely at table, 
 and the mayor has been informed by some spy, and has 
 sent to arrest you. Luckily, I thought of showing them 
 your clerks' room instead of yours, so that they are busy 
 upstairs arresting them." 
 
 " Oh, oh ! what are you telling me ? " 
 
 "Pure and simple truth. Make haste, and escape while 
 you can ! " 
 
 " But my companions ? " 
 
 "Oh, I will tell them." 
 
 And while the merchant dressed, the host awakened the 
 others, and very soon they all disappeared, walking on the 
 points of their toes, that they might not be heard. 
 
 " That poor hosier ! " said they. " It will all fall on 
 him ; but it is true he said the most." 
 
 Of course Chicot had received no warning. While the 
 merchants were flying, he was sleeping peacefully. 
 
 The host now descended into the hall, where stood six 
 armed men, one of whom seemed to command the others. 
 "WelH" said this one. 
 
 " I have obeyed your orders, Monsieur." 
 
 " Your inn is deserted ? " 
 
 " Absolutely." 
 
 " The person is not awakened." 
 
 " No." 
 
CHICOT CONTINUES HIS JOUltNEY. 229 
 
 " You know in whose name we act. and "vvliat cause we 
 serve, for you serve the same." 
 
 '' Yes, certainly. Therefore, I have sacrificed, to keep 
 my oath, the money that these men would have spent at 
 my house ; for it is said in the oath, ' I will sacrifice my 
 goods to the defence of the holy Catholic religion.' " 
 
 " ' And my lifi,' you forget that,'' replied the officer. 
 
 " Jlon Dieu ! " cried the host, clasping his hands. 
 "Do they want my life'! I have a wife and children." 
 
 " Your life will be demanded only if you do not obey 
 blindly what is ordered you." 
 
 "Oh ! I will obey." 
 
 " Then go to bed, shut the doors, and whatever you see 
 or hear, do not come out, even if your house is burning." 
 
 " Oh, I am ruined ! " 
 
 " I am instructed to indemnify you ; here are thirty 
 crowns." 
 
 " y[j house estimated at thirty crowns ! " cried the inn- 
 keeper, piteously. 
 
 " We shall not break even a window, poltroon ! Bah ! 
 what poor champions of the holy League we have here ! " 
 
 The host went away and did as he was told. Then the 
 officer ordered two men to place themselves under Chicot's 
 window, while he himself, with the three others, mounted 
 to his room. 
 
 " You know the order," said the officer. " If he opens 
 and lets us search, and we find what we seek, we will not 
 do him the least harm ; but if the contrary happens, a 
 good blow with a dagger. No pistol, you understand ; 
 besides, it is needless, since we are four against one." 
 
 The officer knocked. 
 
 " Who is there 'i " cried Chicot. 
 
 " Your friends the grocers, who have something impor- 
 tant to tell you." 
 
230 THE PORTY-FIVB. 
 
 "Oh!" said Chicot; "how last night's wine has 
 strengthened your voice ! " 
 
 The officer lowered his voice and said in an insinuating 
 tone, " Open quickly, dear companion." 
 
 " Ventre de biche ! how your grocery smells of old 
 iron ! " 
 
 " All ' you will not open % " cried the officer, impatiently. 
 " Upon him, then ; break open the door ! " 
 
 Chicot ran to the window, but saw below two naked 
 swords shining. 
 
 " I am caught," said he. 
 
 " Ah, ah ! " cried the officer, who had heard the noise 
 of the window opening ; " you fear the perilous leap, and 
 you are right. Come, open ! " 
 
 "Faith! no; the door is solid, and I shall get help 
 when you make a noise." And he began to call for the 
 merchants. 
 
 The officer laughed. "Fool!" cried he. "Do you 
 thiuk we have left you their help ] Undeceive your- 
 self; you are alone, so make up your mind to it. Go 
 on, soldiers ! " 
 
 Cliicot heard three blows struck on the door. 
 
 " There are three muskets there, and an officer," said 
 he ; " below there are only two swords. There are fifteen 
 feet to jump ; that is hard, but I prefer the swords to 
 the muskets." 
 
 And tying his bag to his belt, he got on the window- 
 sill with his drawn sword. The two men below stood 
 ready with their swords ; but as Chicot had expected, 
 on seeing bim jump sword in hand, they drew back, 
 intending to strike him after he reached the ground. 
 Chicot alighted on his feet, and. one of the men gave 
 him a thrust immediately. Thanks, however, to Goren- 
 flot's coat-of-mail, the blade broke like glass. 
 
CHICOT CONTINUES HIS JOURNEY. 231 
 
 " He has armor ! " cried the soldier. 
 
 " Pardieu ! " said Chicot, cutting open his head with a 
 blow of his sword. 
 
 The other began to cry out, thinking now only of de- 
 fending himself; but at the second pass, Chicot laid him 
 by his comrade, so that when the door was burst open, 
 the officer saw through the window his two sentinels lying 
 in their blood, and Chicot running quietly away. 
 
 " He is a demon ; he is steel-proof ! " cried he. 
 
 " Yes ; but not ball-proof ! " cried a soldier, taking aim. 
 
 " Xo firing ; no noise ! You will wake the city. We 
 shall catch him to-morrow." 
 
 " Ah ! " said one of the soldiers, philosophically ; 
 " four men should have been placed here, and two only 
 sent upstairs." 
 
 " You are a fool ! " replied the officer. 
 
 " We shall see what the duke will say he is," grumbled 
 the soldier, to console himself. 
 
232 THE FOETY-FIVE. 
 
 CHAPTEE XXXVII. 
 
 THE THIRD DAY OP THE JOUENEY. 
 
 Chicot retreated with that tranquillity only because he 
 was at Etampes ; that is to say, in a city, in the midst 
 of a population, under the protection of magistrates, 
 who would have arrested the officer immediately on his 
 complaint. It was the knowledge of this which had 
 induced the officer to withhold his men from firing and 
 to abstain from pursuit. Therefore he retired with his 
 soldiers, leaving the two dead men on the ground, after 
 laying their swords by them, that it might seem as 
 though they had killed each other. 
 
 Chicot vainly searched for his former companions, and 
 then, supposing that his enemies, having missed their 
 stroke, would avoid remaining in the city, he considered 
 it good strategy to remain there himself. Nay, more ; 
 after making a detour, and from the corner of a neighbor- 
 ing street hearing the footsteps of horses going away, he 
 had the audacity to return to the inn. There he found 
 the host, who had not recovered from his terror, and who 
 let him saddle his horse in the stable, watching him with 
 the same stupor he would have shown in looking at a 
 ghost. Chicot took advantage of that stupor not to pay 
 his account; and the host refrained from making any 
 claim. 
 
 Chicot went and finished his night in the public-room 
 at another inn, among all the drinkers, who were far 
 from thinking that this tall unknown, who looked so 
 
THE THIRD DAY OF THE JOURNEY. 233 
 
 smiling and gracious, had just killed two men. At break 
 of day he started again, a prey to anxiety, which increased 
 from moment to moment. Two attempts had failed ; the 
 third might be fatal to him. A clump of trees inspired 
 him with apprehensions difficult to describe ; a ditch 
 made shivers run over his body ; a wall, somewhat ele- 
 vated, almost made him turn back. From time to time 
 he resolved that once at Orleans, he would send a 
 courier to the king to ask for an escort from city to city. 
 But as the road to Orleans was passed without accident, 
 Chicot began to think again that it was needless, and 
 that the king would lose his good opinion of him, and 
 also that an escort would be a great trouble. He went 
 on therefore ; but his fears began to return as evening 
 approached. All at once he heard behind him the gal- 
 loping of horses ; and turning round, he counted seven 
 cavaliers, of whom four had muskets on their shoulders. 
 They gained rapidly on Chicot, who, seeing that flight 
 was hopeless, contented himself with making his horse 
 move in zigzags, so as to escape the balls which he 
 expected every moment. He was right, for when they 
 came about fifty feet from him, they fired ; but thanks 
 to his manoeuvre, all the balls missed him. He im- 
 mediately abandoned the reins and let himself slip to 
 the ground, taking the precaution to have his sword in 
 one hand and a dagger in the other. He came to ihe 
 ground in such a position that his head was protected by 
 the breast of his horse. 
 
 A cry of joy came from the troop, who, seeing him 
 fall, believed him dead. 
 
 " I told you so," said a man, riding up, with a mask 
 on his face ; " you failed because you did not follow my 
 orders. This time, here he is ; search him, dead or alive, 
 and if he moves, finish him." 
 
234 THE FORTY-FIVE. 
 
 Chicot was not precisely a pious man ; but at that 
 moment it occurred to him that there is a God, and he 
 thought that God was opening his arms to him, and that 
 perhaps in less than five minutes the sinner would he in 
 the presence of his Judge. He stammered some prayer, 
 serious and fervent, which certainly was heard on high. 
 
 Two men approached Chicot, sword in hand. It was 
 easy to discover from his groans that he was not dead. 
 But since he made no movement to defend himself, the 
 more zealous of the two had the imprudence to come 
 within reach of his left hand ; the dagger, as if moved by 
 a spring, was plunged into his throat. At the same 
 instant half of the sword in Chicot's right hand dis- 
 appeared in the side of the second cavalier, who was 
 trying to get away. 
 
 "Ah, treason!" cried the chief, "he is not dead; 
 charge your muskets ! " 
 
 " No, I am not dead yet," cried Chicot, whose eyes 
 flashed lightning ; and quick as thought he threw him- 
 self upon the chief of the troop. 
 
 But two soldiers came to the rescue ; Chicot turned 
 and wounded one in the thigh. 
 
 " The muskets, mordieu ! " cried the chief. 
 
 " Before they are ready," cried Chicot, " I shall have 
 opened your entrails, brigand, and shall have cut the 
 cords of your mask, that I may know who you are." 
 
 " Stand firm, Monsieur ! stand firm, and I will aid you ! " 
 cried a voice, which seemed to Chicot to come from heaven. 
 
 It was that of a handsome young man on a black 
 horse. He had a pistol in each hand, and cried again to 
 Chicot, " Stoop ! morhleu, stoop ! " 
 
 Chicot obeyed. One pistol was fired, and a man rolled 
 at Chicot's feet ; then the second, and another man fell. 
 • " Now we are two to two," cried Chicot. " Generous 
 
THE THIRD DAY OF THE JOURNEY. 235 
 
 young man, you take one, here is mine ; " and he rushed on 
 the masked man, who, groaning with rage or with fear, 
 defended himself as if used to arms. 
 
 The young man seized his opponent hy the hody, 
 threw him down, and bound him with his belt. Chicot 
 soon wounded his adversary, who was very corpulent, be- 
 tween the ribs ; he fell, and Chicot, putting his foot on 
 his sword to prevent him from using it, cut the strings 
 of his mask. " M. de Mayeune ! ventre de biche ! I thouglit 
 so," said he. 
 
 The duke did not reply ; he had fainted from loss of 
 blood and the shock of his fall. Chicot, after a brief re- 
 flection, rolled up his sleeve, took his large dagger, and 
 approached the duke to cut off his head, when his arm 
 was seized by a grasp of iron, and a voice said, "Stay, 
 Monsieur ; one does not kill a fallen enemy." 
 
 " Young man," replied Chicot, " you have saved my 
 life, and I thank you with all my heart ; but accept a 
 little lesson very useful in the time of moral degradation 
 in which we live. When a man has been attacked three 
 times in three days ; when he has been each time in dan- 
 ger of death ; when his enemifes have, without provoca- 
 tion, fired four musket-balls at him from behind, as they 
 might have done to a mad dog, — then, young man, he 
 may do what I am about to do." And Chicot returned 
 to his work. 
 
 But the young man stopped him again. " You shall 
 not do it, Monsieur,'' he said, " while I am here, at least. 
 Not in that way should such blood be shed as that now 
 issuing from the wound you have already inflicted." 
 
 " Bah ! " said Chicot, with surprise, " you know this 
 wretch % " 
 
 " That wretch is M. le Duo de Mayenne, — a prince 
 equal in rank to many kings." 
 
236 THE FORTY-FIVE. 
 
 " All the more reason ; and who are you ? " 
 
 " He who has saved your life, Monsieur." 
 
 " And who, if I do not deceive myself, brought me a 
 letter from the king three days ago." 
 
 " Precisely." 
 
 " Then you are in the king's service 1 " 
 
 " I have that honor." 
 
 '' And yet you save M. de Mayenne ] Permit me to 
 tell you, Monsieur, that that is not heing a good servant." 
 
 " I think, on the contrary, that at this moment it is I 
 who am the king's good servant." 
 
 " Perhaps," said Chicot, sadly, — " perhaps ; but this is 
 not a time for philosophizing. What is your name 1 " 
 
 " Ernauton de Carmainges." 
 
 " "Well, M. Ernauton, what are we to do with this great 
 carcass, equal in grandeur to all the kings of the earth 1 " 
 
 " I will watch over M. de Mayenne, Monsieur." 
 
 " And his follower, who is listening there t " 
 
 " The poor devil hears nothing ; I have bound him too 
 tightly, and he has fainted." 
 
 " M. de Carmainges, you have saved my life to-day ; but 
 you endanger it fearfully for the future." 
 
 " I do my duty to-day ; God will provide for the 
 future." 
 
 " As you please, then, and I confess I dislike killing a 
 defenceless man. Adieu, Monsieur. But first, I will 
 choose one of these horses." 
 
 " Take mine ; I know what it can do." 
 
 " Oh, that is too generous." 
 
 " I have not so much need as j'ou have to go quickly." 
 
 Chicot made no more compliments, but got on Ernau- 
 ton's horse and disappeared. 
 
ernautOn de carmainges. 237 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVIII. 
 
 ERNAUTON DE CARMAINGES. 
 
 Ernauton remained on the field of battle much embar- 
 rassed what to do with the two men, who would shortly 
 open their eyes. As he deliberated, he saw a wagon com- 
 ing along, drawn by two oxen, and driven by a peasant. 
 Ernauton went to the man and told him that a combat 
 had taken place between the Huguenots and Catholics, 
 that four had been killed, but that two were still living. 
 The peasant, although desperately frightened, aided Er- 
 nauton to place first M. de Mayenne and then the soldier 
 in the wagon. The four bodies remained. 
 
 " Monsieur," said the peasant, " were thej' Catholics or 
 Huguenots 1 " 
 
 " Huguenots,'' said Ernauton, who had seen the peasant 
 cross himself in his first terror. 
 
 " In that case there will be no harm in my searching 
 the heretics, will there 1 " 
 
 " Xone," replied Ernauton, who thought it as well 
 that the peasant should do it as the first passer-by. The 
 man did not wait to be told twice, but turned out their 
 pockets. It seemed that he was far from disappointed, 
 for his face looked smiling when he had finished the oper- 
 ation, and he drove on his oxen at their quickest pace in 
 order the sooner to reach his home with his treasure. 
 
 It was in the stable of this excellent Catholic, on a bed 
 of straw, that M. de Mayenne recovered his consciousness. 
 He opened his eyes, and looked at the men and the things 
 
238 THE FOETY-FIVE. 
 
 surrounding Inm with a surprise easy to imagine. Er- 
 nauton immediately dismissed the peasant. 
 
 " Who are you, Monsieur V asked Mayenne. 
 
 Ernauton smiled. 
 
 " Do you not recognize mel " said he. 
 
 " Yes, I do now ; you are he who came to the assistance 
 of my enemy." 
 
 " Yes ; but I am he who prevented your enemy from 
 killing you.'' 
 
 " That must be true, since I live ; unless, indeed, he 
 thought me dead." 
 
 " He went away knowing you to be alive." 
 
 " Then he thought my wound mortal." 
 
 " I do not know ; but had I not opposed him, he would 
 have given you one which certainly would have been so." 
 
 "But then, Monsieur, why did you aid him in killing 
 my men 1 " 
 
 " Nothing more simple. Monsieur ; and I am astonished 
 that a gentleman, as you seem to be, does not understand 
 my conduct. Chance brought me on your road, and I saw 
 several men attacking one. I defended the one ; but when 
 this brave man (for whoever he may be, he is brave), when 
 he remained alone with you, and had decided the victory 
 b}'' the blow which prostrated you, — then, seeing that he 
 was about to abuse his victory by killing you, I interfered 
 to save you." 
 
 " You know me, then ■? " said Mayenne, with a scrutiniz- 
 ing glance. 
 
 " I had no need to know you, Monsieur ; you were a 
 wounded man, — that was enough." 
 
 " Be frank ; you know me." 
 
 " It is strange. Monsieur, that you will not understand 
 me. It seems to me that it is equally ignoble to kill a 
 defenceless man as it is for seven men to attack one." 
 
ERNAUTON DE CARMAINGES. 239 
 
 " There may be reasons for all things." 
 
 Ernauton bowed, but did not reply. 
 
 " Did you not see," continued Mayenne, " that I fought 
 sword to sword with that man t " 
 
 " It is true." 
 
 " Besides, he is my most mortal enemy." 
 
 " I believe it, for he said the same thing of you." 
 
 " And if I survive my wound — " 
 
 " That will no longer concern me, and you will do what 
 you please. Monsieur." 
 
 " Do you think me dangerously wounded 1 " 
 
 " I have examined your wound, Monsieur, and I think 
 that although it is serious, you are in no danger of death. 
 I believe the sword slipped along the ribs, and did not 
 penetrate the breast. Breathe, and I think you will find 
 no pain in the lungs." 
 
 " It is true ; but my men ? " 
 
 " Are dead, all but one." 
 
 " Are they left on the road'! " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " Have they been searched 1 " 
 
 " The peasant whom you must have seen on opening 
 your eyes, and who is your host, searched them." 
 
 "What did he find r' 
 
 " Some money." 
 
 " Any papers 1 " 
 
 " I think not." 
 
 " Ah ! " said Mayenne, with evident satisfaction. " But 
 the living man ; where is he 1 " 
 
 " In the barn, close by." 
 
 " Bring him to me. Monsieur ; and if you are a man of 
 honor, promise me to ask him no questions." 
 
 " I am not curious. Monsieur ; and I wish to know no 
 more of this aff'air than I know already." 
 
240 THE FORTY-FIVE. 
 
 The duke looked at hiru uneasily. 
 
 " Monsieur," said Ernauton, " will you charge some one 
 else with the commission you have just given meV 
 
 " I was wrong, Monsieur ; I acknowledge it. Have the 
 kindness to render me the service I ask of you." 
 
 Five minutes after, the soldier entered the stahle. He 
 uttered a cry on seeing the duke ; but the latter had 
 strength enough to put a finger to his lip, and the man 
 was silent. 
 
 " Monsieur," said Mayenne to Ernauton, "my gratitude 
 to you will be eternal ; and doubtless some day we shall 
 meet under more favorable circumstances. May I ask to 
 whom I have the honor of speaking 1 " 
 
 " I am the Vicomte Ernauton de Carmainges, Monsieur." 
 
 The duke expected further details ; but it was now the 
 young man's turn to be reserved. 
 
 " You were going to Beaugency ? " 
 
 " Yes, Monsieur." 
 
 " Then I have delayed you, and you cannot go on to- 
 night, perhaps ? " 
 
 " On the contrary, Monsieur, I am about to start at 
 once." 
 
 " For Beaugency ? " 
 
 Ernauton looked at Mayenne like a man annoyed by 
 this questioning. "To Paris," said he. 
 
 The duke appeared astonished. " Pardon," said he ; 
 "but it is strange that going to Beaugency, and being 
 stopped by an unforeseen circumstance, you should re- 
 turn without fulfilling the object of your journey." 
 
 " Xothing is more simple. Monsieur. I was going to a 
 rendezvous appointed for a particular time, which I have 
 lost by coming here with you ; therefore I return." 
 
 " Oh, Monsieur, will you not stay here with me for two 
 or three days ^ I shall send this soldier to Paris for a sur- 
 
ERNAUTON DE CABMAINGES. 2-il 
 
 geon ; and I cauuot remain here alone with these peasants, 
 who are strangers to me." 
 
 " Then let the soldier remain with you, and I will send 
 you a doctor." 
 
 Mayenue hesitated. " Do you know the name of my 
 enemy ] " said he. 
 
 " No, Jlonsieur." 
 
 " What ! you saved his life, and he did not tell you his 
 name ? " 
 
 " I did not ask him.'' 
 
 " You did not ask him 1 " 
 
 " I have saved your life also. Monsieur ; have I asked 
 you your name 1 But on the other hand, you both know- 
 mine." 
 
 " I see. Monsieur, there is nothing to be learned from 
 you; you are as discreet as brave." 
 
 " I observe that you say that in a reproachful manner ; 
 but on the contrary, you ought to be reasssured, for a man 
 who is discreet with one person will be so with another." 
 
 "You are right! your hand, M. de Carmainges." 
 
 Ernauton gave him his hand, but without betraying, by 
 anything in his manner, his knowledge that he was giving 
 his hand to a prince. 
 
 "You have blamed my conduct, Monsieur,'' said May- 
 enne ; " but I cannot justify myself without revealing 
 important secrets. It will be better, I think, that we 
 carry our confideuces no farther." 
 
 " You defend yourself. Monsieur, when I do not accuse. 
 You are entirely free, believe me, to speak or to keep silent." 
 
 " Thank you. Monsieur ; I will keep silent. I will only 
 say that I am a gentleman of good rank, and able to be of 
 use to you." 
 
 " Say no more. Monsieur ; thanks to the master whom 
 I serve, I have no need of assistance from any one." 
 
 VOL. I, — 16 
 
242 THE FORTY-FIVE. 
 
 " Your master," asked Mayenne, anxiously, " who is 
 he?" 
 
 " Oh, no more confidences ! you proposed it yourself." 
 
 " It is true." 
 
 " Besides, your ■wound begins to inflame ; I advise you 
 to talk less." 
 
 " You are right ; hut I want my surgeon." 
 
 " I am returning to Paris, as I told you ; give me his 
 address.'' 
 
 " M. de Carmainges, give me your word of honor that 
 if I intrust you with a letter it shall be given to the 
 person to whom it is addressed." 
 
 " I give it, Monsieur." 
 
 " I believe you ; I am sure I may trust you. I must 
 tell you a part of my secret. I belong to the guards of 
 Madame de Montpensier." 
 
 " Oh, I did not know she had guards." 
 
 " In these troublous times, Monsieur, every one guards 
 himself as well as he can, and the House of Guise being a 
 princely one — " 
 
 " I asked for no explanation. Monsieur." 
 
 " Well, I had a mission to Amboise ; when on the road 
 I saw my enemy. You know the rest." 
 
 « Yes." 
 
 " Stopped by this wound, I must report to the duchess 
 the reason of my delay." 
 
 " Well ? " 
 
 " Will you therefore put into her own hands the letter 
 I am about to write ? " 
 
 " If there is ink and paper here," said Ernauton, rising 
 to seek for those articles. 
 
 " It is needless ; my soldier should have my tablets 
 with him." 
 
 The soldier drew from his pocket some closed tablets. 
 
ERNAUTON DB CARMAINGES. 243 
 
 Mayenne turned towards the wall to work a secret spring, 
 and the tablets opened ; he wrote some lines in pencil, 
 and shut them again. It was impossible for any one 
 who did not know the secret to open them without 
 breaking them. 
 
 " Monsieur,'' said Ernauton, " in three days these tab- 
 lets shall be delivered." 
 
 " Into her own hands 1 " 
 
 " Yes, Monsieur." 
 
 The duke, exhausted by talking, and by the effort of 
 writing the letter, sank back on his straw. 
 
 " Mon-sieur," said the soldier, in a tone little in harmony 
 with his dress, " you bound me like a calf, it is true, but 
 whether you wish it or not, I regard those bonds as chains 
 of friendship, and will prove it to you some day.'' And 
 he held out a hand whose whiteness Ernauton had already 
 remarked. 
 
 " So be it," said he, smiling ; " it seems I have gained 
 two friends." 
 
 " Do not despise them," said the soldier ; " one has 
 never too many." 
 
