"I heard that they had shut the gates."

"Yes, they had."

"Then, how did she pa.s.s."

"In her own fashion. Something took place at the gates of Paris this morning, gentlemen, of which you appear to be ignorant. The orders were to open only to those who brought a card of admission--signed by whom I know not. Immediately before us five or six men, some of whom were poorly clothed, pa.s.sed with these cards, before our eyes. Now, who were those men? What were the cards? Reply, gentlemen of Paris, who promised to learn everything concerning your city."

Thus Mayneville, from the accused, became the accuser, which is the great art of an orator.

"Cards and exceptional admissions!" cried Nicholas Poulain, "what can that mean?"

"If you do not know, who live here, how should I know, who live in Lorraine?"

"How did these people come?"

"Some on foot, some on horseback; some alone, and some with lackeys."

"Were they soldiers?"

"There were but two swords among the six; I think they were Gascons.

This concerns you, M. Poulain, to find out. But to return to the League.

Salcede, who had betrayed us, and would have done so again, not only did not speak, but retracted on the scaffold--thanks to the d.u.c.h.ess, 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 being pointed out. At this sight Salcede stopped his confession, 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."

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 pa.s.sed afterward. M. de Mayneville brought from the Guises the plan of an insurrection which consisted of nothing less than to murder all the princ.i.p.al 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! death to our enemies!" In fact, to enact a second St.

Bartholomew; in which, however, all hostile Catholics were to be confounded with the Protestants.

CHAPTER XII.

THE CHAMBER OF HIS MAJESTY HENRI III.

In a great room at the Louvre sat Henri, pale and unquiet. Since his favorites, Schomberg, Quelus and Maugiron had been killed in a duel, St.

Megrin had been a.s.sa.s.sinated by M. de Mayenne, and the wounds left by their deaths were still fresh and bleeding. The affection he bore his new favorites was very different from what he had felt for the old. He had overwhelmed D'Epernon with benefits, but he only loved him 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 and good-tempered; but when he was in want of money, he used to shut himself up in one of his castles, 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 his men well, for he was remarkably clear-sighted: and though often betrayed, was never deceived. But ennui was the curse of his life; he was ennuye now, and was wondering if any one would come and amuse him, when M. le Duc d'Epernon was announced. Henri was delighted.

"Ah! good-evening, duke; I am enchanted to see you. Why were you not present at the execution of Salcede?--I told you there would be room in my box."

"Sire, I was unable to avail myself of your majesty'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."

"Ma foi! your majesty is right; the subsidy has not been paid, and I am penniless. But it was not that which occupied me."

"What then?"

"Your majesty knows what pa.s.sed 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 through the city, however."

"A groundless one."

"I believe your majesty is wrong."

"On what do you found your belief?"

"Because Salcede denied