 " That is true, comrade," said Ernauton ; and he left 
 them. 
 
244 THE FOETY-FIVE. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIX. 
 
 THE STABLE-YARD. 
 
 Ernauton arrived at Paris on the third day. At three in 
 the afternoon he entered the quarters of the Forty-five, at 
 the Louvre. The Gascons called out in surprise on see- 
 ing him. M. de Loignac, hearing those cries, entered, and 
 perceiving Ernauton, assumed a frowning expression ; 
 Ernauton approached him directly. M. de Loignac signed 
 to him to enter a little room, where he always gave his 
 private audiences. " This is nice behavior, Monsieur," 
 said he, — " five days and nights absent. And it is 
 you, — you, Monsieur, whom I thought one of the most 
 sensible, — it is you who set the example of such a 
 breach of discipline." 
 
 "Monsieur, I did what I was told to do." 
 
 " What were you told to do 1 " 
 
 " To follow M. de Mayenne, and I have followed 
 him." 
 
 " For five days and nights 1 " 
 
 " For five days and nights. Monsieur." 
 
 " Then he has left Paris r' 
 
 "He left that same evening, and that seemed to me 
 suspicious." 
 
 " You were right. Monsieur. What then 1 " 
 
 Ernauton related clearly and energetically all that had 
 taken place. When he mentioned the letter, " You have 
 it. Monsieur 1 " asked Loignac. 
 
 " Yes, Monsieur." 
 
THE STABLE-YARD. 245 
 
 " The devil ! that deserves attention ; come with me, I 
 Leg of you ! " 
 
 Ernauton followed Loignac to the courtj'ard of the 
 Louvre. All was preparing for the king's going out, and 
 ISl. d'Epemon was seeing two new horses tried, which had 
 been sent from England as a present from Elizabeth to 
 Henri, and which were that day to be harnessed to the 
 king's carriage for the first time. 
 
 Loignac approached D'Epernon. " Great news, Mon- 
 sieur the Duke ! " said he. 
 
 " What is it ] " said D'Epernon, drawing him to one 
 side. 
 
 " M. de Carmainges has seen M. de Mayenne lying 
 wounded in a village beyond Orleans." 
 
 " Wounded ! " 
 
 " Yes, and more, he has written a letter to Madame 
 de Montpensier, which M. de Carmainges has in his 
 pocket." 
 
 " Oh, oh ! send M. de Carmainges to me." 
 
 " Here he is," said Loignac, signing to Ernauton to 
 advance. 
 
 " Well, Monsieur, it seems you have a letter from i[. 
 de Mayenne." 
 
 " Yes, Monsieur." 
 
 " Addressed to Madame de Montpensier 1 " 
 
 " Yes, Monsieur." 
 
 " Give it to me, if you please ; " and the duke extended 
 his hand. 
 
 " Pardon, Monseigneur ; but did you ask me for the 
 duke's letter r' 
 
 " Certainly." 
 
 "You do not know that this letter was confided to 
 meV 
 
 " What matters that ? " 
 
246 THE FORTY-FIVE. 
 
 " It matters much, Monseignenr ; I passed my word to 
 the duke to give it to the duchess herself." 
 
 " Do you belong to the king or to M. de Mayenne 1 " 
 
 " To the king." 
 
 " Well ! the king wishes to see the letter.'' 
 
 " Monsieur, you are not the king." 
 
 " I think you forget to whom you speak, M. de Car- 
 mainges," said D'Epernon, pale with anger. 
 
 " I remember perfectly, Monseigneur, and that is why I 
 refuse." 
 
 " You refuse 1 " 
 
 "Yes, Monseigneur.". 
 
 " JI. de Carmainges, you forget your oath of fidelity." 
 
 " Monseigneur, I have sworn fidelity only to one person, 
 and that is the king. If he asks me for the letter, he 
 must have it; but he is not here." 
 
 " M. de Carmainges," said the duke, growing very 
 angry, " you are like the rest of the Gascons, — blind in 
 prosperity. Your good fortune dazzles you, my little 
 gentleman ; the possession of a State secret stuns you 
 like a blow with a mallet." 
 
 " What stuns me, Monseigneur, is the disgrace into 
 which I seem likely to fall, — not my fortune, which my 
 refusal to obey you renders, I know, very precarious. But 
 no matter ! I do what I ought, and I will do only that ; 
 and no one, excepting the king, shall see this letter but 
 the person to whom it is addressed." 
 
 " Loignac," cried D'Epernon, " go at once and place M. 
 de Carmainges in prison." 
 
 " It is certain that will prevent me from delivering the 
 letter, — so long at least as I remain In prison ; but once 
 I come out — " 
 
 " If you never do come out ? " 
 
 " I shall come out, Monsieur, — unless you have me 
 
THE STABLE- YARD. 247 
 
 assassinated. Yes, I shall oome out ; the walls are less 
 strong than my will, and then — " 
 
 " Well 1 " 
 
 " I will speak to the king." 
 
 " To prison with him, and take away the letter ! " roared 
 D'Epernon, beside himself with rage. 
 
 " Xo one shall touch it ! " cried Ernauton, starting back 
 and drawing from his breast the tablets of M. de ilay- 
 enne ; "I wiU break it to pieces, since T can save it in 
 no other way ; M. de Mayenne will approve my conduct, 
 and the king will pardon me." 
 
 The young man was about to execute his threat, when 
 a touch arrested his arm. He turned and saw the king, 
 who, coming down the staircase behind them, had heard 
 the end of the discussion. 
 
 " What is the matter, gentlemen 1 " said he. 
 
 " Sire," cried D'Epernon, furiously, " this man, one of 
 your Forty-five Guardsmen, to which he shall soon cease 
 to belong, being sent by me to watch M. de Mayenne, in 
 Paris, followed him to Orleans, and received from him a 
 letter for Madame de Montpensier." 
 
 " Tou have received from M. de Mayenne a letter 
 for Madame de Montpensier 1 " asked the king of 
 Ernauton. 
 
 " Yes, Sire ; but M. d'Epernon does not tell you 
 under what circumstances." 
 
 " WeU, where is this letter 1 " 
 
 " That is just the cause of the quarrel. Sire. M. de 
 Carmainges resolutely refuses to give it to me, and de- 
 termines to carry it to its address." 
 
 Carmainges bent one knee before the king. " Sire," 
 said he, "I am a poor gentleman, but a man of honor. 
 I saved the life of your messenger, who was about to be 
 assassinated by M. de Mayenne and six of his followers, 
 
248 THE FORTY-FIVE. 
 
 for I arrived just in time to turn the fortune of the 
 com'bat." 
 
 " And M. de Mayenune 1 " 
 
 " Was dangerously wounded." 
 
 " Well, what then 1 " 
 
 " Your messenger, Sire, who seemed to have a particular 
 hatred of M. de Mayenne — " 
 
 The king smiled. 
 
 " Wished to kill his enemy. Perhaps he had the right, 
 but I thought that in my presence, whose sword belongs 
 to your Majesty, this vengeance would be a political 
 assassination, and — " 
 
 " Go on. Monsieur." 
 
 " I saved the life of M. de Mayenne, as I had saved 
 that of your messenger." 
 
 D'Epernon shrugged his shoulders ; Loignac bit his 
 long mustache ; the king remained cold. 
 
 " Go on," said the king. 
 
 " M. de Mayenne, reduced to one companion, — for the 
 four others were killed, — did not wish to part with him, 
 and ignorant that I belonged to your Majesty, confided to 
 me a letter to his sister. I have this letter, Sire, and 
 here it is ; I offer it to your Majestj', who has the right 
 to dispose of it and of me. My honor is dear to me. Sire ; 
 but I place it fearlessly in your hands." 
 
 Ernauton, so saying, held out the tablets to the king, 
 who gently put them back. 
 
 " What did you say, D'Epernon 1 " said he ; " M. de 
 Carmainges is an honest man and a faithful servant." 
 
 " What did I say, Sire 'i " 
 
 "Yes; I heard you pronounce the word 'prison.' 
 Mordieu ! on the contrary, when one meets a man like 
 M. de Carmainges, it is reward we should speak of. A 
 letter, Duke, belongs only to the bearer and to the person 
 
THE STABLE-YARD. 249 
 
 to whom it is sent. You will deliver your letter, M. de 
 Carmainges." 
 
 "But, Sire," said D'Epernon, "think of what that 
 letter may contain. Do not play at delicacy, when 
 perhaps your Majesty's life is concerned." 
 
 " You will deliver your letter, M. de Carmainges," said 
 the king. 
 
 " Thanks, Sire," said Carmainges, beginning to retire. 
 
 " Where do you take it 1 " 
 
 " To Madame la Duchesse de Montpensier, I think 
 I had the honor of telling your Majesty." 
 
 " I mean, to the Hotel de Guise, St. Denis, oi 
 where 'i " 
 
 " I had no instructions on that subject, Sire. I shall 
 take the letter to the Hotel de Guise, and there I shall 
 learn where Madame de Montpensier is." 
 
 " And when you have found her? " 
 
 " I will deliver my letter." 
 
 " Very good. M. de Carmainges, have you promised 
 anything else to M. de Mayenne than to deliver that 
 letter to his sister ? " 
 
 "Xo, Sire." 
 
 " Xo secrecy as to the place where you find her 1 " 
 
 " No, Sire." 
 
 " Then I will impose only one condition on you." 
 
 " I am your Majesty's servant." 
 
 " Deliver your letter, and then come to me at Vincennes, 
 where I shall be this evening." 
 
 " Yes, Sire." 
 
 " And you will tell me where you found the duchess 1 " 
 
 "I will. Sire." 
 
 " I ask no other confidences, remember." 
 
 "Sire, I promise." 
 
 " What imprudence. Sire ! " cried D'fipernon. 
 
250 THE FOETY-FIVE. 
 
 " There are men you cannot understand, Duke. This 
 one is loyal to Mayenne ; he will be loyal to me." 
 
 " Towards you, Sire, I shall be more than loyal, — I 
 shall be devoted," cried Ernauton. 
 
 " Now, D'Epernon, no more quarrels," said the king ; 
 " and you must at once pardon in this brave fellow what 
 you looked upon as a want of devotion, hut which I 
 regard as a proof of loyalty." 
 
 " Sire," said Ernauton, " Monsieur the Duke is too 
 superior a man not to have discovered, through my dis- 
 obedience (for which I confess my regret), my respect for 
 him ; only before all things, I must do what I believe to 
 be my duty." 
 
 " Parfcmdious f' said the duke, changing his counte- 
 nance like a mask, "this trial has done you honor, my 
 dear Carmainges, and you are really a fine fellow ; is he 
 not, Loignac 'i However, we gave him a good fright ; " 
 and the duke burst out laughing. 
 
 Loignac did not answer ; he could not lie like his 
 illustrious chief. 
 
 " If it was a trial, so much the better," said the king, 
 doubtfully ; " but I counsel you not to try these experi- 
 ments often. Too many would give way under them. 
 Now let us go, Duke ; you accompany me 1 " 
 
 " It was your Majesty's order that I should ride by 
 the carriage-door ? " 
 
 " Yes ; and who goes the other side ■? " 
 
 " A devoted servant of your Majesty's, — M. de Sainte- 
 Maline," said D'Epernon, glancing at Ernauton to see 
 the effect of his words ; but Ernauton remained unmoved. 
 
THE SEVEN SINS OF MAGDALENE. 251 
 
 CHAPTER XL. 
 
 THE SEVEN SINS OF MAGDALENE. 
 
 The king, however, on seeing the liveliness of his horses, 
 did not wish to be alone in the carriage, but desired 
 D'Epernon to sit by him. Loignac and Sainte-Maliiie 
 rode on either side, and an outrider in front. The king 
 was, as usual, surrounded by dogs, and there was also 
 a table in the carriage, covered with illuminated pictures, 
 which the king cut out with wonderful skill, in spite of 
 the movement of the carriage. He was just then occupied 
 with the life of Magdalene the sinner. The different 
 pictures were labelled, — " IMagdalene gives way to the 
 sin of anger ; " " Magdalene gives way to the sin of glut- 
 tony," and so on through the seven cardinal sins. The 
 one that the king was occupied with as they passed 
 through the Porte St. Antoine represented Magdalene 
 giving way to anger. 
 
 The beautiful sinner, half lying on cushions, and with 
 no other covering than the magnificent hair with which 
 she was afterwards to wipe the feet of Jesus, was having 
 a slave, who had broken a precious vase, thrown into a 
 pond filled with lampreys, whose eager heads were pro- 
 truding from the water ; while on the other side a wo- 
 man, even less dressed than her mistress, as her hair was 
 bound up, was being flogged because she had, while dress- 
 ing lier mistress's head, pulled out same of those magnifi- 
 cent hairs whose profusion might have rendered her more 
 indulgent to such a fault. In the background were visible 
 
252 THE FOKTY-FIVE. 
 
 some dogs being whipped for having allowed beggars to 
 pass quietly, and some cooks being murdered for having 
 crowed too loudly in the morning. 
 
 On arriving at the Croix Faubin, the king had fini.shed 
 this figure, and was passing to " Magdalene giving way to 
 the sin of gluttony." 
 
 This represented the beautiful sinner lying on one of 
 those beds of purple and gold on which the aucieuts used 
 to take their repasts ; all that the Romans had most re- 
 cherche in meat, in fish, and in fruit, — dormice in honey, 
 red mullets, lobsters from Stromboli, and pomegranates 
 from Sicily, — ornamented the table. On the ground 
 some dogs were disputing for a pheasant, while the air 
 was full of birds, which had carried off from the table 
 figs, strawberries, and cherries, sometimes dropping them 
 on a colony of mice, who with their noses in the air 
 awaited that manna from heaven. Magdalene held in her 
 hand one of those singularly shaped glasses which Petro- 
 nius has described, filled with a white liqiKiir. 
 
 Fully occupied with this important work, the king 
 merely raised his eyes as they passed by the convent of 
 the Jacobins, from which vespers was sounding on every 
 bell, and of which every window and door was closed. 
 But a hundred steps farther on, an attentive observer 
 would have seen him throw a more curious glance on a 
 fine-looking house on his left, which, built in the midst of 
 a charming garden, opened on the road. This house was 
 called Bel-Esbat, and unlike the convent, had every win- 
 dow open with the exception of one, before which hung a 
 blind. As the king passed this blind moved perceptibly ; 
 Henri smiled at D'Epernon, and then fell to work on 
 another picture. This was the sin of luxury. The artist 
 had represented this in such glowing colors, and had 
 painted the sin with so much courage and minuteness 
 
THE SEVEN SINS OF MAGDALENE. 253 
 
 that we can only mention a single feature of it, which, 
 however, was altogether episodical : Magdalene's guardian 
 angel was flying back to heaven affrighted, and hiding his 
 face in his hands. This picture, full of minute details, 
 occupied the king so completely that he never noticed an 
 image of vanity who rode by his carriage. It was a pitj', 
 for Sainte-Maline was very happy and proud on his horse, 
 as he rode so near that he could hear the king say to his 
 dog, " Gently, M. Love, you get in my waj'," or to M. 
 le Due d'Epernon, " Duke, I believe these horses will 
 break my neck." From time to time, however, Sainte- 
 Maline glanced at Loignac, who was too much accustomed 
 to these honors not to be indifferent to them ; and he 
 could not but feel the superiority of his calm and modest 
 demeanor, and even would try to imitate it for a few 
 minutes, until the thought would recur again, " I am 
 seen and looked at, and people say, ' Who is that happy 
 gentleman who accompanies the kingV" Sainte-Maline's 
 happiness seemed likely to last for a long time, for the 
 horses, covered with harness heavy with gold and em- 
 broidery, and imprisoned in shafts like those of David's 
 ark, did not advance rapidly. But as he was growing too 
 proud, something peculiarly annoying to him came to 
 moderate his joy ; he heard the king pronounce the name 
 of Ernauton, and not once, but two or three times. 
 Sainte-Maline strained his attention to hear more, but 
 some noise or movement always prevented him, — either 
 the king uttered some exclamation of regret at an un- 
 lucky cut of the scissors, or one of the dogs began to 
 bark ; so that between Paris and Vincennes, the name 
 of Ernauton had been pronounced at least six times by 
 the king, and at least four times by D'Epernon, without 
 Sainte-Maline's knowing the reason. He persuaded him- 
 self that the king was merely inquiring the cause of 
 
254 THE FOETY-FIVE. 
 
 Ernauton's disappearance, aiiJ that D'Epernon was ex- 
 plaining it. At last tliey arrived at Vincennes, and as the 
 king had still three sins to cut out, he went at once to 
 his chamber to finish them. It was a bitterly cold day, 
 therefore Sainte-Maline sat down in a chimney-corner to 
 warm liimself, and was nearly falling asleep? when Loignac 
 put his hand on his shoulder. 
 
 " You must work to-day,'' said he. " You shall sleep 
 some other day ; so get up, M. de Sainte-Maline.'' 
 
 " I will keep awake for a fortnight if necessary, 
 Monsieur." 
 
 " Oh, we shall not be so exacting as that." 
 
 " What must I do, Monsieur 1 " 
 
 "Get on your horse and return to Paris." 
 
 " I am ready ; my horse is standing saddled." 
 
 " Good ; go then straight to the room of the Forty-five, 
 and awaken every one. But excepting the three chiefs, 
 whom I will name to you, no one must know where he is 
 going, nor what he is about to do." 
 
 " I will obey these instructions implicitly." 
 
 " Here, then, are some more : leave fourteen of these 
 gentlemen at the Porte St. Antoine, fifteen others half- 
 way, and bring the rest here." 
 
 " Yes, Monsieur ; but at what hour must we leave 
 Paris 1 " 
 
 " When night falls.'' 
 
 " On horseback or on foot 1 " 
 
 " On horseback.'' 
 
 " Armed r' 
 
 " Fully ; with daggers, pistols, and swords." 
 
 " With armor 1 " 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "What else?" 
 
 " Here are three letters, — one for M. de Chalabre, one 
 
THE SEVEN SINS OF MAGDALENE. 255 
 
 for M. de Biran, and one for yourself. M. de Chalabre 
 will command the first party, M. de Biran the second, and 
 yourself the third." 
 
 " Good, Monsieur." 
 
 " These letters are not to be opened till six o'clock ; JL 
 de Chalabre wiU open his at the Porte St. Antoine, M. de 
 Biran his at the Croix Faubin, and you yours on your 
 return." 
 
 " Must we come quickly V 
 
 " As quickly as possible, without creating suspicion. 
 Let each troop come out of Paris by a different gate, — M. 
 de Chalabre by the Porte Bourdelle, M. de Biran by the 
 Porte du Temple, and you through the Porte St. Antoine. 
 All other instructions are in the letters. Go quickly from 
 here to the Croix Faubin, but then slowly ; you have 
 still two hours before dark, which is more than necessary. 
 Xow do you well understand your orders 'i " 
 
 "Perfectly, Monsieur." 
 
 " Fourteen in the first troop, fifteen in the second, and 
 fifteen in the third ; it is evident they do not count Er- 
 nauton, and that he no longer is one of the Forty-five," said 
 Sainte-JNIaline to himself when Loignac had gone. 
 
 Sainte-Maline, swollen with pride, fulfilled all his direc- 
 tions punctually. When he arrived among the Forty-five, 
 the greater number of them were already preparing for 
 their supper. Thus the noble Lardille de Chavantrade 
 had prepared a dish of mutton stewed with carrots and 
 spices, after the method of Gascony, in which Militor had 
 occasionally aided by trying the pieces of meat and vege- 
 table with a fork. 
 
 Pertinax de Montcrabeau, and the singular servant who 
 spoke to him so familiarly, were preparing supper for 
 themselves and six companions, who had each contributed 
 six sous towards it ; each one, in fact, was disposing ao- 
 
256 THE FORTY-FIVE. 
 
 cording to his fancy of the money of his Majesty Henri 
 III. One might judge of the character of each man by 
 the aspect of his httle lodging. Some loved flowers, 
 and displayed on their window-sills some fading rose or 
 geranium ; others had, like the king, a taste for pictures ; 
 others had introduced a niece or housekeeper. And M. 
 d'Epernon had told M. de Loignac privately to shut his 
 eyes on these things. At eight o'clock in winter, and ten 
 in summer, they went to bed ; but always leaving fifteen 
 on guard. As, however, it was but half-past five when 
 Sainte-Maline entered, he found every one about, and, as 
 we said, gastronomically inclined. But with one word 
 he put an end to all this. " To horse, gentlemen ! " said 
 he, and leaving them without another word, went to ex- 
 plain his orders to MM. de Biran and Chalabre. Some, 
 while buckling on their belts and grasping their cuirasses, 
 ate great mouthfuls, washed down by a draught of wine ; 
 and others, whose supper was less advanced, armed them- 
 selves with resignation. They called over the names, and 
 only forty-four, including Sainte-Maline, answered. 
 
 " M. Ernauton de Carmainges is missing," said M. de 
 ■Chalabre, whose turn it was to exercise the functions of 
 quarter-master. A profound joy filled the heart of Sainte- 
 Maline, and a smile played on his lips, — a rare thing 
 with this sombre and envious man. In fact, Ernauton 
 seemed to him to be finally ruined by that unexplained 
 absence from an expedition of such importance. 
 
 The forty-four set off on their different routes. 
 
BEL-ESBAT. 257 
 
 CHAPTER XLI. 
 
 BEL-ESBAT. 
 
 It is needless to say that Ernauton, whom Sainte-Maline 
 thought ruined, was, on the contrary, pursuing the course 
 of his unexpected and ascending fortunes. He had gone 
 first to the Hotel de Guise. There, after having knocked 
 at the great door, which was opened to him with extreme 
 circumspection, he was only laughed at when he asked 
 for an interview with the duchess. Then, as he in- 
 sisted, they told him that he ought to know that her High- 
 ness lived at Soissous, and not at Paris. Ernauton 
 was prepared for this reception, so it did not discourage 
 him. 
 
 " I am grieved at her Highness's ahsence," said he, 
 " for I had a communication of great importance to de- 
 liver to her from the Due de Mayenne." 
 
 " From the Due de Mayenne ! Who charged you to 
 deliver it 1 " 
 
 " The duke himself." 
 
 " The duke ! " exclaimed the porter, with an astonisli 
 ment admirably affected ; " where, then, did he give you 
 that charge ? for he is not at Paris either." 
 
 " I know that, as I met him on the road to Blois." 
 
 " On the road to Blois ? " said the porter, a little more 
 attentive. 
 
 " Yes ; and he there charged me with a message for 
 Madame de Montpensier." 
 
 " A message 1 " 
 
 VOL. I. — 17 
 
258 THE FORTY-FIVE. 
 
 "A letter." 
 
 " Where is it 1 " 
 
 " Here," said Ernauton, striking his doublet. 
 
 " Will you let me see it 1 " 
 
 " Willingly." And Ernauton drew out the letter. 
 
 " What singular ink ! " said the man. 
 
 " It is blood," said Ernauton, calmly. 
 
 The porter grew pale at these words, and at the idea 
 that this blood was perhaps that of M. de Mayenne. At 
 this time, when there was. great dearth of ink, and an 
 abundance of blood spilled, it was not uncommon for 
 lovers to write to their mistresses, or absent relations to 
 their families, with that fluid. 
 
 " Monsieur," said the servant, " I do not know if you 
 wUl find Madame de Montpensier in Paris or its environs ; 
 but go to a house in the Faubourg St. Antoine, called Bel- 
 Esbat, which belongs to the duchess. It is the first ou 
 the left hand going to Vincennes, after the convent of the 
 Jacobins. You will be sure to find some one there in the 
 service of the duchess sufficiently in her confidence to be 
 able to tell you where Madame the Duchess is just now." 
 
 " Thank you," said Ernauton, who saw that the man 
 either could or would say no more. 
 
 He found Bel-Esbat without making any inquiries, rang, 
 and the door opened. 
 
 " Enter," said a man, who then seemed to wait for 
 some password ; but as Ernauton did not give any, he 
 asked him what he wanted. 
 
 " I wish to speak to Madame la Duchesse de Mont- 
 pensier," replied Ernauton. 
 
 " And why do you come here for her 1 " 
 
 " Because the porter at the Hotel de Guise sent me 
 here." 
 
 " Madame the Duchess is neither here nor in Paris." 
 
BEL-ESBA.T. 259 
 
 " Then," said Ernauton, " I will put off till a more 
 auspicious moment acquitting myself of a mission with 
 which M. de Mayenne charged me." 
 
 " For Madame the Duchess ? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " From M. le Due de Mayenne 1 " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 The valet reflected a moment. " Monsieur," said he, 
 " I cannot answer ; there is some one else whom I must 
 consult. Please to wait." 
 
 " These people are well served," thought Ernauton. 
 " Certainly, they must be dangerous people who think it 
 necessary to hide themselves in this manner. One can- 
 not enter a house of the Guises as you can the Louvre. 
 I begin to think that it is not the true King of France 
 whom I serve." 
 
 He looked round him. The courtyard was deserted ; 
 but all the doors of the stables were open, as if they 
 expected some troop to enter and take up quarters there. 
 He was interrupted by tlie return of the valet, who was 
 followed by another. 
 
 " Leave me your horse, Monsieur," said he, " and fol- 
 low my comrade ; you will find some one who can answer 
 you much better than I can." 
 
 Ernauton followed the valet, and was shown into a lit- 
 tle room, where a simply though elegantly dressed lady 
 was seated at an embroidery frame. 
 
 " Here is the gentleman from M. de Mayenne, Madame," 
 said the servant. 
 
 She turned, and Ernauton uttered a cry of surprise. 
 
 " You, Madame ! " cried he, recognizing at once, under 
 that third transformation, his page and the lady of the 
 litter. 
 
 " You ! " cried the lady, in her turn, letting her work 
 
260 THE FORTY-FIVE. 
 
 drop, and looking at Ernauton. " Leave us," she said 
 to the valet. 
 
 " You are of the household of Madame de Montpensier, 
 Madame 1 " said Ernauton, with surprise. 
 
 " Yes ; but you, Monsieur, how do you bring here a 
 message from the Due de Mayenne 1 " 
 
 " Through a series of circumstances which it would 
 take too long to repeat," replied Ernauton, cautiously. 
 
 " Oh, you are discreet, Monsieur," said the lady, smiling. 
 
 " Yes, Madame, whenever it is necessary to be so." 
 
 " But I see no occasion for your discretion here ; for 
 if you really bring a message from the person you say — 
 Oh, do not look angry ! if you really do, I say, it inter- 
 ests me so much that in remembrance of our acquaintance, 
 short though it was, you should tell it to me." 
 
 The lady threw into these words all the caressing and 
 seductive grace that a pretty woman can employ. 
 
 " Madame," replied Ernauton, " you cannot make me 
 tell what I do not know.'' 
 
 " And still less what you will not tell 1 " 
 
 " Madame, all my mission consists in delivering a letter 
 to her trighness." 
 
 " "Well, then, give me the letter,'' said the lady, holding 
 out her hand. 
 
 " Madame, I believe I had the honor of telling you 
 that this letter was addressed to the duchess.'' 
 
 " But as the duchess is absent, and I represent her here, 
 you may — " 
 
 "I cannot, Madame." 
 
 " You distrust me. Monsieur ? " 
 
 "I ought to do so, Madame; but," said the young man 
 with an expression there was no mistaking, " in spite of 
 the mystery of your conduct, you have inspired me, I 
 confess, with very different sentiments." 
 
BEL-ESBAT. 261 
 
 " Eeally ! " said the lady, coloring a little under 
 Ernauton's ardent gaze. 
 
 Ernauton bowed. 
 
 " Take care, Monsieur ! " said she, laughing, " you are 
 making a declaration of love." 
 
 " Yes, Madame ; I do not know if I may ever see 
 you again, and the opportunity is too precious for me to 
 let it slip." 
 
 " Then, Monsieur, I understand." 
 
 " That I love you, Madame 'I that is easy to understand." 
 
 " Xo, b\it how you came here." 
 
 " Ah, pardon, Madame ! but now it is I who do not 
 understand." 
 
 " Yes, I understand that wishing to see me again, you 
 invented a pretext to get in." 
 
 " I, Madame ! a pretext ! you judge me ill. I was 
 ignorant if I should ever see you again, and placed my 
 sole reliance upon chance, which already had twice 
 thrown me in your way ; but invent a pretext, 1 1 — 
 never ! I am strange, perhaps ; I do not think like all 
 the world." 
 
 " Oh, you say you are in love, and you have scruples 
 as to the manner of introducing yourself again to her you 
 love ! It is very line, Monsieur ; well, I suspected that 
 you would have scruples." 
 
 " Why, Madame, if you please? " 
 
 "The other day you met me. I was in a litter; you 
 recognized me; and yet you did not follow me." 
 
 " Madame, you are confessing you paid some attention 
 to me." 
 
 " And why not ] Surely the way in which we first met 
 justified my putting my head out of my litter to look after 
 you when you passed. But you galloped away, aftei' utte:> 
 ing an ' Ah ! ' which made me tremble in my litter." 
 
262 THE FOETY-FIVE. 
 
 " I was forced to go away, Madame." 
 
 " By your scruples t " 
 
 " No, Madame, by my duty." 
 
 " Well ! " said the lady, laughing, "I see that you are 
 a reasonable, circumspect lover, who, above all things, 
 fears to compromise himself." 
 
 " If you had inspired me with certain fears, there 
 would be nothing astonishing in it. Is it customary 
 that a woman should dress as a man, force the baniers, 
 and come to see an unfortunate wretch drawn to 
 pieces, using meanwhile all sorts of gesticulations utterly 
 incomprehensible 1 " 
 
 The lady grew rather pale, although she tried to smile. 
 
 Ernauton went on. " Is it natural also that this lady, 
 after this strange announcement, fearful of being arrested, 
 should fly as though she were a thief, — she who is in 
 the service of Madame de Montpensier, a powerful prin- 
 cess, although not much in favor at court f " 
 
 This time the lady smiled again, but ironically. " You 
 are not clear-sighted. Monsieur," she said, " in spite of 
 your pretension to be an observer ; for with a little sense, 
 all that seems obscure to you would have been clear. 
 Was it not very natural that Madame de Montpensier 
 should be interested in the fate of M. de Salcede, in what 
 he might be tempted to say, what true or false revela- 
 tions he might utter to compromise the House of Lorraine? 
 And if that was natural. Monsieur, was it not also natural 
 that this princess should send some one, — some safe, inti- 
 mate friend, — to be present at the execution, and bring 
 her all the details? Well, Monsieur, this person was I. 
 Now, do you think I could go in my woman's dress ? In 
 line, now that you know my relation to the duchess, do 
 you think I could remain indifferent to the sufferings of 
 the victim and his possible revelations ? " 
 
BEL-ESBAT. 263 
 
 " You are right, Madame ; and now I admire as much 
 your logic and talent as I admired your beauty." 
 
 " Thank you, Monsieur. And now that we know each 
 other, and that everything is explained, give nie the let- 
 ter, since the letter exists, and is not a simple pretext." 
 
 " Impossible, Madame." 
 
 The unknown seemed trying not to grow angry. " Im- 
 possible 1 " she repeated. 
 
 " Yes, impossible ; for I swore to M. de Mayenne to 
 deliver it only to the duchess herself." 
 
 " Say rather," cried the lady, giving way to her irrita- 
 tion, " that you have no letter ; that in spite of your pre- 
 tended scruples, it was a mere pretext for getting in here ; 
 that you wished to see me again, and that was all. Well, 
 Monsieur, you are satisfied ; not only you have effected 
 your entrance, but you have seen me, and have told me 
 you adore me." 
 
 " In that, as in all the rest, I have told you the truth, 
 Madame.'' 
 
 " WeU, so be it. You adore me ; you wished to see me ; 
 and you have seen me. I have procured you a pleasure 
 in return for a service. We are quits. Adieu ! " 
 
 " I will obey you, Madame ; since you send me away, 
 I will go." 
 
 " Yes," cried she, now really angry, " but if you know 
 me, I do not know you. You have too much advantage 
 over me. Ah, you think you can enter, on some pretext, 
 into the house of a princess, and go away and say, ' I suc- 
 ceeded in my perfidy ! ' Ah, Monsieur, that is not the 
 behavior of a gaUant man ! " 
 
 " It seems to me, Madame, that you are very hard on 
 what would have been after all only a trick of love, if it 
 had not been, as I have already told you, an affair of the 
 greatest importance and the simplest truth. I put aside 
 
264 THE FORTY-FIVE. 
 
 all your injurious expressions, and I will forget all I might 
 have said, affectionate or tender, since you are so badly 
 disposed towards me. But I will not go out from here 
 under the weight of your unworthy suspicions. I have a 
 letter from the duke for Madame de Montpensier, and 
 here it is ; you can see the handwriting and the address." 
 
 Ernauton held out the letter to the lady, hut without 
 delivering it. She cast her eyes on it, and cried, " His 
 writing ! Blood ! " 
 
 Without replying, Ernauton put the letter back in his 
 pocket, bowed low, and very pale and bitterly hurt, 
 turned to go. But she ran after him, and caught him 
 by the skirt of his cloak. 
 
 " "What is it, Madame 1 " said he. 
 
 " For pity's sake, pardon me ! has any accident hap- 
 pened to the duke ? " 
 
 " You ask me to pardon you only that you may read 
 this letter ; and I have already told you that no one shall 
 read it but the duchess." 
 
 " Ah, obstinate and stupid that you are ! " cried the 
 duchess, with a fury full of majesty ; " do you not recog- 
 nize me, or rather, could you not divine that I was the 
 mistress 1 And are these the eyes of a servant 1 I am 
 the Duchesse de Montpensier ; give me the letter." 
 
 " You are the duchess 1 " cried Ernauton, starting back 
 in dismay. 
 
 " Yes, I am ! Give it to me ! I want to know what has 
 happened to my brother." 
 
 But instead of obeying, as the duchess expected, the 
 young man, recovering from his first surprise, crossed his 
 arms. " How can I believe you," said he, " when you 
 have already lied to me twice f " 
 
 The duchess's eyes shot forth fire at these words ; but 
 Ernauton stood firm. "Ah, you doubt still! yon want 
 
BEL-ESBAT. 265 
 
 proofs of what I affirm ! " she cried, tearing her lace 
 ruffles with rage. 
 
 "Yes, Madame," replied Ernauton, coldly. 
 
 She darted towards the bell, and rang it furiously ; 
 a valet appeared. 
 
 " What does Madame want 1 " said he. 
 
 She stamped her foot with rage. " Mayneville ! " she 
 cried ; " I want Mayneville ! Is he not here ] " 
 
 "Yes, Madame.'' 
 
 " Let him come here." 
 
 The valet went ; and a minute after Mayneville entered. 
 
 " Did you send for me, Madame 1 " said he. 
 
 " Madame ! And since when am I simply ]\Iadame ? " 
 cried she, angrily. 
 
 " Your Highness ! " said Mayneville, in surprise. 
 
 " Good ! " said Ernauton, " I have now a gentleman 
 before me ; and if he has lied, I shall know what to do." 
 
 " You believe then, at last V said the duchess. 
 
 " Yes, Madame, I believe, and here is the letter ; " 
 and bowing, the young man gave to Madame de Mont- 
 pensier the letter so long disputed. 
 
266 THE FOKTY-nVE. 
 
 CHAPTER XLII. 
 
 THE LETTER OF M. DE MAYENNE. 
 
 The duchess seized the letter, opened it, and read it 
 eagerly, while various expressions passed over her face, 
 like clouds over the sky. When she had finished she 
 gave it to Mayneville to read. It was as follows : 
 
 My Sisteb, — I tried to do myself the work I should have 
 left to others, and I have been punished for it. I have 
 received a sword-wound from the fellow whom you know. 
 The worst of it is that he has killed five of my men, and 
 among them Boularon and Desnoises, — that is to say, two 
 of my best, — after which he fled. I must tell you that he 
 was aided by the bearer of this letter, — a charming young 
 man, as you may see. I recommend him to you; he is dis- 
 cretion itseK. 
 
 One merit which he will have, I presume, in your eyes, my 
 dear sister, is in having prevented my conqueror from killing 
 me, as he much wished, having puUed off my mask when I 
 had fainted, and recognized me. 
 
 I recommend you, Sister, to discover the name and profes- 
 sion of this discreet cavalier; for I suspect him, while he 
 interests me. To my offers of service, he replied that the 
 master whom he served let him want for nothing. 
 
 I can tell you no more about him, but that he pretends not 
 to know me. I suffer much, but believe my life is not in 
 danger. Send me my surgeon at once ; I am lying like a 
 horse upon straw, the bearer will tell you where. 
 Your affectionate brother, 
 
 Mayennb. 
 
THE LETTER OF M. DE MAYENNE. 267 
 
 When they had finished reading, the duchess and 
 Mayneville looked at each other in astonishment. The 
 duchess brolce the silence. 
 
 " To whom," said she, " do we owe the signal service 
 that you have rendered us. Monsieur ? " 
 
 " To a man who, whenever he can, helps the weak 
 against the strong." 
 
 " WiU you give me some details, Monsieur 1 " 
 
 Ernauton told all he had seen, and named the duke's 
 place of retreat. 
 
 Madame de Montpensiet and Mayneville listened \nih 
 interest. When he had finished, the duchess said, " May 
 I hope. Monsieur, that you will continue the work so well 
 begun, and attach yourself to our house 1 " 
 
 These words, spoken in the gracious tone that the 
 duchess knew so well how to use, were very flattering 
 to Ernauton, after the avowal which he had made ; but 
 the young man, putting vanity aside, attributed them to 
 simple curiosity. He knew well that the king, in mak- 
 ing it a condition that he should reveal the duchess's 
 place of abode, had some object in view. Two interests 
 contended within him, — his love, which he could sacri- 
 fice, and his honor, which he could not. The tempta- 
 tion was all the stronger that by avowing his position 
 near the king, he should gain an enormous importance 
 in the eyes of the duchess ; and it was not a light con- 
 sideration for a young man coming straight from Gascony 
 to be important in the eyes of the Duchesse de Montpen- 
 sier. Sainte-Maline would not have resisted an instant. 
 All these thoughts rushed through Eruauton's mind, and 
 resulted in making him stronger than before. 
 
 " Madame," said he, " I have already had the honor of 
 telling M. de Mayenne that I serve a good master, who 
 treats me too well for me to desire to seek another." 
 
268 THE rOKTY-FIVE. 
 
 "My brother tells me in his letter, Monsieur, that you 
 seemed not to recognize him. How, then, if you did not 
 know him, did you use his name to penetrate to me ? " 
 
 " M. de Mayenne seemed to wish to preserve his incog- 
 nito, Madame; and I therefore did not think I ought to 
 recognize him. And it might have been inconvenient to 
 him that the peasants should know what an illustrious 
 guest they were entertaining. Here there was no reason 
 for secrecy ; on the contrary, the name of M. de Mayenne 
 opened the way to you, so I thought that here, as there, 
 I acted rightly." 
 
 The duchess smiled, and said, " No one could extricate 
 himself better from an embarrassing question ; and you 
 are, I must confess, a clever man." 
 
 " I see no cleverness in what I have had the honor of 
 telling you, Madame." 
 
 " Well, Monsieur," said the duchess, impatiently, " I 
 see clearly that you will tell nothing. You do not re- 
 flect that gratitude is a heavy burden for one of my 
 house to bear ; that you have twice rendered me a ser- 
 vice ; and that if I wished to know your name, or rather, 
 who you are — " 
 
 " I know, Madame, you would learn it easily ; but you 
 would learn it from some one else, and I should have 
 told nothing." 
 
 " He is always right," cried the duchess, with a look 
 which gave Ernauton more pleasure than ever a look had 
 done before. Therefore he asked no more, but like the gour- 
 mand, who leaves the table when he thinks he has had the 
 best bit, he bowed, and prepared to take leave. 
 
 " Then, Monsieur, that is all you have to tell me ? " 
 asked the duchess. 
 
 " I have executed my commission, and it only remains 
 for me to present my humble respects to your Highness." 
 
THE LETTER OF M. DE MAYENNE. 269 
 
 The duchess let him go ; but when the door shut behind 
 him, she stamped her foot impatiently. " Mayneville," 
 said she, " have that young man followed." 
 
 " Impossible, Madame. All our household are out ; I my- 
 self am waiting for the event. It is a bad day oti which 
 to do anything else than what we have decided to do." 
 
 " You are right, Mayneville ; but afterwards — " 
 
 " Oh ! afterwards, if you please, Madame." 
 
 " Yes ; for I suspect him, as my brother does." 
 
 " He is a brave fellow, at all events ; and really, we are 
 fortunate, — a stranger, an unknown, falling from the sky 
 to render us such a service." 
 
 " Xevertheless, Mayneville, have him watched later, at 
 any rate." 
 
 " Eh, ]\Iadame ! later I trust we shall have no need to 
 watch any one." 
 
 " Come, really, I don't know to-night what I am say- 
 ing ; I have lost my head." 
 
 " It is permitted to a general like you, jMadame, to be 
 preoccupied on the eve of a decisive action." 
 
 " That is true. But night is falling, and Valois must 
 be returning from Vincennes." 
 
 " Oh ! we have time before us ; it is not eight o'clock, 
 and our men have not arrived." 
 
 " AU have the word, have they not ? " 
 
 "All." 
 
 " They are trustworthy 1 " 
 
 "Tried, Madame." 
 
 " How many do you expect 1 " 
 
 " Fifty ; it is more than necessary, for besides them 
 we have two hundred monks as good as .soldiers, if not 
 better." 
 
 " As soon as our men have arrived, range your monks 
 on the road." 
 
270 THE FORTY-FIVE. 
 
 "They are all read}', lladairs. They will intercept the 
 way; our men will push the carriage towards them ; the 
 gates of the convent will be open, and will have but to 
 close behind the carriage." 
 
 " Let us sup, then, Mayneville ; it will help us to pass 
 the time. I am so impatient that I should like to push 
 the hands of the clock." 
 
 " The hour will come ; be easy." 
 
 " But our men ? " 
 
 " They will be here ; it is hardlj' eight." 
 
 " Mayneville, my poor brother asks for his surgeon. The 
 best surgeon, the best cure for his wound, would be a lock 
 of the Valois's hair ; and the man who should carry him 
 that present, Mayneville, would be sure to be welcome.'' 
 
 "In two hours, Madame, that man shall set out to 
 find our dear duke in his retreat ; he who went out of 
 Paris as a fugitive shall return triumphantly." 
 
 " One word more, Mayneville ; are our friends in 
 Paris warned ? " 
 
 "What friends?" 
 
 " The Leaguers." 
 
 " God forbid, Madame ! to tell a hoiirgeois is to tell 
 all Paris. Once the deed is done, remember, we have to 
 send out fifty couriers before it becomes known ; then, 
 the prisoner being in a cloister, we can defend ourselves 
 against an army. There will then no longer be any 
 risk in crying from the roof of the convent, ' We have 
 the Valois ! ' " 
 
 " You are both skilful and prudent, Mayneville. Do 
 you know, though, that my responsibility is great, and 
 that no other woman, in any period, has ever conceived 
 and executed such a project?" 
 
 " I know it, Madame ; therefore I counsel you, trem- 
 bling with apprehension." 
 
THE LETTER OF M. DE MAYENNE. 271 
 
 " The monks will be armed under their robes ? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " The soldiers are on the way 1 " 
 
 " They should be there at this moment." 
 
 " The bourgeois to be notified after the event 1 " 
 
 " Three couriers will attend to that. In ten minutes 
 Lachapelle-Marteau, Brigard, and Bussy-Leclerc will be 
 informed ; they will inform the rest." 
 
 " Mind you kill those two fellows whom we saw pass, 
 riding at the sides of the carriage ; then we can describe 
 what takes place as pleases us best." 
 
 " Kill those poor devils, Madame ! do you think that 
 necessary 1 " 
 
 " Loignac ! would he be a great loss ? " 
 
 "He is a brave soldier." 
 
 " A low adventurer, like that other ill-looking fellow 
 who pranced on the left, with his fiery eyes and his black 
 skin." 
 
 " Oh, that one I don't care so much about ! I don't 
 know him, and I agree with your Highness in disliking 
 his looks." 
 
 " Then you abandon him to me ? " laughed the duchess. 
 
 " Oh, yes, Madame ! "What I said was only for your 
 renown, and the morality of the party that we represent." 
 
 "Good, Mayneville, I know you area virtuous man; 
 and I will sign you a certificate to that effect if you like. 
 You need have nothing to do with it ; they will defend 
 the Valois and get killed. To you 1 recommend that 
 young man." 
 
 " What young man ? " 
 
 " He who just left us ; see if he be really gone, and if 
 he be not some spy sent by our enemies." 
 
 Mayneville opened the window, and tried to look out. 
 " Oh, what a dark night ! " said he. 
 
272 THE FORTY-FIVE. 
 
 " An excellent night ; the darker the better. There- 
 fore, good courage, my captain." 
 
 " Yes, but we shall see nothing." 
 
 " God, whom we fight for, will see for us." 
 
 Mayneville, who did not seem quite so sure of the 
 intervention of Providence in affairs of this nature, 
 remained at the window looking out. 
 
 " Do you see any one 1 " asked the duchess. 
 
 " No, but I hear the tramp of horses." 
 
 " It is they ; all goes well." And the duchess touched 
 the famous pair of golden scissors at her side. 
 
GOBENFLOT BLESSES THE KING. 273 
 
 CHAPTEE XLIII. 
 
 HOW DOM GORENFLOT BLESSED THE KING AS HE PASSED 
 BEFORE THE PRIORY OF THE JACOBINS. 
 
 Ebnauton went away with a full heart but a quiet con- 
 science ; he had had the singular good fortune to declare 
 his love to a princess, and to cause her, by the important 
 conversation which followed, to forget his declaration just 
 so far that it had worked no immediate harm, and might 
 bear fruit at some future time. He had betrayed neither 
 the king, M. de Mayenne, nor himself. Therefore he was 
 content ; but he still wished for many things, and among 
 others, a quick return to Vinoennes, where tiie king ex- 
 pected him ; then to go to bed and dream. He set off at 
 full gallop as soon as he left Bel-Esbat, but he had scarcely 
 gone a hundred yards when he came on a body of cava- 
 liers who stretched right across the road. He was sur- 
 rounded in a minute, and half-a-dozen swords and as 
 many pistols were presented at him. 
 
 " Oh ! " said Ernauton, " robbers on the road, a league 
 from Paris ! The devil take the country ! The king has 
 an inefficient provost ; I shall advise him to make a 
 change." 
 
 " Silence, if you please ! " said a voice that Ernau- 
 ton thought he recognized. " Your sword, your arms I 
 quick ! " 
 
 And one man seized the bridle of the horse, while two 
 others stripped him of his arms. 
 
 VOL. I. — 18 
 
274 THE FORTY-FIVE. 
 
 " Peste ! what clever thieves ! " said Ernauton. " At 
 least, gentlemen, do me the favor to tell me — " 
 
 " Why, it is M. de Carmainges ! " said the man who 
 had seized his sword. 
 
 " M. de Pincornay ! " cried Ernauton. " Oh, fie ! what 
 a bad trade you have taken up ! " 
 
 " I said ' silence ! ' " cried the voice of the chief ; " and 
 take this man to the depot." 
 
 " But, M. de Sainte-Maline, it is our companion, Ernau- 
 ton de Carmainges." 
 
 " Ernauton here ! " cried Sainte-Maline, angi'ily ; " what 
 is he doing here] " 
 
 " Good-evening, gentlemen," said Carmainges ; " I did 
 not, I confess, expect to find so much good company.'' 
 
 Sainte-Maline remained silent. 
 
 "It seems that I am arrested," continued Ernauton; 
 " for I presume you don't intend to plunder me ] " 
 
 "The devil!" growled Sainte-Maline; "this is un- 
 foreseen." 
 
 " By me also, I assure you," said Ernauton, laughing. 
 
 " It is embarrassing. What were you doing here 'I, " 
 
 " If I asked you that question, would you answer?" 
 
 " jSTo." 
 
 "Then let me act as you would." 
 
 " Then you wiU not tell me what you were doing on 
 the road 1 " 
 
 Ernauton smiled, but made no reply. 
 
 " Nor where you were going 1 " 
 
 Ernauton did not answer. 
 
 " Then, Monsieur, since you do not explain, I must 
 treat you like any other man." 
 
 " Do what you please. Monsieur ; only I warn you, 
 you will have to answer for it." 
 
 " To M. de Loignao ? " 
 
GORENFLOT BLESSES THE KING. 275 
 
 " Higher than that." 
 
 "M. d'Epernonr' 
 
 " Higher stiU." 
 
 " Well, I have my orders, and I shall send you to 
 Vincennes." 
 
 " That is capital; it is just where I was going." 
 
 " I am glad, Monsieur, that this little journey pleases 
 you so much." 
 
 Two men, pistol in hand, immediately took possession 
 of the prisoner, whom they conducted to two other men 
 about five hundred feet farther on. These did the same 
 with him ; so that Ernauton had the society of his com- 
 rades even to the courtyard of Vincennes. Here he found 
 fifty disarmed cavaliers,' who, looking pale and dispirited, 
 and surrounded by fifty light-horse, were deploring their 
 bad fortune, and anticipating a disastrous ending to an 
 enterprise so well planned. The Forty-five had taken all 
 these men, either by force or cunning, as they had, for 
 precaution, come to the rendezvous either singly, or two 
 or three together at most. Now all this would have re- 
 joiced Ernauton had he understood it, but he saw without 
 understanding. " Monsieur," said he to Sainte-Maline, 
 " I see that you were told of the importance of my mis- 
 sion, and that, fearing some accident for me, you were 
 good enough to take the trouble to escort me hither. Now 
 I will tell you that you were right ; the king expects me, 
 and I have important things to say to him. I will tell 
 the king what you have done for his service." 
 
 Sainte-Maline grew red and then pale ; but he under- 
 stood, being clever when not blinded by passion, that 
 Ernauton spoke the truth, and that he was expected. 
 There was no joking with MM. de Loignac and d'Eper- 
 non ; therefore he said, " You are free, M. Ernauton ; I 
 am delighted to have been agreeable to you." 
 
276 THE FORTY-FIVE. 
 
 Eriiauton waited for no more, but began to mount the 
 staircase which led to the king's room. Sainte-Maline fol- 
 lowed him with his eyes, and saw Loignac meet him on 
 the stairs, and make a sign to him to come on. Loignac 
 then descended to see the captives with his own eyes, 
 and pronounced the road perfectly safe and free for the 
 king's return. He knew nothing of the Jacobin convent, 
 and the artillery and musketry of the fathers. But 
 D'Epernon did, being completely informed by Nicolas 
 Poulain. Therefore, when Loignac came and said to his 
 chief, " Monsieur, the roads are free," D'jEpernon replied, 
 " Very well ; the king orders that the Forty-five Guards 
 form themselves into three compact bodies, — one to go 
 before and one on each side of the carriage, — so that if 
 there be any firing it may not reach the carriage." 
 
 " Very good ! " said Loignac, " only I do not see where 
 firing is to come from." 
 
 " At the priory of the Jacobins, Monsieur, they must 
 close their ranks." 
 
 This dialogue was interrupted by the king, who de- 
 scended the staircase, followed by several gentlemen, 
 among whom Sainte-Maline, with rage in his heart, 
 recognized Ernauton. 
 
 " Gentlemen," said the king, " are my brave Porty-five 
 all here?" 
 
 " Yes, Sire," said D'Epernon, directing his attention to 
 them. 
 
 " Have the orders been given 1 " 
 
 " Yes, Sire, and will be followed." 
 
 " Let us go, then ! " 
 
 The light-horse were left in charge of the prisoners, 
 and forbidden to address a word to them. The king got 
 into his carriage with his naked sword by his side. M. 
 d'Epernon swore, " Parfandious 1 " and gallantly tried 
 
GORENFLOT BLESSES THE KING. 277 
 
 his own sword to see whether it moved readily in its 
 scabbard. At nine o'clock they started. 
 
 An hour after the departure of Eriiauton, M. de Mayne- 
 ville was still at the window, whence, as we have seen, he 
 had vainly endeavored to follow the young man's course 
 in the darkness ; but after the lapse of that hour he was 
 far less tranquil and hopeful, for none of his soldiers had 
 appeared, and the only sound heard along the silent, black 
 road was the occasional sound of horses' feet on the road 
 to Vincennes. When this was heard, Mayneville and the 
 duchess vainly tried to see what was going on. At last 
 Mayneville became so anxious that he sent off a man on 
 horseback, telling him to inquire of the first body of 
 cavaliers they met. The messenger did not return ; tire 
 duchess sent another, but neither reappeared. 
 
 " Our officer,'' said the duchess, always hopeful, " must 
 have been afraid of not having sufficient force, and must 
 have kept our men to help him ; it is prudent, but it 
 makes one anxious." 
 
 " Yes, very anxious," said Mayneville, whose eyes never 
 left the dark and gloomy horizon. 
 
 " Mayneville, what can have happened 1 " 
 
 " I will go myself, Madame, and find out." 
 
 " Oh, no ! I forbid that. Who would stay with me 1 
 Who would know our friends when the time comes 1 Xo, 
 no ! stay, Mayneville. One is naturally apprehensive when 
 a secret of this importance is concerned ; but really the 
 plan was too well combined, and, above all, too secret not 
 to succeed." 
 
 " Nine o'clock ! " replied Mayneville, rather to himself 
 than to the duchess. " Well, here are the Jacobins com- 
 ing out of their convent, and ranging themselves along 
 the walls." 
 
 " Listen ! " cried the duchess. 
 
278 THE FORTY-FIVE. 
 
 They began to hear from afar a noise like thunder. 
 
 " It is cavalry ! " cried the duchess. " Tliey are bring- 
 ing him ; ^ve have him at last ; " and she clapped her 
 hands in the wildest joy. 
 
 " Yes," said Mayneville, " I hear a carriage and the 
 gallop of horses." 
 
 And he cried out loudly, " Outside the walls, my 
 fathers, outside ! " 
 
 Immediately the gates of the priory opened, and a hun- 
 dred armed monks marched out, with Borromee at their 
 head, and took position across the road. Then they heard 
 Gorenflot's voice crying, " Wait for me ! wait for me ! I 
 must be at the head of the chapter to receive his Majesty 
 worthily." 
 
 " Go to the balcony, Prior," cried Borromee, " and over- 
 look us all." 
 
 " Ah, true ! I forgot that I had chosen that place ; 
 happily, you are here to remind me, Brother Borromee." 
 
 Borromee despatched four monks to stand behind the 
 prior, on the pretence of doing him honor. 
 
 Soon the road was illumined by a number of torches, 
 thanks to which the duchess and Mayneville could see 
 cuirasses and swords shining. Incapable of moderation, 
 she cried, " Go down, Mayneville, and bring him to me, 
 bound and attended by guards ! " 
 
 " Yes, Madame ; but one thing disquiets me." 
 
 " What is it 1 " 
 
 " I do not hear the signal agreed on." 
 
 " What use is the signal, since they have him 1 " 
 
 " But they were to arrest him only here, before the priory." 
 
 '' They must have found a good opportunity earlier." 
 
 " I do not see our officer." 
 
 " I do." 
 
 " Where 1 " 
 
GORENFLOT BLESSES THE KING. 279 
 
 " See that red plume." 
 
 " Ventrebleu/ that red plume — " 
 
 "Well?" 
 
 " It is M. d'Epernon, sword in hand." 
 
 " They have left him his sword 1 " 
 
 " Mordieu! he commands." 
 
 " Our people ! There has been treason." 
 
 " Oh, Maeiame ! they are not our people." 
 
 " You are mad, Mayneville ! " 
 
 But at that moment Loignac, at the head of the first 
 body of guards, cried, brandishing his large sword, " Vive 
 le roi ! " 
 
 " Vive le roi ! " replied enthusiastically all the Forty- 
 five, with their Gascon accent. The duchess grew pale 
 and sank down almost fainting. Mayneville, sombre but 
 resolute, drew his sword, not knowing but that the house 
 was to be attacked. The cortege advanced, and had 
 reached Bel-Esbat. Borromee came a little forward, and 
 as Loignac rode straight up to him, he immediately saw 
 that all was lost, and determined on his part. 
 
 " Eoom for the king ! " cried Loignac. Gorenflot, 
 excited by the cries and by the uoise of arms, dazzled by 
 the flaming of the torches, extended his powerful arm and 
 blessed the king from his balcony. Henri saw him, and 
 bowed smilingly ; and at this mark of favor Gorenflot gave 
 out a " Vive le roi ! " with his stentorian voice. The 
 rest, however, remained mute ; they expected a different 
 result from their two months' training. But Borromee, 
 feeling certain, from the absence of the duchess's troops, 
 of the fate of the enterprise, knew that to hesitate a 
 moment was to be ruined, and he answered with a " Vive 
 le roi ! " almost as sonorous as Gorenflot's. Then all the 
 rest took it up. 
 
 " Thanks, reverend fathers, thanks ! " cried Henri ; and 
 
280 THE PORTY-FIVE. 
 
 then he passed the conA'ent, where his course was to have 
 terminated, like a whirlwind of fire, noise, and glory, 
 leaving behind him Bel-Esbat in obscurity. 
 
 From her balcony, hidden by the golden escutcheon, 
 behind which she was kneeling, the duchess saw and ex- 
 amined each face on which the light of the torches fell. 
 
 "Oh," cried she, "look, Mayneville ! That young 
 man, my brother's messenger, is in the king's service ! 
 We are lost!" 
 
 " We must fly immediately, Madame, now that the 
 Valois is conqueror." 
 
 "We have been betrayed! That young man has be- 
 trayed us ! He knew all ! " 
 
 The king had already, with all his escort, entered the 
 Porte St. Antoine, which had opened before him and 
 shut behind him. 
 
HOW CHICOT BLESSED KING LOUIS XL 281 
 
 CHAPTEE XLIV. 
 
 HOW CHICOT BLESSED KING LOUIS XI. FOE HAVING INVENTED 
 POSTING, AND RESOLVED TO PROFIT BY IT. 
 
 Chicot, to ■whom our readers will now permit us to return^ 
 after his last adventure went on as rapidly as possible. 
 He well understood that between the dulie and himself 
 there would now exist a mortal struggle, which would end 
 only with life. Mayenne, wounded in his body, and still 
 more grievously in his self-love, would never forgive him. 
 
 " Come, come ! " said the brave Gascon, hastening on 
 towards Beaugenoy ; " now is the time, if ever, to spend 
 on post-horses the joint contributions of those three 
 illustrious personages called Henri de Valois, Dom JIo- 
 deste Gorenflot, and Sebastien Chicot." 
 
 Skilful as he was in the imitation of all conditions, 
 Chicot immediately assumed the manner of a great lord, 
 as he had assumed previously that of a good bourgeois. 
 And never was prince served with more zeal than he,, 
 when he had sold Ernauton's horse and had talked for a 
 quarter of an hour with the master of the post. Once in 
 the saddle, he was determined not to stop until he reached 
 a place of safety, and he went as quickly as constant fresh 
 relays of horses would permit. He himself seemed made 
 of iron, and at the end of sixty leagues, accomplished in 
 twenty hours, he felt no fatigue. When, thanks to this 
 rapidity, in three days he reached Bordeaux, he thought 
 he might take breath. 
 
282 THE FORTY-FIVE. 
 
 A man can think while he gallops, and Chicot thought 
 much. What kind of prince was he about to find in that 
 strange Henri, whom some thought a fool, others a cow- 
 ard, and all a renegade of small importance ] But Chicot's 
 opinion was generally rather different from that of the 
 rest of the world ; and he was clever at divining what 
 lay below the surface. Henri de Navarre was to him an 
 enigma, although an unsolved one ; but to know that 
 he was an enigma was to have found out much. Chicot 
 knew more of him than others did, in knowing, like 
 the old Grecian sage, that he knew nothing. Therefore, 
 where most people would have gone to speak freely, and 
 with their hearts on their lips, Chicot felt that he must 
 proceed cautiously, and with carefully guarded words. 
 
 This necessity of dissimulation was impressed on his 
 mind by his natural penetration, and also by the aspect 
 of the country through which he was passing. Once 
 within the limits of the little principality of Xavarre, — a 
 country whose poverty was proverbial in France, — Chi- 
 cot, to his great astonishment, ceased to see the impress of 
 that misery which showed itself in every house and on 
 every face in the finest provinces of that fertile France 
 which he had just left. The wood-cutter who passed 
 along, with his arm leaning on the yoke of his favorite 
 ox ; the girl with short petticoat and alert step, carrying 
 water on her head ; the old man humming a song of his 
 youthful days ; the tame bird who warbled in his cage 
 or pecked at his plentiful .supply of food ; the brown, 
 thin, but healthy children playing about the roads, — all 
 said in a language clear and intelligible to Chicot, "See, 
 we are happy here." 
 
 Sometimes, hearing the sound of wheels creaking in 
 the ruts, Chicot felt a sudden terror ; he recalled the 
 heavy artillery which tore up the roads of France. But 
 
HOW CHICOT BLESSED KING LOUIS XI. 283 
 
 at a turn of the road the wagon of a vintager would come 
 to view, full of casks and of children with red faces. 
 Sometimes the barrel of an arquebuse seen behind a 
 hedge, or vines, or fig-trees, made him tremble for fear 
 of an ambush ; but it always turned out to be a hunter, 
 followed by his great dogs, traversing the plain, plentiful 
 in hares, to reach the mountain, equally full of partridges 
 and heathcocks. Although the season was advanced, and 
 Chicot had left Paris full of fog and hoar-frost, it was here 
 warm and fine. The great trees, which had not yet en- 
 tirely lost their leaves, which, indeed, in the south they 
 never lose entirely, threw deep shadows from their red- 
 dening tops. 
 
 The B^arnais peasants, their caps over one ear, rode 
 about on the little cheap horses of the countr}', which 
 seem indefatigable, go twenty leagues at a stretch, and 
 never combed, never covered, give themselves a shake at 
 the end of their journey, and go to graze on the first tuft 
 of heath, — their only and sufficing repast. 
 
 " Ventre de hiche I " said Chicot ; " I have never seen 
 Gascony so rich. I confess the letter weighs on my mind, 
 although I have translated it into Latin. However, I have 
 never heard that Henriot, as Charles IX. called him, knew 
 Latin; so I will give him a free French translation." 
 
 Chicot inquired, and was told that the king was at 
 Nerac. He turned to the left to reach this place, and 
 found the road full of people returning from the market 
 at Condom. He learned — for Chicot, careful in answer- 
 ing the questions of others, was a great questioner him- 
 self — that the King of Navarre led a very joyous life, 
 and was always changing from one love to another. 
 
 On the road Chicot made acquaintance with a young 
 Catholic priest, a sheep-merchant, and an officer, who 
 had joined company on the road, and were travelling to- 
 
284 THE FORTY-FIVE. 
 
 gether. This chance association seemed to liim to repre- 
 sent x^avarre, — learned, commercial, and military. The 
 priest recited to him several sonnets which had been 
 made on the loves of the king and the beautiful Fos- 
 seuse, daughter of Eene de Montmorency, Baron de 
 Fosseux. 
 
 '•' Oh ! " said Chicot ; " in Paris, wa believe that the 
 king is mad about Mademoiselle de Eebours." 
 
 " Oh ! " said the officer, " that was at Pau." 
 
 " What ! has the king a mistress in every town 1 " 
 
 " Very likely ; I know that he was the lover of 
 Mademoiselle de Dayelle, while I was in garrison at 
 Castelnaudary." 
 
 " Oh ! Mademoiselle Dayelle, — a Greek, was she not t " 
 
 " Yes," said the priest ; " a Cypriote." 
 
 '' I am from Agen," said the merchant ; " and I know 
 that when the king was there he made love to Made- 
 moiselle de Tignonville." 
 
 " Ventre de hicJie /" said Chicot; "he is a universal 
 lover. But to return to Mademoiselle Dayelle ; I knew 
 her family." 
 
 " She was jealous and was always threatening ; she had 
 a pretty little poniard, which she kept on her work-table, 
 and one day tlie king wont away and carried the poniard 
 with him, saying that he did not wish any misfortune to 
 happen to his successor." 
 
 "And Mademoiselle de Eebours V 
 
 " Oh ! they quarrelled." 
 
 " Then La Foaseuse is the last ? " 
 
 "Oh, mon Dieuf yes; the king is mad about her, — 
 and the more so because she is enceinte." 
 
 " But what does the queen say 1 " 
 
 " She carries her griefs to the foot of the crucifix,'' said 
 the priest. 
 
HOW CHICOT BLESSED KING LOUIS XL 285 
 
 " Besides," said the officer, " she is ignorant of all these 
 things." 
 
 " That is not possible," said Chicot. 
 
 " Why so 1 " 
 
 " Because Nerac is not so large that it is easy tu hide 
 things there." 
 
 "As for that," said the officer, "there is a park there 
 containing avenues more than three thousand feet long, 
 bordered by cypresses, plane-trees, and magnihceTit syca- 
 mores ; and the shade is so thick it is almost dark in 
 broad daylight. Think what it must be at night.'' 
 
 " And then the queen is much occupied. Monsieur," 
 said the priest. 
 
 " Occupied 1 " 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " With whom, pray 1 " 
 
 "With God, Monsieur," said the priest, gravely. 
 
 "With God?" 
 
 " Why not 1 " 
 
 " Ah, the queen is religious ? " 
 
 " Very religious.'' 
 
 " Nevertheless, there is no Mass at the palace, I imag- 
 ine,'' said Chicot. 
 
 " And you imagine very incorrectly, Monsieur. No 
 Mass ! do you take us for heathens 1 Learn, Monsieur, 
 that if the king goes to church with his gentlemen, the 
 queen hears Mass in her private chapel." 
 
 " The queen 1 " 
 
 " Yes, yes." 
 
 " Queen Marguerite 1 " 
 
 " Yes ; and I, unworthy as I am, received two crowns 
 for officiating there twice. I even preached a very good 
 sermon on the text, ' God has separated the wheat from 
 the chaff.' It is in the Bible, 'God will separate;' 
 
286 THE FORTY-FIVE. 
 
 but as it is a long time since that was written, I supposed 
 that the thing was done." 
 
 '■' And did the king know about that sermon 1 " 
 
 " He heard it.'' 
 
 "Without annoyance? " 
 
 " On the contrary, he applauded it.'' 
 
 " You astound me," said Chicot. 
 
 " I must add," said the officer, " that they do some- 
 thing else than hear Mass at the palace ; they give good 
 dinners — and the promenades ! I don't believe that 
 anywhere in France there are more mustaches shown 
 than in the promenades at Nerac.'' 
 
 Chicot had obtained more information than he needed 
 to enable him to lay out his course. He knew Queen 
 Marguerite well, and he knew that if she was blind tc 
 these love-affairs, it was because she had some motive 
 for placing a bandage over her eyes. 
 
 " Ventre de bicke/" said he, "these avenues of cy- 
 presses, and three thousand feet of shade, make me feel 
 uncomfortable. I am coming from Paris to tell the truth 
 at Nerac, where they have such deep shade that women 
 do not see their husbands walking with other women. 
 Corbiou ! they will be ready to kill me for troubling so 
 many charming promenades. Happily, I know the king 
 is a philosopher ; and I trust in that. Besides, I am an 
 ambassador, and sacred." 
 
 Chicot entered Nerac in the evening, just at the hour 
 of those promenades which occupied so much the King of 
 France and his ambassador. Chicot could satisfy himself 
 in regard to the simplicity of the royal manners by the 
 ease with which he obtained an audience. A valet opened 
 the door of a rustic-looking apartment bordered with 
 flowers, above which was the king's antechamber and 
 sitting-room. An officer or page ran to find the king 
 
HOW CHICOT BLESSED KING LOUIS XL 287 
 
 wherever he might be when any one wished for an au- 
 dience, and he always came at the first summons. Chicot 
 was pleased with this ; he judged the king to be open 
 and candid, and he thought so still more when he saw 
 the king coming up a winding walk bordered with laurels 
 and roses, an old hat on his head, and dressed in a dark- 
 green doublet and gray boots, and with a cup and ball in 
 his hand. He looked gay and happy, as though care 
 never came near him. 
 
 " Who wants me ! " said he to the page. 
 
 " A man who looks to me half courtier, half soldier." 
 
 Chicot heard these words and advanced timidly. " It 
 is I, Sire." 
 
 " What ! M. Chicot in Navarre ! Venire-saint-gru t 
 welcome, dear M. Chicot ! " 
 
 "A thousand thanks, Sire." 
 
 " Still alive, thank God ! " 
 
 " I hope so, at least, dear sire," said Chicot, transported 
 with happiness. 
 
 " Ah, imrhleu ! we will drink together. Eeally, you 
 make me very happy, M. Chicot; sit there." And he 
 pointed to a grassy bank. 
 
 " Oh, no. Sire." 
 
 " Have you come two hundred leagues to see me, and 
 shall I leave you standing % No, no ; sit down. One can- 
 not talk standing.'' 
 
 " But, Sire, respect — " 
 
 " Eespect ! here in Navarre ! You are mad, my poor 
 Chicot." 
 
 " No, Sire, I am not mad ; I am an ambassador." 
 
 A slight frown contracted Henri's brow, but disappeared 
 at once. " Ambassador from whom % " 
 
 " From Henri III. I come from Paris and the Louvre, 
 Sire." 
 
288 THE FORTY-FIVE. 
 
 " Oh, that is different ! Come with me," said the king, 
 rising with a sigh. " Page, take wine up to my chamher, 
 
 — no, to my cabinet. Come, Chicot, I will conduct you." 
 Chicot followed the king, thinking, " How disagreeable ! 
 
 — to come and trouble this honest man in his peace and 
 his ignorance. Bah ! he will be philosophical." 
 
HOW THE KING OF NAVARfiE GUESSES. 289 
 
 CHAPTER XLV. 
 
 HOW THE KING OP NAVARRE GUESSES THAT "TDEENNIUS" 
 MEANS TUEENNE, AND " MARGOTA " MARGOT. 
 
 The King of Navarre's cabinet was not very sumptuous, 
 for he was not rich, and did not waste the little he had. 
 It was large, and with his bedroom occupied all the right 
 wing of the chateau. It was well, though not royally, 
 furnished, and from its windows could be seen the mag- 
 nificent meadows bordering on the river. Great trees, 
 willows and planes, here and there hid the course of the 
 river, which glanced between, golden in the sunlight, or 
 silver in the light of the moon. This beautiful panorama 
 was terminated by a range of hills, which looked violet in 
 the evening light. The windows on the other side looked 
 upon the court of the chateau. All these natural beauties 
 interested Chicot less than the arrangements of the room, 
 which was the ordinary sitting-room of Henri. 
 
 The king seated himself, with his usual simplicity and 
 his constant smile, in a great armchair of leather with gilt 
 nails, and Chicot, at his command, sat down on a stool 
 similar in material. Henri looked at him smilingly, but 
 with curiosity. 
 
 " You wiU think I am very curious, dear M. Chicot," 
 began the king ; " but I cannot help it. I have so long 
 looked on you as dead that in spite of the pleasure your 
 resurrection causes me I can hardly comprehend that you 
 are still alive. Why did you so suddenly disappear from 
 this world?" 
 
 VOL. I. — 19 
 
290 THE FORTY-FIVE. 
 
 " Oh, Sire ! " said Chicot, with his usual freedom, "you 
 disappeared from Vincennes. Every one eclipses himself 
 according to his need." 
 
 " I recognize by your ready wit that it is not to your 
 ghost I am speaking." Then, more seriously, " But now 
 we must leave wit and speak of business." 
 
 " If it does not too much fatigue your Majesty, I am 
 ready." 
 
 Henri's eyes kindled. " Fatigue me ! It is true I 
 grow rusty here ; but I am not fatigued, for I have done 
 nothing. I have to-day exercised my body much, but my 
 mind little." 
 
 " Sire, I am glad of that ; for, ambassador from a king, 
 your relative and friend, I have a delicate commission to 
 execute with your Majesty." 
 
 " Speak quickly ; you pique my curiosity." 
 
 " Sire — " 
 
 " First, your letters of credit. I know it is needless, 
 since you are the ambassador ; but I wish to show you 
 that, Bearnais peasant as we are, we know our duty as 
 king." 
 
 " Sire, I ask your Majesty's pardon ; but all the letter 
 of credit that I had I have drowned in rivers, thrown in 
 the fire, scattered in the air." 
 
 "And why so T' 
 
 " Because one cannot travel charged with an embassy 
 to Navarre as one travels to buy cloth at Lyon ; and if 
 one has the dangerous honor of carrying royal letters, he 
 runs a risk of carrying them only to the tomb." 
 
 "It is true," said Henri, " the roads are not very safe, 
 and in Navarre we are reduced, for want of money, to 
 trust to the honesty of the people ; but they do not steal 
 much." 
 
 " Oh, no. Sire ; they behave like lambs or angels. But 
 
HOW THE KING OF NAVARRE GUESSES. 291 
 
 that is only in Navarre ; out of it one meets wolves and 
 vultures around every prey. I was a prey, Sire, so I had 
 both." 
 
 " At all events, I am glad to see they did not eat you." 
 
 " Ventre de hiche / Sire, it was not their fault ; they 
 did their best, but they found me too tough, and could 
 not get through my skin. But to return to my letter." 
 
 " Since you have none, dear M. Chicot, it seems to me 
 useless to return to it." 
 
 " I should say that if I have none now, I had one." 
 
 " Very good," said Henri, extending his hand ; " give 
 it to me, M. Chicot." 
 
 " Here is the misfortune, Sire : I had a letter, as I have 
 had the honor to inform your Majesty, and few have ever 
 had a better one.'' 
 
 " You have lost it ? " 
 
 " I hastened to destroy it, Sire, for M. de Mayenne ran 
 after me to steal it from me." 
 
 "Cousin Mayenne V 
 
 " In person." 
 
 " Luckily, he does not run fast. Is he still getting 
 fatter]" 
 
 " Ventre de biche / not just now, I should think." 
 
 " Why not 1 " 
 
 " Because, you understand, Sire, he had the misfortune 
 to catch me, and unfortunately got a sword-wound." 
 
 " And the letter 1 " 
 
 " He had not a glimpse of it, thanks to my precautions." 
 
 " Bravo ! your journey is interesting. You must tell 
 me the details. But one thing disquiets me, — if the let- 
 ter was destroyed for M. de ]\Iayenne, it is also destroyed 
 for me. How, then, shall I know what my brother Henri 
 wrote, if the letter no longer exists ? " 
 
 " Pardon, Sire ; it exists in my memory." 
 
292 THE FORTY-FIVE. 
 
 " How so 1 " 
 
 " Sire, before destroying it I learned it by heart." 
 
 " An excellent idea, M. Chicot ! You will recite it to 
 me, will you not 1 " 
 
 " Willingly, Sire." 
 
 " Word for word t " 
 
 " Yes, Sire ; although I do not know the language, I 
 have a good memory." 
 
 " What language 1 " 
 
 "Latin." 
 
 " I do not understand you. Was my brother Henri's 
 letter written in Latin 1 " 
 
 " Yes, Sire." 
 
 "And why?" 
 
 " Ah, Sire, doubtless because Latin is an audacious 
 language, — a language which may say anything, and in 
 which Persius and Juvenal have immortalized the follies 
 and errors of kings." 
 
 " Kings 1 " 
 
 " And of queens, Sire." 
 
 The king began to frown. 
 
 " I mean emperors and empresses," continued Chicot. 
 
 "You know Latin, M. Chicot V 
 
 "Yes and no, Sire." 
 
 " You are fortunate if it is ' yes,' for you have an im- 
 mense advantage over me, who do not know it. For that 
 reason I have never been able to attend seriously to the 
 Mass, on account of that devilish Latin. Then you know 
 it, do you?" 
 
 "They taught me to read it. Sire, as well as Greek and 
 Hebrew." 
 
 " That is very convenient, M. Chicot ; you are a living 
 book." 
 
 " Your Majesty has found the exact word, — ' a book.' 
 
HOW THE KING OF NAVARRE GUESSES. 293 
 
 They print something on my memory ; they send me 
 where they like ; I arrive ; I am read and understood." 
 
 " Or not understood." 
 
 "How so, Sire?" 
 
 " Why, if one does not know the language in which 
 you are printed." 
 
 " Oh, Sire, kings know everything." 
 
 " That is what we tell the people, and what flatterers 
 tell us." 
 
 " Then, Sire, it is useless for me to recite to your 
 ilajesty the letter which I learned by heart, since neither 
 of us would understand it." 
 
 "Is Latin not very much like Italian t " 
 
 " So they say. Sire." 
 
 " And Spanish 1 " 
 
 " I believe so." 
 
 " Then let us try. I know a little Italian, and my 
 Gascon patois is something like Spanish ; perhaps I may 
 understand Latin without ever having learned it." 
 
 " Your Majesty orders me to repeat it, then'? " 
 
 " I beg you, dear M. Chicot." 
 
 Chicot began, — 
 
 " Frater carissime, — Sincerus amor quo te prosequebatur 
 germanus roster Carolus Nonus, functus iiuper, colet usque 
 regiam nostram et pectori meo pertinaciter adheeret." 
 
 " If I am not mistaken," said Henri, interrupting, "they 
 speak in this phrase of love, obstinacy, and of my brother, 
 Charles IX." 
 
 " Very likely," said Chicot. " Latin is suCh a beauti- 
 ful language that all that might go in one sentence." 
 
 " Go on," said the king. 
 
 Chicot began again, and Henri listened with the utmost 
 calm to all the passages about Turenne and his wife ; 
 
294 THE FORTY-FIVE. 
 
 only at the word " Turennius," he said, " Does not 
 ' Turennius ' mean Turenue 1 " 
 
 " I think so, Sire." 
 
 " And ' Margota ' must be the pet name which my 
 brothers gave to their sister Marguerite, my beloved 
 wife." 
 
 " It is possible," said Chicot ; and he continued his 
 letter to the end without the king's face changing in the 
 least. 
 
 " Is it finished 1 " asked Henri, when he stopped. 
 
 "Yes, Sire." 
 
 " It ought to be superb." 
 
 " I think so also, Sire." 
 
 " How unfortunate that I understood only two words, 
 ' Turennius ' and ' Margota ' ! " 
 
 " An irreparable misfortune. Sire, unless your Majesty 
 decides on having it translated by some one." 
 
 " Oh, no ! you yourself, M. Chicot, who were so dis- 
 creet in destroying the autograph, you would not counsel 
 me to make this letter public ? " 
 
 " But I think that the king's letter to you, recom- 
 mended to me so carefully, and sent to your Majesty by 
 a private hand, must contain here and there good things 
 from which your Majesty might derive some advantage." 
 
 " Yes, but to confide these good things to any one, I 
 must have great confidence in him." 
 
 " Certainly." 
 
 " Well, I have an idea. Go and find my wife Margota. 
 She is learned, and will understand it if you recite it to 
 her; then she can explain it to me." 
 
 "That is an excellent plan." 
 
 " Is it not f Go ! " 
 
 " I will, Sire." 
 
 " Mind not to alter a word of the letter." 
 
HOW THE KING OF NAVARRE GUESSES. 293 
 
 " That would be impossible, Sire. To do that I must 
 know Latin." 
 
 " Go, then, my friend." 
 
 Chicot received directions for finding Madame Mar- 
 guerite, and went away more convinced than ever that 
 the king was an enigma. 
 
29G THE FORTY-FIVE. 
 
 CHAPTER XLVI. 
 
 THE AVENUE THEEE THOUSAND FEET LONG. 
 
 The queen inhabited the other wing of the chateau. The 
 famous avenue began at her very window, and her eyes 
 rested only on grass and flowers. A native poet (Mar- 
 guerite, in the provinces as in Paris, was always the star 
 of the poets) had composed a sonnet about her. 
 
 " She wishes," said he, " by all these agreeable sights 
 to chase away painful memories." 
 
 Daughter, sister, and wife of a king as she was, 
 Marguerite had indeed suffered much. Her philosophy, 
 although more boasted of than that of the king, was less 
 solid, for it was due only to study, while his was natural. 
 Therefore, philosopher as she was, or rather, tried to be, 
 time and grief had already begun to leave their marks 
 on her countenance. Still she was remarkably beautiful. 
 With her joyous yet sweet smile, her brilliant and yet 
 soft eyes, Marguerite was still an adorable creature. She 
 was idolized at Nerac, whither she brought elegance, joy, 
 and life. She, a Parisian princess, supported patiently a 
 provincial life ; and this alone was a virtue in the eyes of 
 the inhabitants. Every one loved her, both as queen and 
 as woman. 
 
 FuU of hatred for her enemies, but patient that she 
 might avenge herself better ; feeling instinctively that 
 under the mask of carelessness and long-suffering worn by 
 Henri de Navarre he had a bad feeling towards her, — she 
 
THE AVENUE THREE THOUSAND FEET LONG. 297 
 
 had accustomed herself to replace by poetry, and by the 
 semblance of love, relatives, husband, and friends. 
 
 Kg one, excepting Catherine de Medicis, Chicot, or 
 melancholy ghosts returned from the realms of death, 
 could have told why Marguerite's cheeks were often so 
 pale, why her eyes often filled with tears, or why her 
 heart often betrayed its melancholy void. Marguerite 
 had no more confidants ; she had been betrayed too 
 often. 
 
 However, her belief that Henri had a hostile feeling to- 
 wards her was instinctive only, and came rather from the 
 consciousness of her own faults than from his behavior. 
 He treated her like a daughter of France, always spoke to 
 her with respectful politeness or grateful kindness, and 
 was always the husband and friend. 
 
 When Chicot arrived at the place indicated to him by 
 Henri, he found no one ; Marguerite, they said, was at 
 the end of the famous avenue. "When he had gone about 
 two thirds of its length, he saw at the end, in an arbor 
 covered with jasmine, clematis, and broom, a group cov- 
 ered with ribbons, feathers, velvets, and swords. Perhaps 
 all this finery was slightlj' old-fashioned, but for Nerac it 
 was brilliant ; and even Chicot, coming straight from Paris, 
 was satisfied with the coup d'odl. 
 
 As a page of the king preceded Chicot, the queen, 
 whose eyes wandered here and there with the continual 
 restlessness of melancholy hearts, saw the colors of Na^ 
 varre and called to him. " What do you want, D'Aubiac 1 " 
 she asked. 
 
 " Madame, a gentleman from Paris, an envoy from the 
 Louvre to the King of Navarre, and sent by his Majesty 
 to you, desires to speak to your Majesty.'' 
 
 A sudden flush passed over Marguerite's face, and she 
 turned quickly. Chicot was standing near ; ISIarguerite 
 
298 THE FOETY-FIVE. 
 
 left the circle, and -waving an adieu to the company, 
 advanced towards the Gascon. 
 
 " M. Chicot ! " she cried in astonishment. 
 
 " Here I am, at your Majesty's feet," said he, " and 
 find you ever good and beautiful, and queen here, as at 
 the Louvre." 
 
 " It is a miracle to see you here, Monsieur ; they said 
 you were dead." 
 
 " I pretended to be so." 
 
 " And what do you want with us, M. Chicot 1 Am I 
 happy enough to be still remembered in Erance t " 
 
 " Oh, Madame," said Chicot, smiling, " we do not for- 
 get queens of your age and your beauty. The King of 
 France even writes on this subject to the King of 
 Navarre." 
 
 Marguerite colored. " He writes ? " 
 
 « Yes, Madame." 
 
 " And you have brought the letter 1 " 
 
 " I have not brought it, Madame, for reasons that the 
 King of Navarre will explain to you, but learned it by 
 heart and repeated it." 
 
 " I understand. This letter was important, and yon 
 feared to lose it, or have it stolen." 
 
 " That is the truth, Madame ; but the letter was written 
 in Latin." 
 
 " Oh, very well ; you are aware that I know Latin." 
 
 "And the King of Navarre, does he know it '! " 
 
 " Dear M. Chicot, it is very difficult to find out what 
 he does or does not know. If one can believe appear- 
 ances, he knows very little of it, for he never seems to 
 understand when I speak to any one in that language. 
 Then you told him the purport of the letter 1 " 
 
 " It was to him it was addressed." 
 
 " And did he seem to understand 1 " 
 
THE AVENUE THREE THOUSAND FEET LONG, 299 
 
 " Only two words." 
 
 " What were they 1 " 
 
 " ' Turennius ' and ' Margota.' " 
 
 " ' Turennius ' and ' Margota ' 1 " 
 
 " Yes ; those two words were in the letter." 
 
 " Then what did he do ] " 
 
 " He sent me to you, Madame." 
 
 "Tome?" 
 
 " Yes, saying that the letter contained things of too 
 much importance to be confided to a stranger, and that 
 it was better to take it to you, who are the most beauti- 
 ful of learned ladies, and the most learned of beautiful 
 ones." 
 
 " I will listen to you, M. Chicot, since such are the 
 king's orders." 
 
 " Thank you, Madame ; where does your Majesty wish 
 me to deliver it? " 
 
 " Come to my cabinet." 
 
 Marguerite looked earnestly at Chicot, who, through 
 pity for her, had let her have a glimpse of the truth. 
 The poor woman felt the need of a support, of a last 
 return to love perhaps, before encountering the trial 
 that awaited her. She turned towards a gentleman in 
 the group, and said, " M. de Turenne, your arm to the 
 chateau. Precede us, M. Chicot." 
 
300 THE FORTY-FIVE. 
 
 CHAPTER XLVII. 
 
 marguerite's cabinet. 
 
 Marguerite's cabinet was fashionably furnished ; and 
 tapestries, enamels, china, books, and manuscripts in 
 ("ireek, Latin, and French, covered all the tables ; while 
 birds in their cages, dogs on the carpet, formed a living 
 world round Marguerite. 
 
 The queen was a woman to understand Epicurus, — 
 not in Greek only ; she occupied her life so well that 
 from a thousand griefs she drew forth a pleasure. 
 
 Chicot was invited to sit down in a beautiful armchair 
 of tapestry, representing a Cupid scattering a cloud of 
 flowers ; and a page, handsome and richly dressed, offered 
 to him refreshment. He did not accept it, but as soon 
 as the Vicomte de Turenne had left them, began to 
 recite his letter. "We already know this letter, having 
 read it with Chicot, and therefore think it useless to fol- 
 low the Latin translation. Chicot spoke with tire worst 
 accent possible, that Marguerite might be slower in un- 
 derstanding it ; but she understood it perfectly, and could 
 not hide her rage and indignation. She knev^ her 
 brother's dislike to her, and her mind was divided be- 
 tween anger and fear. But as he concluded, she decided 
 on her part. 
 
 " By the holy communion," said she, when Chicot had 
 finished, " my brother writes well in Latin ! What ve- 
 hemence ! what style ! I should never have believed him 
 
MARGUERITE'S CABINET. 301 
 
 capable of it. But do you not understand it, M. Chicot '? 
 I thought you were a good Latin scholar." 
 
 " Madame, I have forgotten it ; all that I remember is 
 that Latin has no article, that it has a vocative, and that 
 ' head ' is of the neuter gender." 
 
 " Really ! " said some one, entering noiselessly and 
 merrily. It was the King of Navarre. " ' Head ' is of 
 the neuter gender, M. Chicot? Why is it not masculinef 
 
 " Ah, Sire, I do not know ; it astonishes me as much 
 as it does your Majesty." 
 
 " It must be because it is sometimes the man, 
 sometimes the woman, that rules, according to their 
 temperaments.'' 
 
 " That is an excellent reason. Sire." 
 
 " I am glad to be a more profound philosopher than I 
 thought. But to return to the letter. Madame, I burn 
 to hear news from the court of France, and 'M. Chicot 
 brings them to me in an unknown tongue. Otherwise — " 
 
 " Otherwise 1 " repeated Marguerite. 
 
 " Otherwise, I should be delighted, ventre-saint-gris ! 
 You know how much I like news, and especially scanda- 
 lous news, such as my brother, Henri de Valois, so well 
 knows how to repeat." And Henri de Navarre sat down, 
 rubbing his hands. 
 
 " Come, M. Chicot," the king continued, with the man- 
 ner of a man preparing to enjoy himself, " you have re- 
 peated that famous letter to my wife, have you not ? " 
 
 "Yes, Sire." 
 
 "Well, my dear, teJ me what that famous letter 
 contains." 
 
 " Do you not fear. Sire, that the Latin is a bad prog- 
 nostic ? " said Chicot. 
 
 " Why so % " asked the king. Then, turning towards 
 his wife, " Well, Madame 1 " 
 
302 THE FORTY-FIVE. 
 
 Marguerite hesitated for a moment, as if recalling one 
 by one the phrases that had fallen from Chicot's lips. 
 " Oar messenger is right, Sire," she said, when her ex- 
 amination was finished, and her course decided upon; 
 "the Latin is a bad sign." 
 
 " What ! " said Henri, " does the letter contain any- 
 thing disagreeable, — from your brother, who is so clever 
 and polite 1 " 
 
 " Even when he had me insulted in my litter, as 
 happened near Sens, when I left Paris to rejoin you, 
 Sire." 
 
 " When one has a brother whose own conduct is 
 irreproachable," said Henri, in an indefinable tone 
 between jest and earnest, — "a brother a king, and very 
 punctilious — " 
 
 " He ought to care for the true honor of his sister and 
 of his house. I do not suppose, Sire, that if your sister, 
 Catherine d'Albret, occasioned some scandal, you would 
 have it published by a captain of the guards." 
 
 " Oh, I am like a good-natured bourgeois, and not a 
 king ; but the letter, the letter ! since it was addressed 
 to me, I wish to know what it contains." 
 
 " It is a perfidious letter. Sire." 
 
 " Bah ! " 
 
 " Oh, yes, and which contains more calumnies than are 
 necessary to embroil a husband with his wife, and a friend 
 with his friends." 
 
 " Oh, oh ! embroil a husband with his wife ! you and 
 me, then"?" 
 
 " Yes, Sire." 
 
 " And in what way, my dear 1 " 
 
 Chicot was on thorns ; he would have given much, 
 hungry as he was, to be in bed without supper. " The 
 storm is about to burst," thought he. 
 
MARGUERITE'S CABINET. 303 
 
 "Sire," said Marguerite, "I much regret that your 
 Majesty has forgotten your Latin." 
 
 " Madame, of all the Latin I learned, I remember but 
 one phrase, — ' Dens et virtus seterna,' — a singular as- 
 semblage of masculine, feminine, and neuter, which my 
 professor never could explain except by the Greek, which 
 I understand still less than I do Latin." 
 
 " Sire, if you did understand, you would see in the 
 letter many compliments to me." 
 
 " But how could compliments embroil us, Madame 1 
 For as long as your brother pays you compliments, I 
 shall agree with him ; if he speaks ill of you, I shall 
 understand his policy." 
 
 " Ah ! if he spoke ill of me, you would understand it 1 " 
 
 "Yes; he has reasons for embroiling us, which I know 
 ■well." 
 
 " Well, then, Sire, these compliments are only an in- 
 sinuating prelude to calumnious accusations against your 
 friends and mine." 
 
 After boldly uttering these words, Marguerite awaited 
 a contradiction. Chicot lowered his head ; Henri raised 
 his shoulders. 
 
 "Come, my dear," said the king, "you have under- 
 stood the Latin none too well, after all ; such an evil 
 intention cannot be in my brother's letter." 
 
 Although Henri uttered these words in gentle and 
 pleasant tones. Marguerite shot at him a glance of de- 
 fiance. "Understand me to the end, Sire," she said. 
 
 " God is my witness that I ask nothing better," replied 
 Henri. 
 
 " Do you want your followers or not, Sire 1 " said 
 she. 
 
 " Do I want them 1 What a question ! What should 
 I do without them, and reduced to my own resources'?" 
 
304 THE FORTY-FIVE. 
 
 " Well, Sire, the king wishes to detach your best 
 servants from you." 
 
 " I defy him ! " 
 
 " Bravo, Sire ! " said Chicot. 
 
 " Yes," said Henri, with that apparent candor with 
 which to the end of his life he deceived people, " for my 
 followers are attached to me through love, and not through 
 interest ; I have nothing to give them." 
 
 "You give to them all your heart and your' faith. 
 Sire ; it is the best return a king can make his friends." 
 
 " Yes, my dear; welH " 
 
 " Well, Sire, have more faith in them." 
 
 " Ventre-saint-gris 1 I shall not lose faith in them till 
 they compel me to ; that is to say, till they forfeit it." 
 
 " Well, Sire, the attempt is made to show that they 
 have deserved to lose it, that is all." 
 
 "Ah! but how?" 
 
 " I cannot tell you, Sire, without compromising — " 
 and she glanced at Chicot. 
 
 " Dear M. Chicot," said Henri, " pray wait for me in 
 my cabinet ; the queen has something particular to say 
 to me." 
 
THE EXPLANATION. 305 
 
 CHAPTER XLVIII. 
 
 THE EXPLANATION. 
 
 To get rid of a witness whom Marguerite believed to 
 know more of Latin than he admitted, was ah'eady a 
 triumph, or at least a pledge of security for her ; for 
 alone with her husband, she could give whatever trans- 
 lation of the Latin she pleased. 
 
 Henri and his wife were, then, left together alone. 
 He had on his face no appearance of disquietude or 
 menace ; decidedly he could not understand Latin. 
 
 "Monsieur,'' said Marguerite, "I wait for you to 
 interrogate me." 
 
 " This letter preoccupies you much, my dear ; do not 
 alarm yourself thus.'' 
 
 " Sire, it is because that letter is, or should be, an 
 event. A king does not in this way send a messen- 
 ger to a brother king without reasons of the highest 
 importance." 
 
 " Well, my dear, let us leave it for the present ; have 
 you not something like a ball this evening'?" 
 
 " Yes, Sire," said Marguerite, astonished, " but that is 
 not extraordinary; you know we dance nearly every 
 evening." 
 
 " I have a great chase for to-morrow." 
 
 " Each our pleasure, Sire ; you love the chase, I the 
 dance." 
 
 " Yes, my dear ; and there is no harm in that," said 
 Henri, sighing. 
 
 VOL. I. — 20 
 
306 THE FORTY-FIVE. 
 
 " Certainly not ; but your Majesty sighed as you said it." 
 
 " Listen to me, Madame ; I am uneasy." 
 
 " About what, Sire ? " 
 
 " About a current report." 
 
 " A report ! your Majesty uneasy about a report 1 " 
 
 " What more simple, — since this report may annoy 
 you 1 " 
 
 "MeV 
 
 " Yes, you." 
 
 "Sire, I do not understand you." 
 
 " Have you heard nothing 1 " 
 
 Marguerite began to tremble. " I am the least curious 
 woman in the world," said she; "I hear nothing but 
 what is cried in my very ears. Besides, I think so little 
 of reports, that I should not listen to them if I heard 
 them." 
 
 " It is then your opinion, Madame, that one should 
 despise these reports ? " 
 
 "Absolutely, Sire ; particularly kings and queens." 
 
 " Why so, Madame ? " 
 
 " Because, as every one talks of us, we should have too 
 much to do if we listened to them all." 
 
 " Well, I believe you are right, my dear ; and I am 
 about to furnish you with an excellent opportunity of 
 exercising your philosophy." 
 
 Marguerite believed that the decisive moment had come, 
 and rallied all her courage. " So be it. Sire," said she. 
 
 Henri began in the tone of a penitent who has some 
 great sin to acknowledge. " You know the great interest 
 T take in Fosseuse 'i " 
 
 " Ah ! " cried Marguerite, triumphantly, seeing he was 
 not about to accuse her. " Yes, yes ; the little Fosseuse, 
 your friend." 
 
 "Yes, Madame." 
 
THE EXPLANATION. 307 
 
 " My lady-in-waiting 1 " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " Your passion, your love." 
 
 " Ah ! you speak like one of the reports you were 
 abusing just now.'' 
 
 "It is true, Sire, and I ask your pardon," said Mar- 
 guerite, smiling. 
 
 " My dear, you are right. Public report often lies, and 
 we sovereigns have great reason to establish this theorem 
 as an axiom. Ventre-saint-gris ! Madame, I believe I 
 am talking Greek ; " and he burst into loud laughter. 
 
 Marguerite perceived irony in that laughter, and espe- 
 cially in the subtle glance which accompanied it. Slightly 
 uneasy, she replied, " Well, and Fosseuse 1 " 
 
 " She is ill, my dear ; and the doctors do not under- 
 stand her malady." 
 
 " That is strange, Sire. Fosseuse, who you say has 
 always remained chaste ; Fosseuse, who, according to you, 
 would have resisted a king, had a king spoken love to 
 her, — Fosseuse, that flower of purity, that limpid crystal, 
 ought to allow the eye of science to search her joys and 
 her sorrows." 
 
 " Alas ! it is not so,'' said Henri, sadly. 
 
 "What!" cried the queen. "Is she not a flower of 
 purity 1 " 
 
 " I do not say that," replied Henri, dryly. " God for- 
 bid that I accuse any one ! I mean that she persists in 
 hiding the cause of her illness from the doctors." 
 
 " But to you, Sire, her confidant, her father 1 " 
 
 " 1 know nothing, or at least wish to know nothing." 
 
 " Then, Sire," said Marguerite, who now believed that 
 she had to confer instead of asking a pardon, — " then, 
 Sire, I do not know what you want, and wait for you to 
 explain." 
 
308 THE FORTY-FIVE. 
 
 "Well, til en, my dear, I will tell you. I wish you — 
 but it is asking a great deal." 
 
 " Speak on, Sire." 
 
 " To have the goodness to go to Fosseuse." 
 
 " I go to visit this girl whom every one says has the 
 honor of being your mistress, — a thing which you do 
 not deny ! " 
 
 " Gently, gently, my dear. On my word, you will 
 make a scandal with your exclamations ; and really I be- 
 lieve that will rejoice the court of France, for in the letter 
 from my brother-in-law that Chicot repeated to me, there 
 were these words, ' quotidie scandalum,' which must mean 
 ' daily scandal.' It is not necessary to know Latin to 
 understand that. It is almost French." 
 
 " But, Sire, to whom did these words apply 1 " 
 
 " Ah ! that is what I am unable to understand ; but 
 you, who know Latin, can help me to find out." 
 
 Marguerite colored up to her ears, while with his head 
 down and his hand in the air, Henri appeared to search 
 innocently to what person in his court the " quotidie scan- 
 dalum " could apply. " Well, Monsieur," said she, " you 
 wish me to take a humiliating step for the sake of peace ; 
 and for the sake of peace I will comply." 
 
 " Thanks, my dear, thanks.'' 
 
 " But what is the object of this visit 1 " 
 
 " It is very simple, Madame.'' 
 
 " Still, you must tell me, for I am not clever enough to 
 guess it." 
 
 " Well ! you will find Fosseuse among the ladies-of- 
 honor, sleeping in their room ; and they, you know, are 
 so curious and indiscreet that one cannot tell to what 
 extremity Fosseuse may be reduced." 
 
 " But then she fears something'? " cried Marguerite, with a 
 burst of anger and hatred. " She wishes to hide herself] " 
 
THE EXPLANATION. 309 
 
 ■•' I do not know. All I know is that she wishes to 
 leave tlie room of the niaids-of-honor. " 
 
 "If she wishes to hide, let her not count on me. I may 
 shut my eyes to certain things, but I will never be an 
 accomplice in them," said Marguerite. She then awaited 
 the effect of her ultimatum. 
 
 But Henri seemed not to have heard. He had resumed 
 that thoughtful attitude which Marguerite had noticed a 
 moment before. " ' Margota,' " he murmured, " ' ilarj^ota 
 cum Turennio.' Ah ! those are the names I was seeking, 
 Madame, — ' Margota cum Turennio.' " 
 
 Marguerite grew crimson. " Calumnies, Sire ! " she 
 cried. " Are you going to repeat calumnies to me ? " 
 
 "What calumnies'!" replied he, with the most natural 
 air. " Do you find any calumny in it t It is a passage 
 from my brother's letter, — ' Margota cum Turennio con- 
 veniunt in castello nomine Loignac' Decidedly I must 
 get this letter translated." 
 
 " Leave this comedy. Sire," said Marguerite, tremblingly, 
 " and tell me at once what you want from me." 
 
 " Well, I wish, my dear, that you would separate Fos- 
 seuse from the other girls, and having given her a cham- 
 ber by herself, that you would send her a discreet doctor, 
 — your own, for example." 
 
 " Ah ! I see what it is," cried the queen, — " Fosseuse 
 the paragon is near her accouchement." 
 
 " I do not say so, my dear ; it is you who affirm it." 
 
 " It is so. Monsieur ; your insinuating tone, your false 
 humility, prove it to me. But there are sacrifices that no 
 man should ask of his wife. Take care of Fosseuse your- 
 self. Sire ; it is your business. And let the trouble fall on 
 the guilty, not on the innocent." 
 
 " The guilty ! Ah ! that makes me think of the letter 
 again." 
 
310 THE FORTY-FIVE. 
 
 " How SO 1 " 
 
 " Guilty is ' nocens,' is it not?" 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " Well, there was that word in the letter, — ' Margota 
 cum Turennio, ambo nocentes, conveniunt in castello 
 nomine Loignac' Mon jDieu I how I regret that my 
 knowledge is not as great as my memory is good ! " 
 
 " ' Ambo nocentes,' " repeated Marguerite, in a low voice, 
 and turning very pale ; " he undevstands, he understands ! " 
 
 " ' Margota cum Turennio, ambo nocentes,' " repeated 
 Henri. " What the devil could my brother mean by 
 ' ambo ' ? Ventre-saint-gris ! my dear, it is astonishing 
 that you who know Latin so well have not yet explained 
 it to me." 
 
 " Sire, I have already had the honor to tell you — " 
 
 "Eh, pardieu /" the king broke in, "there now is 
 ' Turennius ' walking under your windows, and looking 
 up as if he expected you. I will call to him to come 
 up ; he is very learned, and he will explain it to me.'' 
 
 " Sire, Sire ! be superior to all the calumniators of 
 France." 
 
 " Oh, my dear, it seems to me that people are not 
 more indulgent in Navarre than in France ; you yoursell 
 were very severe about poor Fosseuse just now." 
 
 " I severe ? " 
 
 "Yes; and yet we ought to be indulgent here, we lead 
 such a happy life, — you with your balls, and I with my 
 chase." 
 
 " Yes, yes, Sire; you are right. Let us be indulgent." 
 
 " Oh, I was sure of your heart, my dear." 
 
 "You know me well, Sire." 
 
 " Yes. Then you will go and see Fosseuse ] " 
 
 "Yes, Sire." 
 
 " And separate her from the others 'i " 
 
THE EXPLANATION. 311 
 
 "Yes, Sire." 
 
 " And send her your doctor 1 " 
 
 "Yes, Sire." 
 
 " And no nurse. Doctors are reticent by profession, 
 nurses are babblers by habit." 
 
 " That is true." 
 
 " And if, unluckily, what you say were true, and she 
 had been weak ; for women are frail — " 
 
 " "Well, Sire, I am a woman, and know the indulgence 
 due to my sex." 
 
 " Ah, you know aU things, my dear ; you are in truth 
 a model of perfection, and — " 
 
 "And?" 
 
 " And I kiss your hands." 
 
 " But believe. Sire, that it is for the love of you alone 
 that I make this sacrifice." 
 
 " Oh, yes, my dear ; I know you well, Madame, and my 
 brother of France also, — he who says so much of you in 
 this letter, and adds, ' Fiat sanum exemplum statim, atque 
 res certior eveniet.' Doubtless, my dear, it is you who 
 give this good example." And Henri kissed the cold 
 hand of Marguerite. Then, turning on the threshold of 
 the door, he said, " Say everything kind from me to Fos- 
 seuse, and do for her as you have promised me. I set off 
 for the chase ; perhaps I shall not see you tiU my return, 
 perhaps never, — those wolves are wicked beasts. Come 
 and let me embrace you, my dear." 
 
 Then he embraced Marguerite almost affectionately, 
 and went out, leaving her stupefied with all she had 
 heard. 
 
312 THE FORTY-FIVE, 
 
 CHAPTEE XLIX. 
 
 THE SPANISH AMBASSADOR. 
 
 The king rejoined Chicot, who was still agitated with 
 fears as to the explanation. " Well, Chicot," said Henri, 
 " do you know what the queen says 'i " 
 
 "No." 
 
 " She pretends that your cursed Latin will disturb our 
 peace.'' 
 
 " Oh, Sire, forget it, and all will be at an end. It is 
 not with a piece of spoken Latin as though it were 
 written ; the wind carries away the one, fire cannot 
 sometimes destroy the other." 
 
 " I ! I think of it no more." 
 
 "That is right." 
 
 " I have something else to do, faith, than to think of 
 that." 
 
 " Your Majesty prefers amusing yourself 1 " 
 
 " Yes, my son,'' said Henri, somewhat annoyed by the 
 tone in which Chicot had uttered these words, — " yes, 
 my Majesty prefers to amuse himself" 
 
 " Pardon, but perhaps I annoy your Majesty." 
 
 " Eh ! my son," said Henri, shrugging his shoulders, " I 
 have already told you that here it is not as at the Louvre ; 
 here we do everything openly, — love, war, and politics." 
 
 " The first more than the last two, do you not, Sire 1 " 
 
 " Eaith ! yes ; I confess it, my dear friend. This 
 country is so fine, and its women so beautiful." 
 
THE SPANISH AMBASSADOR. 313 
 
 " Oh, Sire, you forget the queen ; can the Navarrese 
 women be more pleasing and beautiful than she is t If 
 they are, I compliment them." 
 
 " Ventre-saint-gris ! you are right, Chicot. And that 
 I should forget that you are an ambassador, and represent 
 King Henri III. ; and that he is the brother of Marguerite ; 
 and that consequently, before you, I ought to place her 
 before every one ! But you must excuse my imprudence, 
 I am not accustomed to ambassadors." 
 
 At this moment the door of the room opened, and 
 D'Aubiac announced, " The ambassador from Spain." 
 Chicot gave a start which made the king smile. 
 
 " Upon my word ! " said Henri, " that is a contradic- 
 tion that I did not expect. The ambassador from Spain ! 
 and what the devil can he want here 'i " 
 
 " Yes," said Chicot ; " what the devil does he want 
 here 1 " 
 
 " We shall soon know ; perhaps our Spanish neighbor 
 has some frontier dispute to settle with us." 
 
 " I wiU retire," said Chicot. " This is doubtless a real 
 ambassador from his Majesty Philip IL, while I — " 
 
 " The ambassador from France give place to Spain, and 
 that in Navarre ! Ventre-saint-gris ! that shall not he. 
 Open that library door, Chicot, and go in there." 
 
 " But from there I shall hear all, in spite of myself." 
 
 " And you shall hear all, morbleu ! I have nothing to 
 hide. By the way, have you nothing more to say to me 
 from your king % " 
 
 " Nothing at all, Sire." 
 
 " Very well, then, you have nothing to do but to see 
 and hear, like all other anibassadors, and the library will 
 do excellently for that purpose. Look with all your eyes, 
 and listen with all your ears, my dear Chicot. D'Aubiao, 
 let the ambassador enter." 
 
314 THE FORTY-FIVE. 
 
 Chicoi hastened to his place of concealment, and drew 
 the tapestry close. 
 
 When the preliminaries consecrated to the details of 
 etiquette were over, and Chicot, in his place of conceal- 
 ment, had satisfied himself that the Bearnais well under- 
 stood how to give an audience, the amhassador said, "Can 
 I speak freely to your Majesty 1 " 
 
 " You may. Monsieur." 
 
 " Sire, I bring the answer from his Catholic Majesty." 
 
 " An answer," thought Chicot ; " then there was a 
 question." 
 
 " An answer to what 1 " said Henri. 
 
 " To your proposals of last month." 
 
 "Faith! I am very forgetful! please to rocaU to me 
 what they were." 
 
 " About the encroachments of the Lorraine princes." 
 
 "Yes, I remember, particularly those of M. de Guise; 
 go on. Monsieur." 
 
 " Sire, the king, my master, although solicited to sign 
 a treaty of alliance with Lorraine, has regarded an alliance 
 with Navarre as more loyal, and — to speak plainly — 
 more advantageous." 
 
 " Yes, let us speak plainly," said Henri. 
 
 " I will be frank with your Majesty, for I know my 
 master's intentions with regard to you." 
 
 " May I also know them 1 " 
 
 " Sire, my master wUl refuse nothing to Navarre." 
 
 Chicot bit his fingers to convince himself that he was 
 not dreaming. 
 
 " Since he will refuse me nothing, let us see what I can 
 ask," said Henri. 
 
 "Whatever your Majesty pleases." 
 
 " The devil ! " 
 
 " If your Majesty will speak openly and frankly." 
 
THE SPANISH AMBASSADOR. 315 
 
 " Ventre-saint-gris f everything! that is embarrassing." 
 
 " Shall I announce his Majesty the King of Sjiairi's 
 proposal 1 " 
 
 "I listen." 
 
 " The King of France treats the Queen of Navarre as 
 an enemy ; he repudiates her as a sister, and covers her 
 with opprobrium. All this — but I beg your Majesty's 
 pardon for touching on so delicate a subject — " 
 
 " Go on." 
 
 " All this, then, is public." 
 
 " Well, Monsieur, what are you aiming at in this 1 " 
 
 " It is consequently easy for your Majesty to repudiate 
 as a wife her whom her brother disclaims as a sister." 
 
 Henri looked towards tlie tapestry, behind which Chicot, 
 with staring eyes, awaited, trembling, what should follow. 
 
 " The queen being repudiated," continued the ambas- 
 sador, "the alliance between the King of Navarre and the 
 King of Spain is concluded ; the King of Spain will give 
 the infanta, his daughter, to your ^Majesty, and he himself 
 will marry Madame Catherine de Navarre, your Majesty's 
 sister." 
 
 A movement of pride shook Henri, while Chicot shud- 
 dered with terror. The one saw his star rising, radiant 
 like the morning sun ; the other saw the sceptre and the 
 fortune of the Valois ready to decline and fall. 
 
 For an instant there was profound silence ; and then 
 Henri said, " The proposal, ^lonsieur, is magnificent, and 
 crowns me with honor." 
 
 " His Majesty," said the negotiator, who already 
 counted on an enthusiastic acceptance, " proposes only 
 one condition." 
 
 " Ah, a condition ! tliat is but just ; let me hear it." 
 
 " In aiding your j\Iajesty against the Lorraine princes, 
 — that is to say, in opening to your Majesty a way to the 
 
316 THE FORTY-FIVE. 
 
 throne, — my master desires to facilitate hj your alliance 
 the safety of Flanders, which the Due d'Anjou is already 
 attacking. Your Majesty will understand that it is pure 
 preference on my master's part for you over the Lorraine 
 princes, since MM. de Guise, his natural allies, as Catho- 
 lic princes, make of themselves a party against the Due 
 d'Anjou in Flanders. Now, this is the only condition, 
 which you must think reasonable. His Majesty the 
 King of Spain, allied to you by a double marriage, will 
 help you to — " the ambassador seemed to seek for the 
 right word — " to succeed to the King of France, and you 
 will guarantee Flanders to him. I may, then, knowing 
 your Majesty's wisdom, now regard the negotiation as 
 happily terminated." 
 
 Henri took two or three turns up and down the cabinet. 
 " This, then," said he at last, " is the answer you were 
 charged to bring me 1 " 
 
 •' Yes, Sire." 
 
 " Nothing else t " 
 
 " Nothing else. Sire." 
 
 " Well ! I refuse the offer of the King of Spain." 
 
 " You refuse the hand of the infanta ! " cried the Span- 
 iard, with a start, as though he had received a sudden 
 wound. 
 
 " It would be a great honor ; but I cannot think it a 
 greater one than that of having married a daughter of 
 France." 
 
 " No ; but that alliance brought you nearly to the 
 tomb, and this will bring you to the throne." 
 
 " An incomparable piece of good fortune. Monsieur, I 
 know ; but I will never buy it with the blood and honor 
 of my future subjects. What, Monsieur ! I draw the 
 sword against the King of France, my brother-in-law, for 
 the Spaniards ! I arrest the standard of France in its 
 
THE SPANISH AMBASSADOR. 317 
 
 career of glory ! I kill brothers by brotliers' hands ! I 
 bring the stranger into mj' country ! No, Monsieur ; I 
 asked the King of Spain for aid against the Guises, who 
 ■wish to rob lue of my inheritance, but not against the 
 Due d'Anjou, my brother-in-law ; not against Henri III., 
 my friend ; not against my wife, sister of my king. You 
 will aid the Guises, you will say, and lend them your 
 support. Do so, and I will let loose on you and on them 
 all the Protestants of Germany and France. The King 
 of Spain wishes to reconquer Flanders, which is slipping 
 from him ; let him do what his father, Charles V., did, 
 and ask a free passage to go and claim his title of first 
 bourgeois of Ghent, and Henri III., I am certain, will 
 grant it to him, as Frangois I. did. I wish for the throne 
 of France, says his Catholic Majesty ; it is possible, but 
 I do not need him to aid me in getting it. I will do that 
 for myself, once it is vacant, in spite of all the kings in 
 the world. Adieu, then, Monsieur. Tell my brother 
 Philip that I am grateful for his offers, but cannot be- 
 lieve for a moment that he thought me capable of ac- 
 cepting them. Adieu, Monsieur." 
 
 The ambassador was stupefied. He stammered, " Take 
 care, Sire ! the good understanding between two neighbors 
 may be destroyed by a hasty word." 
 
 " Monsieur, understand this : King of Xavarre or King 
 of nothing, it is all one to me. My crown is so light 
 that I should scarcely feel the diiference if it slipped off ; 
 besides, I believe I can guard it. Therefore, once more, 
 adieu, Monsieur, and tell the king your master that I have 
 greater ambitions than he dreams of" And the Bearnais, 
 becoming once more, not himself, but what he generally 
 seemed to be, conducted the ambassador with a courteous 
 smile to the door. 
 
318 THE FOBTY-FIVE. 
 
 CHAPTEE L. 
 
 THE POOR OF HENEI DE NAVAKRB. 
 
 Chicot remained plunged in profound surprise. Henri 
 lifted the tapestry, and striking him on the shoulder, 
 said, " Well, Maitre Chicot, how do you think I 
 managed ] " 
 
 " Wonderfully, Sire ; and reaUy, for a king who is not 
 accustomed to ambassadors — " 
 
 " It is my brother Henri who sends me these 
 ambassadors." 
 
 " How so, Sire 1 " 
 
 " If he did not incessantly persecute his poor sister, 
 others would not dream of it. Do you believe that if 
 the King of Spain had not heard of the public insult 
 offered to the queen, when a captain of the guards 
 searched her litter, he would have proposed to me to 
 repudiate her '? " 
 
 " I see with pleasure. Sire," replied Chicot, " that all 
 attempts will be useless, and that nothing can interrupt 
 the harmony that exists between the queen and yourself." 
 
 " Oh, my friend, the interest they have in making us 
 quarrel is too clear." 
 
 " I confess to you, Sire, that I am not so penetrating as 
 you are." 
 
 " Doubtless Henri would be delighted if I repudiated 
 his sister." 
 
 " Why so 1 Pray explain to me. Peste ! I did n't 
 think I was coming to so good a schouJ.' 
 
THE POOR OF HENRI DE NAVARRE. 31& 
 
 " You know they forgot to pay me my wife's dowry, 
 Chicot." 
 
 " I guessed as much, Sire." 
 
 " This dowry was to consist of three hundred thousand 
 goldeu crowns and some towns, — among others, Cahors." 
 
 " A pretty town, mordieu /" 
 
 " I have claimed, not the money, but Cahors." 
 
 " Ventre de hiche ! Sire, in your place, I should have 
 done the same." 
 
 " And that is why — do you understand now ? " 
 
 " No, indeed, Sire." 
 
 " That is why they wish me to quarrel with my wife 
 and repudiate her. No wife, no dowry, no three hundred 
 thousand crowns, no Cahors. It is one way of eluding a 
 promise, and Henri is clever in laying snares." 
 
 " You would like much to hold Cahors, Sire 1 " 
 
 " Doubtless ; for after all, what is my kingdom of 
 Beam 'i A poor little principality, so clipped by the av- 
 arice of my mother-in-law and brother-in-law that the 
 title of 'king' attached to it is ridiculous." 
 
 "While Cahors — " 
 
 " Cahors would be my rampart, — the safeguard of my 
 religion." 
 
 " Well, Sire, go into mourning for Cahors ; for whether 
 you break with Madame Marguerite or not, the King of 
 France will never give it to you, and unless you take it — " 
 
 " Oh, I would soon take it if it was not so strong, and, 
 above all, if I did not hate war." 
 
 " Cahors is impregnable, Sire." 
 
 " Oh ! impregnable ! But if I had an army, which I 
 have not — " 
 
 " I^isten, Sire. We are not here to flatter each other. 
 To take Cahors, which is held by M. de Vesin, one must 
 be a Hannibal or a Csesar ; and your Majesty — " 
 
320 THE FORTY-FIVE. 
 
 " Well 1 " said Henri, with a smile. 
 
 " Has just said that you do not like war." 
 
 Henri sighed, and his eyes flashed for a minute ; then 
 he said, " It is true that I have never drawn the sword, 
 and perhaps never shall. I am a king of straw, a man of 
 peace ; but by a singular contrast, I like to think of war- 
 like things, — that is in my blood. Saint Louis, my ances- 
 tor, pious by education and gentle by nature, became on 
 occasion a brave soldier and a skilful swordsman. Let us 
 talk, if you please, of M. de Vesin, who is a Csesar and a 
 Hannibal.'' 
 
 " Sire, pardon me if I have wounded or annoyed you. 
 I spoke only of M. de Vesin to extinguish every trace of 
 the mad expectation which youth and ignorance of affairs 
 might have allowed to spring up in your heart. Cahors, 
 you see, is so well guarded because it is the key of the 
 south." 
 
 " Alas ! I know it well. I wished so much to possess 
 Cahors that I told my poor mother to make it a si?ie qnd 
 non of our marriage. See, I am speaking Latin now. Ca- 
 hors, then, was my wife's dowry. They owe it to me — " 
 
 " Sire, to owe and to pay — " 
 
 " Are two different things, I know. So your opinion 
 is that they will never pay me 1 " 
 
 " I fear not." 
 
 « The devil ! " 
 
 " And frankly — " 
 
 " Well t " 
 
 " They will be right, Sire." 
 
 "Why so?" 
 
 " Because you did not know your part of king. You 
 should have got it at once." 
 
 " Do you not, then, remember the tocsin of St. Germain 
 I'Auxerrois 1 " said Henri, bitterly. " It seems to me that 
 
THE POOR OF HENRI DE NAVARRE. 321 
 
 ■a, husband whom they try to murder on the night of 
 his marriage might think less of his dowry than of his 
 life." 
 
 " Yes ; but since then, Sire, we have had peace and — 
 ■excuse me. Sire — you should have profited by it, and in- 
 stead of- making love, have negotiated. It is less amus- 
 ing, I know, but more profitable. I speak. Sire, as much 
 for my king as for you. If Henri de France had a strong 
 ally in Henri de Navarre, he would be stronger than any 
 ■one ; and if the Protestants and Catholics of France and 
 Navarre would unite in a common political interest, they 
 ■would make the rest of the world tremble." 
 
 " Oh, I do not aspire to make others tremble, so long 
 as I do not tremble myself. But if I cannot get Cahors, 
 then, and you think I cannot — " 
 
 " I think so, Sire, for three reasons." 
 
 " Tell them to me, Chicot." 
 
 " Willingly. The first is that Cahors is a town of good 
 productiveness, which Henri III. will prefer to keep for 
 Jiimself." 
 
 " That is not very honest." 
 
 " It is very royal. Sire." 
 
 "Ah ! it is royal to take what you like] " 
 
 " Yes, that is called acting like a lion ; and the lion is 
 the king of beasts." 
 
 " I shall remember what you have just told me, Chicot, 
 if ever I become king. Now, your second reason." 
 
 " Madame Catherine — " 
 
 " Oh 1 does my good mother Catherine still mix in 
 politics ? " 
 
 " Always ; and she would rather see her daughter at 
 Paris than at Nerac, — near her than near you." 
 
 " You think so ] Yet she does not love her daughter 
 to distraction." 
 
 VOL. I. — 21 
 
322 THE FORTY-FIVE. 
 
 " No ; but Madame Marguerite serves you as a hostage. 
 Sire." 
 
 " Tou are cunning, Chicot. Devil take me if I thought 
 of that ! But you may be right. Yes, yes ! a daughter 
 of France would be a hostage in case of need. Well ? " 
 
 " Well, Sire, in diminishing one's resources, you dimin- 
 ish the attractiveness to him of any particular dwelling- 
 place. Nerao is a very pleasant place, with a charming 
 park, and avenues such as can be found nowhere else. 
 But Madame Marguerite, deprived of resources, would be- 
 come weary of Nerac and long for the Louvre." 
 
 " I prefer your first reason, Chicot," said Henri, shak- 
 ing his head. 
 
 " Then I pass to the third. Between the Due d'Anjou,. 
 who seeks to make a throne for himself in Flanders, 
 MM. de Guise, who wish for a crown, and shake that of 
 France, and his Majesty the King of Spain, who wishes 
 for universal monarchy, you hold the balance and main- 
 tain a certain equilibrium." 
 
 " I, — without weight ]" 
 
 " Precisely. If you became powerful, ■ — ■ that is to say. 
 heavy, — you would turn the scale. You would be no 
 longer a counterpoise, but a weight." 
 
 " Ah ! I like that reason, and it is admirably argued. 
 This is the explanation of my situation^" 
 
 " Complete." 
 
 "And I, who did not see all this, and went on hoping ! " 
 
 " Well, Sire, I counsel you to cease to hope." 
 
 " Then I must do for this debt of the King of France 
 what I do for those of my farmers who cannot pay their 
 rent; I put a P against their names." 
 
 " Which means ' paid ' 1 " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " Put two P's, Sire, and give a sigh." 
 
THE POOR OF HENRI DE NAVARRE. 323 
 
 " So be it, Chicot. You see I can live in Beam, even 
 ■without Cahors." 
 
 " I see that, and also that you are a wise and philo- 
 sophical king. But what is that noise 1 " 
 
 " Noise ! where 1 " 
 
 " In the courtyard, I think." 
 
 " Look out the window." 
 
 " Sire, there are below a dozen of poorly clothed people." 
 
 " Ah ! they are my poor,'' said the king, rising. 
 
 "Your Majesty has his poor'? " 
 
 "Doubtless; does not God recommend charity? If I 
 am not a Catholic, Chicot, I am a Christian." 
 
 " Bravo, Sire ! " 
 
 " Come, Chicot, we will give alms together, and then 
 go to supper." 
 
 " Sire, I follow you." 
 
 "Take that purse lying on the table near my sword ; 
 do you see 1 " 
 
 They went down, but Henri seemed thoughtful and 
 preoccupied. Chicot looked at him, and thought, ""What 
 the devil made me t^Ik politics to this brave prince, and 
 make him sad ? Fool that I was ! " 
 
 Once in the court, Henri approached the group of men- 
 dicants. There were a dozen men unlike in stature, feat- 
 ures, and dress. An ordinary spectator would have taken 
 them for tramps. An observer would have seen that they 
 were gentlemen in disguise. Henri took the purse from 
 the hands of Chicot and made a sign. All the mendi- 
 cants appeared to understand that sign. They came for- 
 ward and saluted Henri with an air of humility, which 
 did not preclude a glance full of intelligence at the king. 
 Henri replied by a motion of the head. Then, putting 
 his fingers into the purse, which Chicot held open, he 
 took out a piece. 
 
324 THE FORTY-FIVE. 
 
 " Do you know that it is gold, Sire? " said Cliicot. 
 
 " Yes, my friend, I know." 
 
 " Peste ! you are rich." 
 
 " Do you not see that each of these pieces serves for 
 two % On the contrary, I am so poor that I am forced 
 to cut my pistoles in two to make them go round." 
 
 " It is true," said Chicot, with surprise. " They are 
 half-pieces, with fantastic designs." 
 
 " Oh, I am like my brother Henri, who amuses himself 
 'in cutting out images. I amuse myself with clipping my 
 ducats." 
 
 " Nevertheless, Sire, it is an odd method of giving 
 charity," said Chicot, who suspected some hidden mystery. 
 
 " What would you do \ " 
 
 " Instead of cutting each piece, I would give it entire, 
 and would say, ' This is for two.' " 
 
 " They would fight, and I should do harm instead of 
 good." 
 
 Henri then took one of the pieces, and placing himself 
 before the first beggar, looked at him inquiringly. 
 
 " Agen," said the man. 
 
 " How many 1 " asked Henri. 
 
 " Five hundred." 
 
 "Cahors;" and he gave him the piece and took a 
 second. 
 
 The man bowed and withdrew. 
 
 The next advanced and said, " Auoh." 
 
 "How many?" 
 
 " Three hundred and fifty." 
 
 " Cahors ; " and he gave him his piece. 
 
 " Narbonne," said the third. 
 
 " How many 1 " 
 
 " Eight hundred." 
 
 " Cahors ; " and he gave him his piece. 
 
THE POOR OF HENKI DE NAVARRE. 325 
 
 " Montanban," said the fourth. 
 "How many?" 
 "Six hundred." 
 " Cahors." 
 
 Each one in this way pronounced a name, received a 
 piece of gold, and mentioned a number, which altogether 
 amounted to about eight thousand. To each of them 
 Henri replied, " Cahors," without varying the tone of his 
 voice in uttering that word. The distribution finished, 
 there were no longer half-pieces in the purse, nor beggars 
 in the court. 
 
 " That is all, Sire 1 " asked Chicot. 
 
 " Yes ; I have finished." 
 
 " Sire, am I permitted to be curious 1 " 
 
 " Why not ] Curiosity is natural." 
 
 " What did these beggars say, and what the devil did 
 you reply 1 " 
 
 Henri smiled. 
 
 " Indeed," continued Chicot, " all is mysterious here." 
 
 « Do you think so 1 " 
 
 " Yes ; I have never seen alms given in that way." 
 
 " It is the custom at Nerac. You know the proverb, 
 ' Every town has its own customs.' " 
 
 "A singular custom. Sire." 
 
 " No ; nothing is more simple. Each of those men 
 came from a different city." 
 
 " WeU, Sire 'i " 
 
 " Well, that I may not always give to the same, they 
 each tell me the name of their town, so that I can dis- 
 tribute my benefits equally among all the unfortunates in 
 my kingdom." 
 
 " Yes, Sire ; but why did you answer ' Cahors ' % " 
 
 " Ah ! " cried Henri, with a most natural air of surprise. 
 " Did I say ' Cahors ' ] " 
 
326 THK FORTY-FIVE. 
 
 " Parhleu!" 
 
 " You think so r' 
 
 " I am sure of it." 
 
 " It must have been because we had been talking so 
 much about it. I wish for it so much that I must have 
 spoken of it without meaning to do so." 
 
 " Hum ! " said Chicot, suspiciously, " and then there 
 was something else." 
 
 " What ! something else 1 " 
 
 "A number that each one pronounced, all of which 
 added together made more than eight thousand." 
 
 " Ah ! as to that, Chicot, I did not understand it 
 myself; unless, as the beggars are divided into corpora- 
 tions, they named the number of members belonging to 
 each, — which seems to me probable." 
 
 " Sire, Sire ! " 
 
 " Come and sup, my friend ; nothing enlightens the 
 mind like eating and drinking. Let us go to table, 
 and you shall see that if my pistoles are out, my bottles 
 are full." 
 
 Then, passing his arm familiarly through Chicot's, the 
 king went back to his room, where supper was served. 
 Passing by the queen's room, he glanced at it, and saw 
 no light. 
 
 " Page," said he, " is not her Majesty at home V 
 
 " Her Majesty is gone to see Mademoiselle de Mont- 
 morency, who is ill." 
 
 " Ah, poor Fosseuse ! " said Henri ; " it is true ; the 
 queen has such a good heart ! Come to supper, Chicot." 
 
THE TRUE MISTRESS OF THE KING OP NAVARRE. 327 
 
 CHAPTEE LI. 
 
 THE TRUE MISTRESS OF THE KING OF NAVARRE. 
 
 The repast was joyous. Henri seemed no longer to have 
 any weight either on his heart or his mind, and he was 
 an excellent companion. As for Chicot, he concealed as 
 well as he could the uneasiness he had felt since the 
 coming of the Spanish ambassador and the scene with the 
 mendicants. He endeavored to drink little and keep 
 cool, to observe everything; but this Henri would not 
 allow. However, Chicot had a head of iron ; and as for 
 Henri, he said he could drink these wines of the coun- 
 try like milk. 
 
 " I envy you," said Chicot to the king ; " your court 
 is delightful, and your life pleasant." 
 
 " If my wife were here, Chicot, I would not say what 
 I am about to say; but in her absence I will tell you 
 that the best part of my life is that which you do not see." 
 
 " Ah, Sire, they tell indeed fine tales of you ! " 
 
 Henri leaned back in his chair to laugh. " They say 
 that I reign more over my female than my male subjects, 
 do they not 1 " said he. 
 
 " Yes, Sire ; and it astonishes me." 
 
 " Why so t " 
 
 " Because, Sire, you have much of that restless spirit 
 which makes great kings." 
 
 " Ah, Chicot, you are wrong. I am lazy, and all my 
 life proves it. If I have a love to choose, I take the 
 
328 THE FORTY-FIVE. 
 
 nearest ; if a wine, tlie bottle close to my hand. To your 
 health, Chicot!" 
 
 " Sire, you do me honor," said Chicot, emptying his- 
 glass. 
 
 " Thus," continued the king, " what quarrels in my 
 household ! " 
 
 " Yes, I understand ; all the ladies-in-waiting adore 
 you, Sire." 
 
 " They are my neighbors, Chicot." 
 
 "Then, Sire, it might result from this that if you 
 lived at St. Denis instead of Nerac, the king might not 
 live very tranquilly." 
 
 " The king ! what do you say, Chicot ? Do you think 
 I am a Guise 1 I wish for Cahors, it is true, because it 
 is near to me, — still following my system." 
 
 " Ventre de hiche I Sire, this ambition for things within 
 the reach of your hand resembles much that of Ctesar 
 Borgia, who gathered together a kingdom, city by city, • — 
 saying that Italy was an artichoke to be eaten leaf by 
 leaf." 
 
 " This Csesar Borgia was not a bad politician, it seems 
 to me, my friend." 
 
 "No, but he was a very dangerous neighbor and a 
 bad brother." 
 
 " Ah ! would you compare me to the son of a pope, — 
 me, a Huguenot chief 1 " 
 
 " Sire, I compare you to no one." 
 
 "Why not r' 
 
 " I believe he would be wrong who should liken you 
 to any other than yourself. You are ambitious. Sire." 
 
 " Here is a man determined to make me want some- 
 thing," cried Henri. 
 
 " God forbid. Sire ! I desire with all my heart, on the 
 contrary, that your Majesty should want nothing." 
 
THE TRUE MISTRESS OF THE KING OF NAVARRE. 329 
 
 " Nothing calls you back to Paris, does it, Chicot t " 
 
 "No, Sire." 
 
 " Then you will pass some days with me?" 
 
 " If your Majesty does me the honor to wish for 
 my company, I ask nothing better than to give you a 
 week." 
 
 " So be it ; in a week you will know me like a brother. 
 Drink, Chicot.'' 
 
 "Sire, I am no longer thirsty," said Chicot, who had 
 given up all hopes of seeing the king take too much. 
 
 " Then I will leave you ; a man should not stay at 
 table when he does nothing. Drink, I tell you." 
 
 " Why, Sire 1 " 
 
 "To sleep better. Do you like the chase, Chicot? " 
 
 " Not much, Sire ; and you 1 " 
 
 " Passionately, — since I lived at the court of Charles 
 IX." 
 
 " Why did your Majesty do me the honor to ask me ? " 
 
 " Because I hunt to-morrow, and count on taking you 
 with me." 
 
 " Sire, it would be a great honor ; but — " 
 
 " Oh ! this chase is calculated to gladden the eyes and 
 the heart of every man of the sword. I am a good hunter, 
 Chicot, and I wish you to see me to advantage. You wish 
 to know me, you say 1 " 
 
 " Ventre de biche / Sire, it is one of my strongest wishes, 
 I confess." 
 
 " Well, that is a side on which you have never yet 
 studied me." 
 
 " Sire, I am at your orders." 
 
 " Good ! then it is settled. Ah ! here is a page to 
 disturb us.'' 
 
 " Some important business, Sire 1 " 
 
 " Business at table ! You think you are stUl at the 
 
330 THE FORTY-FIVE. 
 
 court of France, my dear Chicot. Learn one thing, — at 
 Nerac, when we have supped, we go to bed." 
 
 " But this page 1 " 
 
 " Well, cannot he come for anything but business ? " 
 
 " Ah, I understand ; and I will go to bed." 
 
 Chicot rose ; the king did the same, and took his arm. 
 This haste to send him away appeared suspicious to 
 Chicot ; and he determined not to leave the room if he 
 could help it. 
 
 "Oh, oh ! " said he, tottering, "it is astonishing, Sire." 
 
 The king smiled. " What is astonishing 1 " 
 
 " Ventre de hiclie ! my head turns ; while I sat stiU it 
 was aU very well, hut when I rise — " 
 
 " Bah ! " said Henri, " we only tasted the wine.'' 
 
 " You call that tasting, Sire ? You are a drinker, and 
 I do you homage, as to my superior." 
 
 " Chicot, my friend," said Henri, endeavoring to make 
 out by one of his keen glances whether Chicot was really 
 drunk or was pretending, " the best thing you can do is 
 to go to bed." 
 
 " Yes, Sire ; good-night. Sire." 
 
 " Good-night, Chicot." 
 
 " Yes, Sire, you are right ; the best thing Chicot can do 
 is to go to bed." And he lay down on the floor. 
 
 Henri glanced towards the door, and then, approaching 
 him, said, " You are so drunk, my poor Chicot, that you 
 have taken my floor for your bed." 
 
 " Chicot does not mind little things." 
 
 " But I expect some one." 
 
 " For supper ; yes, let us sup — " And Chicot made 
 a fruitless effort to rise. 
 
 " Ventre-saint-gris / how quickly you get drunk! But 
 go along, mordieu ! she is getting impatient.'' 
 
 " She ! who ? " 
 
THE TRUE MISTRESS OF THE KING OF NAVARRE. 331 
 
 "Tho lady I expect." 
 
 "A lady; why did you not say so, Henriquet? Ah, 
 pardon ! I thought I was speaking — to the King of 
 France. He has spoiled me, that good Henriquet. Ah ! 
 I will go." 
 
 "You are a gentleman, Chicot. Now go quickly." 
 
 Chicot rose and went stumbling to the door. 
 
 " Adieu, dear friend," said Henri ; " adieu, and sleep 
 well." 
 
 "And you, Sire?" 
 
 " Sh ! " 
 
 " Yes, yes, — sh ! " and he opened the door. 
 
 "You will find the page in the gallery, who wiU show 
 you your room." 
 
 " Thank you, Sire." And Chicot went out, after salut- 
 ing with as low an inclination as a drunken man could 
 make. But as soon as the door closed behind him every 
 trace of drunkenness disappeared; he took three' steps 
 forward, and suddenly returning he placed his eye to the 
 large keyhole. Henri was already opening the door to 
 the unknown, whom Chicot, with the curiosity of an 
 ambassador, wished by all means to see. Instead of a 
 woman, it was a man who entered. The man took off Ids 
 hat, and Chicot saw the noble but severe face of Duplessis- 
 Mornay, — the rigid and vigilant counsellor of Henri de 
 Navarre. 
 
 " Ah ! " thought Chicot, " this will annoy our lover 
 more than I did." 
 
 But Henri's face showed only joy ; and after locking 
 the door, he sat down eagerly to examine some maps, 
 plans, and letters, which his minister had brought him. 
 The king then began to write and to mark the maps. 
 
 " Oh ! this is the way Henri de Navarre makes love," 
 thought Chicot, 
 
332 THE FORTY-FIVE. 
 
 At this moment he heard steps behind him, and afraid 
 of heing surprised, he turned hastily away, and seeing the 
 page, asked for his room. 
 
 " Come with me, if you please, Monsieur,'' said 
 D'Auhiac, " and I will show you the way ; " and he 
 conducted Chicot to the second story, where a room 
 had been prepared for him. 
 
 Chicot began to understand the King of Navarre. 
 Therefore, instead of going to sleep, he sat sombre and 
 thoughtful on his bed, while the moon shed its silver 
 light over stream and meadows. 
 
 " Henri is a real king ; and he conspires," thought 
 Chicot. " All this palace, park, town, — the whole prov- 
 ince, — is a focus of conspiracy. All the women make 
 love, but it is political love ; and all the men live in the 
 hope of a future. Henri is clever ; his talent borders on 
 genius ; and he is in communication with Spain, the land 
 of deceit. Who knows if even his noble answer to the 
 ambassador was not a farce, and if he did not communi- 
 cate with him by some sign unknown to me "i Hein-i 
 has spies. Those beggars were nothing more nor less 
 than gentlemen in disguise. Those pieces of gold, so ar- 
 tistically cut, were pledges of recognition, — rallying 
 signs. 
 
 " Henri feigns to care for nothing but love and pleas- 
 ure, and then passes his time working with Mornay, who 
 never sleeps, and does not know what love means. Queen 
 Marguerite has lovers, and the king knows it, and toler- 
 ates them, because he has need of them, or of her, — per- 
 haps of both. Happily, God, in giving him the genius 
 for intrigue, did not add to it that of war, for they say he 
 is afraid of the noise of musketry, and that when he was 
 taken, when quite young, to battle, he could not stay 
 more than a quarter of an hour in the saddle. It is 
 
THE TKUE MISTRESS OF THE KING OF NAVARRE. 333 
 
 lucky, for if he had the arm, as well as the head, this man 
 might do anything. 
 
 " There is indeed the Due de Guise, who has both ; 
 but he has the disadvantage of being known as brave and 
 skilful, so that every one is on guard against him, while 
 no one fears the Bearnais. I alone have seen through 
 him. Well, having seen through him, I have no more to 
 do here, so while he works or sleeps I will go quietly out 
 of the city. There are not many ambassadors, I think, 
 who can boast of having fulfilled their mission in one 
 day, as I have. So I will leave Nerao, and gallop till I 
 am in France." And he began to put on his spurs. 
 
334 THE FORTY-FIVE. 
 
 CHAPTEE LIT. 
 
 Chicot's astonishment at finding himself so popular 
 
 IN NERAC. 
 
 Chicot, having taken his resolution, began to prepare his 
 little packet. " How much time will it take me," thought 
 he, as he did so, " to carry to the king intelligence of 
 what I have seen, and of what, consequently, I fear? 
 Two days to arrive at a city whence the governor can 
 send couriers, — Cahors, for example, of which Henri 
 de Navarre thinks so much. Once there I can rest, for 
 after all, a man must rest sometime. I will rest, then, 
 at Cahors, and the horses can run for me. Come, then, 
 Chicot, speed and patience ! You thought you had ac- 
 complished your mission, and you are but halfway 
 through it." 
 
 Chicot now extinguished the light, opened his door 
 softly, and went out on tiptoe. He had hardly gone four 
 steps in the antechamber before he kicked against some- 
 thing. This something was a page lying on a mat outside 
 the chamber, who, awaking, said, " Good-evening, M. 
 Chicot, good-evening." 
 
 Chicot recognized D'Aubiac. "Eh, good-evening, M. 
 d'Aubiac," said he. " But get out of the way a little, I 
 beg. I want to go for a walk." 
 
 " Ah, but it is forbidden to walk by night in the 
 chateau." 
 
 "Why so]" 
 
 " Because the king fears robbers, and the queen lovers." 
 
CHICOT ASTONISHED AT HIS POPULARITY. 335 
 
 " The devil ! " 
 
 " None but robbers or lovers want to walk at night, 
 when they ought to be sleeping." 
 
 "However, dear M. d'Aubiac," said Chicot, with his 
 most charming smile, "I am neither the one nor the 
 other. I am an ambassador, very tired from having talked 
 Latin with the queen, and supped with the king. Let me 
 go out, then, my friend, for I want a walk." 
 
 " In the city, M. Chicot ] " 
 
 " Oh, no ! in the gardens." 
 
 " Peste I that is still more forbidden than in the city." 
 
 " My little friend, you are very vigilant for your age. 
 Have you nothing to occupy yourself with'!" 
 
 " JSTo." 
 
 " Tou neither gamble nor fall in love % " 
 
 " To gamble one must have money, M. Chicot ; and to 
 be in love, one must find a woman." 
 
 " Assuredly," said Chicot ; and feeling in his pocket, 
 he drew out ten pistoles and slipped them into the page's 
 hand, saying, " Seek well in your memory, and I bet 
 you will find some charming woman, to whom I beg you 
 to make some presents with this." 
 
 " Oh, M. Chicot ! " said the page, " it is easy to see 
 that you come from the court of France ; you have man- 
 ners to which one can refuse nothing. Go, then, but make 
 no noise.'' 
 
 Chicot went on. He glided like a shadow into the 
 corridor, and down the staircase ; but at the bottom he 
 found an officer sleeping on a chair, placed right against 
 the door, so that it was impossible to pass. 
 
 " Ah ! little brigand of a page," murmured Chicot, 
 " you knew this and did n't tell me." 
 
 Chicot looked round him to see if he could find no 
 other way by which he could escape with the assistance 
 
336 THE FORTY-FIVE. 
 
 of his long legs. At last ho saw what he wanted ; it was 
 an arched window, of which the glass was hroken. He 
 climbed up the wall with his accustomed skill, and with- 
 out making more noise than a dry leaf in the autumn 
 wind ; hut unluckily, the opening was not big enough, 
 so that when he had got his head and one shoulder 
 through, and had taken away his foot from its resting- 
 place on the wall, he found himself hanging between 
 heaven and earth, without being able either to advance 
 or retreat. 
 
 He began then a series of efforts, of which the first 
 result was to tear his doublet and scratch his skin. What 
 rendered his position more difficult was his sword, of 
 which the handle would not pass, making a hook by 
 which Chicot hung on to the sash. He exerted aU his 
 strength, patience, and industry to unfasten the clasp of 
 his shoulder-belt ; but it was just on this clasp that his 
 body leaned, so that he was obliged to change his ma- 
 ncEuvre. He succeeded in passing his hand behind his 
 back and drawing his sword from its sheath. The sword 
 once drawn, it was easy — thanks to that angular frame 
 — to find an interstice through which the hilt would pass ; 
 the sword therefore fell first on the flagstones, and Chicot 
 now managed to get through after it. All this, however, 
 was not done without noise, and Chicot, on rising, found 
 himself face to face with a soldier. 
 
 "Ah, mon Dieu! have you hurt yourself, M. Chicot 1" 
 said he. 
 
 Chicot was surprised, but said, " No, my friend, not 
 at all." 
 
 " That is very fortunate. There are not many people 
 who could accomplish such a feat without breaking their 
 heads ; in fact, no one but you could do that, M. Chicot." 
 
 " But how the devil did you know my name ] " 
 
CHICOT ASTONISHED AT HIS POPULARITY. 337 
 
 " I saw you to-day at the palace, and asked who was 
 the gentleman that was talking with the king." 
 
 " Well ! I am in a huny ; allow me to pass." 
 
 " But no one goes out of the palace by night ; those 
 are my orders.'' 
 
 " But you see they do come out, since I am here." 
 
 " Yes, hut — " 
 
 "But what r' 
 
 " You must go back, M. Chicot." 
 
 "Oh, no!" 
 
 "How! no?" 
 
 " Not by that way, at all events; it is too troublesome." 
 
 " If I were an ofiicer instead of a soldier, I would ask 
 you why you came out so ; but that is not my business, 
 which is only that you should go back again. Go in, 
 therefore, M. Chicot, I beg you." 
 
 And the soldier said this in such a persuasive tone that 
 ■Chicot was touched. Consequently he put his hand in 
 his pocket and drew out ten pistoles. 
 
 "You must understand, my friend," said he, "that 
 as I have torn my clothes in passing through once, 
 I should make them still worse by going back again, and 
 should have to go naked, which would be very indecent 
 in a court where there are so many young and pretty 
 women ; let me go, then, to my tailor." And he put the 
 money in his hand. 
 
 " Go quickly, then, M. Chicot,'' said the man. 
 
 Chicot was in the street at last. The night was not 
 f ivorable for flight, being bright and cloudless, and he 
 regretted the foggy nights of Paris, where people might 
 pass close to one another unseen. The unfortunate ambas- 
 sador had no sooner turned the corner of the street than 
 he met a patrol. He stopped of his own accord, thinking 
 it would look suspicious to try to pass unseen. 
 
 VOL. I. — 22 
 
338 THE FORTY-FIVE. 
 
 " Oh, good-evening, M. Chicot ! " said the chief ; 
 " shall we reconduct you to the palace t You appear 
 to have lost your way." 
 
 " It is very strange," murmured Chicot, " every one 
 knows me here." Then aloud, and as carelessly as he 
 could, " No, Cornet, I am not going to the palace." 
 
 "You are wrong, M. Chicot,'' replied the officer, 
 gravely. 
 
 " Why so. Monsieur 1 " 
 
 " Because a very severe edict forbids the inhabitants of 
 Nerac to go out at night, except in cases of urgent neces- 
 sity, without permission and without a lantern." 
 
 " Excuse me. Monsieur, but this edict cannot apply to 
 me, who do not belong to Nerac." 
 
 " But you are at Nerac. ' Inhabitant ' means living at ; 
 now you cannot deny that you live at Nerac, since I see 
 you here." 
 
 " You are logical. Monsieur. Unfortunately, I am in a 
 hurry ; make an exception to your rule, and let me pass, 
 I beg." 
 
 " You wiU lose yourself, M. Chicot ; Nerac is a strange 
 town. AUow three of my men to conduct you to the 
 palace." 
 
 " But I am not going to the palace, I tell you." 
 
 " Where are you going, then 1 " 
 
 " I cannot sleep well at night, and then I always walk. 
 Nerac is a charming city, and I wish to see it, to study it." 
 
 " My men shall conduct you where you please, M. 
 Chicot. Holloa ! three men ! " 
 
 " Oh, Monsieur, I would rather go alone." 
 
 " You will be assassinated by thieves." 
 
 " I have my sword." 
 
 "Ah, true; then you will be arrested for bearing 
 arms." 
 
CHICOT ASTONISHED AT HIS POPULARITY. 339 
 
 Chicot, driven to despair, drew the officer aside, and 
 said, " Come, ^lonsieur, you are young ; you know what 
 love is, — an imperious tyrant." 
 
 " Doubtless, M. Chicot." 
 
 " Well, Cornet, I have a certain lady to visit." 
 
 " Where 1 " 
 
 " In a certain place." 
 
 « Young 1 " 
 
 " Twenty-three years old." 
 
 " Beautiful V 
 
 " As the graces." 
 
 " I felicitate you, il. Chicot.'' 
 
 " Then you will let me pass ? " 
 
 " Why, it seems to me that it is a case of urgent 
 necessity." 
 
 " ' Urgent ' is the very word, Monsieur." 
 
 "Go on, then." 
 
 " And alone 1 you know I cannot compromise — " 
 
 " Of course not ; pass on, M. Chicot." 
 
 "You are -a gallant man, Cornet. But how did you 
 know me 1 " 
 
 " I saw you at the palace with the king. By the way, 
 in what direction are you going ? " 
 
 " Towards the Agen gate. Am I not in the right road 1 " 
 
 "Yes, go straight on ; I wish you success.'' 
 
 " Thank you ; " and Chicot went on more light and joy- 
 ous than ever. But before he had taken a hundred steps 
 he met the watch. 
 
 " Peste I this town is well guarded," thought Chicot. 
 
 " You cannot pass ! " cried the provost, in a voice of 
 thunder. 
 
 " But, Monsieur, I want — " 
 
 " Ah, M. Chicot, is it you % In the streets in this cold % " 
 asked the officer. 
 
3iO THE FORTY-FIVE. 
 
 " Ah, decidedly it must be a bet," tbougbt Chicot ; and 
 bowing, he tried to pass on. 
 
 " M. Chicot, take care ! " said the provost. 
 
 " Take care of what 1 " 
 
 "You are going wrong; you are going towards the 
 gates." 
 
 " Precisely." 
 
 " Then I arrest you, M. Chicot ! " 
 
 "ISTot so, Monsieur; you would be very wrong." 
 
 " However — " 
 
 " Approach, Monsieur, that your soldiers may not 
 hear." 
 
 The man approached. 
 
 " The king has given me a commission for the lieutenant 
 of the Agen gate." 
 
 " Ah ! " 
 
 " That astonishes you 1 " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " It ought not, since you know me." 
 
 " I know you from having seen you at the palace with 
 the king." 
 
 Chicot stamped his foot impatiently. " That should 
 prove to you that I possess the king's confidence." 
 
 " Doubtless ; go on, M. Chicot, and execute your 
 commission." 
 
 " Come," thought Chicot, " I advance slowly ; but I do 
 advance. Ventre de hiche ! here is a gate ; it must be that 
 of Agen. In five minutes I shall be out." 
 
 He arrived at the gate, which was guarded by a sentinel 
 walking up and down, his musket on his shoulder. 
 
 " My friend, will you open the gate for me 1 " said 
 Chicot. 
 
 " I cannot, M. Chicot," replied the man, " being only 
 a private soldier." 
 
CHICOT ASTONISHED AT HIS POPULARITY. 341 
 
 " You also know me 1 " cried Chicot, in a rage. 
 
 " I have that honor, M. Chicot ; I was on guard at the 
 palace this morning, and saw you talking with the king." 
 
 " Well, my friend, the king has given me a very urgent 
 message to convey to Agen ; open the postern for me." 
 
 " I would with pleasure, but I have not the keys." 
 
 " And who has them 1 " 
 
 " The officer for the night." 
 
 Chicot sighed. " And where is he 1 " 
 
 The soldier rang a bell to wake his officer. 
 
 " What is it ? " said he, passing his head through a 
 window. 
 
 " Lieutenant, it is a gentleman who wants the gate 
 opened." 
 
 " Ah, M. Chicot," cried the officer, " I wDl be down in 
 a moment." 
 
 " What ! does every one know me ? " cried Chicot. 
 " Xerac seems a lantern, and I the candle." 
 
 " Excuse me, Monsieur," said the officer, approaching, 
 " but I was asleep." 
 
 " Oh, Monsieur, that is what night is made for ; will 
 you be good enough to open the door ? Unluckily, I can- 
 not sleep, for the king, — doubtless you also are aware 
 that the king knows me 1 " 
 
 " I saw you talking with his Majesty to-day at the 
 palace." 
 
 " Of course ! " growled Chicot. " Well, the king has 
 sent me on a commission to Agen ; this is the right gate, 
 is it not ? " 
 
 « Yes, M. Chicot." 
 
 " Will you please to have it opened 1 " 
 
 " Of course. Anthenas, open the gate quickly for 
 M. Chicot." 
 
 Chicot began to breathe ; the gate creaked on its hinges. 
 
342 THE FOKTY-FIVE. 
 
 — the gate of paradise to Chicot, who saw beyond it 
 all the delights of liberty. He saluted the officer cor- 
 dially, and advanced towards the gate. " Adieu," said 
 he ; " thank you." 
 
 " Adieu, M. Chicot ! a pleasant journey ! But stay one 
 moment ; I have forgotten to ask for your pass," cried he, 
 seizing Chicot by the sleeve to stop him. 
 
 " What ! my pass 1 " 
 
 " Certainly, M. Chicot ; you know what a pass is 1 
 You understand that no one can leave a town like 
 Nerac without a pass, particularly when the king is 
 in it." 
 
 " And who must sign this pass 1 " 
 
 " The king himself ; so if he sent you he cannot have 
 forgotten to give you a pass." 
 
 " Ah, you doubt that the king sent me 1 " cried Chicot, 
 with flashing eyes, for he saw himself on the point of fail- 
 ing, and had a great mind to kill the officer and sentinel, 
 and rush through the gate. 
 
 " I doubt nothing you tell me ; but reflect that if the 
 king gave you this commission — " 
 
 " In person, Monsieur." 
 
 " All the more reason, then. If he knows you are 
 going out, I shall have to give up your pass to-morrow 
 morning to the governor." 
 
 "And who is heV 
 
 " M. de Mornay, who does not jest with disobedience, 
 M. Chicot." 
 
 Chicot put his hand to his sword, but another look 
 showed him that the outside of the gate was defended by 
 a guard who would have prevented his passing if he had 
 killed the officer and sentinel. 
 
 " Well," said Chicot to himself, with a sigh, " I have 
 lost my game ! " and he turned back. 
 
CHICOT ASTONISHED AT HIS POPULAKITY. 343 
 
 " Shall I give you an escort, M. Chicot 1 " said the 
 officer. 
 
 " Xo, thank you." 
 
 Chicot retraced his steps, but he was not at the end of 
 his griefs. He met the chief of the watch, who said, 
 " What ! have you finished your commission already, 
 M. Chicot '? Peste ! how quick you are ! " 
 
 A little farther on the cornet cried to him, " Well, M. 
 Chicot, what of the lady % Are you content with Nerac 1 " 
 
 Finally, the soldier in the courtyard said, " Conlieu ! 
 M. Chicot, the tailor has not done his work well ; you 
 seem more torn than when you went out." 
 
 Chicot did not feel inclined to climh back through the 
 window, and he lay down before the door and pretended 
 to sleep ; but by chance, or rather by charity, the door 
 was opened, and he returned into the palace. Here he 
 saw the page, who said, " Dear M. Chicot, shall I give you 
 the key to all this ? " 
 
 " Yes, serpent," murmured Chicot. 
 
 " Well, the king loves you so much he did not wish to 
 lose you." 
 
 " And you knew, brigand, and never told me ? " 
 
 " Oh, M. Chicot, impossible ! It was a State secret." 
 
 " But I paid you, knave." 
 
 "Oh, dear M. Chicot, the secret was worth more than 
 ten pistoles." 
 
 Chicot returned to his room in a rage. 
 
344 THE FOETY-FIVE. 
 
 CHAPTEE LIII. 
 
 THE king's master OF THE HOUNDS. 
 
 On leaving the king, Marguerite had gone directly to the- 
 apartment of the maids of honor. On the way thither she 
 had called for her doctor, Chirac, who had a room at the 
 chateau, and with him she had visited the poor Fosseuse, 
 who, pale and curiously regarded by those about her, 
 was complaining of pains in her stomach. — unwilling, so 
 great was her suffering, to answer questions or accept 
 relief. 
 
 Fosseuse was at this time about twenty-one years of 
 age, — a tall, handsome woman, with blue eyes, light 
 hair, and a supple and graceful form. For three months, 
 she had not left her room ; she had complained of a lassi- 
 tude which compelled her to lie down, and beginning by 
 reclining on a lounge, she had finally taken to her bed. 
 
 Chirac began by dismissing the bystanders, and taking, 
 possession of the patient, he remained alone with her and 
 the queen. 
 
 Fosseuse, terrified by these preliminaries, to which the 
 expression on the faces of Chirac and the queen, the one 
 impassive and the other cold, lent a certain solemnity, 
 raised herself on her pillow and stammered her thanks for 
 the honor done her by the queen her mistress. 
 
 Marguerite was paler than Fosseuse ; for wounded pride- 
 is more painful than cruelty or sickness. 
 
THE KING'S MASTER OF THE HOUNDS. 345 
 
 Chirac felt the young girl's pulse in spite of her resist- 
 ance. " Where is your pain ? " he asked, after a moment's 
 examination. 
 
 "In my stomach, Monsieur," replied the poor child; 
 " but that would be nothing if I could only have peace of 
 mind." 
 
 " What do you mean, Mademoiselle ? " asked the queen. 
 Fosseuse burst into tears. 
 
 " Do not be troubled. Mademoiselle," continued Margue- 
 rite. " His Majesty asked me to come and cheer you up." 
 
 " Oh how kind, Madame ! " 
 
 Chirac let faU the sick girl's hand, saying, " I know 
 now what your trouble is." 
 
 " You know 1 " murmured Fosseuse, trembling. 
 
 " Yes, we know that you must be suffering very much," 
 added Marguerite. 
 
 Fosseuse was still in terror at finding herself thus at 
 the mercy of science and jealousy, both so unsympathetic. 
 
 Marguerite made a sign to Chirac, who left the room. 
 Then the fear of Fosseuse turned to trembling, and she 
 was near fainting away. 
 
 "Mademoiselle," said Marguerite, "although for some 
 time you have treated me as a stranger, and although I 
 have been told every day of the wrong you have done 
 me — " 
 
 "I, Madame 1" 
 
 "Do not interrupt me, if you please. Although you 
 have aspired to a fortune beyond your reasonable ambi- 
 tions, the friendship which I bore you and that which 
 I have vowed to the maids of honor one of whom you 
 are, urges me to be of service to you in your present 
 misfortune." 
 
 " Madame, I swear to you — " 
 
 " Make no denials, — I have already too much sorrow ; 
 
346 THE FORTY-FIVE. 
 
 do not wreck your honor and mine. I say mine, for I 
 have almost as much interest in your honor as you your- 
 self can have, since you belong to me. Mademoiselle, tell 
 me all, and I will assist you as would a mother." 
 
 " Oh, Madame ! Madame ! do you then believe what 
 they sayr' 
 
 " Take care not to interrupt me, Mademoiselle, for it 
 seems to me time presses. I would say that Monsieur 
 Chirac, who knows the nature of your sickness (you recall 
 his words spoken without hesitation) is at this moment in 
 the ante-chamber announcing to all, that the contagious 
 disease prevalent in the country has reached the palace, 
 and that you are threatened with an attack. ISTeverthe- 
 less, I will take you — there is time yet — to Mas-d'Age- 
 nois, which is a house quite remote from the residence of 
 the king my husband ; we shall be there alone or nearly 
 so. The king is setting out with his attendants upon 
 a hunting expedition, wliich he says will keep him away 
 for several days ; we will not leave Mas-d'Agenois until 
 after your confinement.'' 
 
 " Madame ! Madame ! " exclaimed La Fosseuse, red with 
 shame and grief, " if you believe all that is reported of me, 
 leave me alone to die a miserable death ! " 
 
 " You show no gratitude for my generosity. Mademoi- 
 selle, and you also reckon too much upon the friendship 
 of the king, who has begged me not to abandon you." 
 
 " The king ! the king has said — " 
 
 " Do you doubt what I say. Mademoiselle t If I did not 
 understand the symptoms of your sickness, if I did not 
 divine from your suffering that the crisis is near, I might 
 perhaps have faith in your denials." 
 
 Just then, as if to justify the queen, the poor Fosseuse, 
 attacked by a terrible pain, fell back livid and palpitating 
 upon the bed. 
 
THE KING'S MASTER OF THE HOUNDS. 347 
 
 Marguerite regarded her for a while, without anger, also 
 without pity. 
 
 "Do j'ou still expect me to believe your denials, Made- 
 moiselle ? " she said at last to the poor girl, as soon as the 
 latter was able to rise, showing, as she did so, a coun 
 teuance so distracted and tearful as would have melted 
 Catherine herself 
 
 At this moment, as if God had taken pity on the unfor- 
 tunate girl, the door opened, and the King of Navarre 
 entered hastily. Henri, who had not the same reasons as 
 Chicot for sleeping, had not slept. After having labored 
 an hour with IMornay, and made all his arrangements for 
 the chase so formally announced to Chicot, he had has- 
 tened to the pavilion of the maids of honor. 
 
 "Well, how is iti" said he as he came in; "is my 
 child Fosseuse still suffering t " 
 
 " Do you not see, ISIadame," cried the young girl at the 
 sight of her lover, and strengthened by the succor his 
 arrival brought, '' do you not see that the king has- said 
 nothing; and that I am right in denying 1" 
 
 "Monsieur," interrupted the queen, turning toward 
 Henri, "put an end, I beg you, to this humiliating 
 struggle. I think I understood that your Majesty had 
 honored me with your confidence, and disclosed to me 
 mademoiselle's condition. Apprise her therefore that I 
 know all, so that she can no longer doubt my assertions." 
 
 " My child," said Henri, with an emotion which he 
 did not attempt to conceal, " do you persist in your 
 denial r' 
 
 " The secret is not mine. Sire," replied the courageous 
 child, " and so long as I had not received from your lips 
 permission to tell all — " 
 
 "^Ij child Fosseuse is brave, Madame," said Henri. 
 "Pardon her, I beg you; and you, my child, must place 
 
348 THE FORTY-FIVE. 
 
 perfect confidence in the kindness of your queen ; the 
 acknowledgment concerns me, and I take it upon my- 
 self ; " and Henri took Marguerite's hand and pressed it 
 warmly. 
 
 Just then a sharp pain again attacked the young girl ; 
 yielding yet a second time to the tempest and bent like 
 a lily, she bowed her head with a dull moan. 
 
 Henri was moved to the very depths of his heart as he 
 looked on that pale brow, those eyes wet with tears, those 
 damp, streaming locks ; as he beheld, standing in drops 
 upon the temples and lips of Fosseuse, the sweat of that 
 anguish which is kindred to agony. He threw himself 
 passionately toward her with outstretched arms. " Fos- 
 seuse, dear Fosseuse," he murmured, falling on his knees 
 by her bed. 
 
 Marguerite, stern and silent, went to cool her burning 
 brow upon the glass of the window panes. 
 
 Fosseuse had sufficient strength to raise her arms and 
 place them around the neck of her lover ; then she put 
 her lips to his, thinking that she was about to die, aud 
 that in this last, this supreme kiss went out to Henri her 
 soul and her farewell. Then she fell back unconscious. 
 
 Henri, as pale as she, still and voiceless like her, let her 
 head fall upon the sheet on her bed of agony, which 
 seemed almost as if it were her winding-sheet. 
 
 Marguerite drew near this group, in which pain of body 
 was combined with anguish of spirit. 
 
 " Rise, Monsieur, and let me fulfil the duty you have 
 imposed upon me," she said with dignity. And as Henri 
 seemed disturbed at this manifestation, and half rose upon 
 his knees, " Oh, do not fear. Monsieur," she said ; " since 
 my pride alone is wounded I am strong ; were my heart 
 involved I could not answer for myself; but happily my 
 heart is not concerned in this matter." 
 
THE KING'S MASTER OF THE HOUNDS. 349 
 
 Henri raised his head. " Madame 1 " he said. 
 
 "Not another word, Monsieur," said Marguerite, extend- 
 ing her hand, " or I shall believe that your indulgence has 
 been the result of calculation. We will agree together as 
 brother and sister." 
 
 Henri led her to Fosseuse, whose icy fingers he placed 
 in Marguerite's burning hand. 
 
 " Go, Sire, go," said the queen ; "set out for the chase. 
 The more persons you take away with you, the more 
 will you shield from curious inquiry the bed of — 
 mademoiselle." 
 
 " But," said Henri, " I saw no one in the ante- 
 chambers." 
 
 " No, Sire," replied Marguerite smiling, " they think 
 the plague is here. Hasten, therefore, to seek your pleas- 
 ures elsewhere." 
 
 " Madame," said Henri, " I depart and will go to hunt 
 for us both." And he cast a last tender glance at the 
 still unconscious Fosseuse, and then darted out of the 
 room. Once in the ante-chambers, he shook his head as 
 if to cast from his brow the last sign of disquietude ; then 
 with a smile upon his face, that shrewd smile peculiar to 
 him, he went up to find Chicot, who, as we have said, 
 was sleeping with clenched fists. 
 
 "Eh! eh ! comrade, get up, get up ! it is two o'clock 
 in the morning." 
 
 " Ah, diable ! " said Chicot. " You call me comrade, 
 Sire; do you take me for the Due de Guise perchance^" 
 
 As it happened, Henri, in speaking of the Due de 
 Guise, was accustomed to call him his comrade. 
 
 " I take you for my friend," he said. 
 
 " And you make me prisoner, — me, an ambassador 1 
 Sire, you violate the law of nations." 
 
350 THE FORTy-FIVB. 
 
 Henri began to laugh. Chicot, who was especially 
 a man of wit, could not help joining in the merriment. 
 
 " You are mad. Diable ! why did you wish to leave 
 here ? Are you not treated well % " 
 
 " Too well, ventre de hiche ! too well ; my position here 
 seems to be like that of a goose fattening in a farmyard. 
 Everybody says, ' Little, little Chicot, how fine he is ! 
 but they cut his wings, and keep him shut up.' " 
 
 " Chicot, my good fellow," said Henri, shaking his 
 head, " never fear ; you are not fat enough for my table." 
 
 " Eh ! Sire," said Chicot, raising his head, " you are 
 very merry this morning ; what, then, is the news 1 " 
 
 " Ah, I will tell you ; I am about to set out for the 
 chase, you see, and that always makes me merry. Come, 
 out of bed, comrade, out of bed ! " 
 
 " What ! am I to go with you, Sire % " 
 
 " You shall be my historiographer, Chicot." 
 
 " I am to keep count of the shots % " 
 
 " Exactly." 
 
 Chicot shook his head. 
 
 " Well, what is the matter 1 " asked the king. 
 
 " Well, I have never seen such high spirits without 
 anxiety." 
 
 " Bah ! " 
 
 " Yes, it is like the sun when — " 
 
 "Well?" 
 
 "When, Sire, rain, lightning, and thunder are not far 
 distant." 
 
 Henri stroked his beard, smiled, and answered : " If 
 a storm arises, Chicot, my cloak is large, and you will 
 be protected." He then went toward the antechamber, 
 while Chicot began to dress, muttering meanwhile to 
 himself. 
 
THE KING'S MASTER OP THE HOUNDS. 351 
 
 " My horse ! " cried the king ; " and have Monsieur de 
 Mornay notified that I am ready." 
 
 " Ah ! Monsieur de Mornay is to be the master of 
 hounds for this chase?" asked Chicot. 
 
 "Monsieur Mornay is my sole reliance, Chicot," replied 
 Henri. " The King of Navarre is too poor to indulge in 
 specialties. I have one man only." 
 
 "Yes, but he is a good one," sighed Chicot. 
 
 END OF VOL. I.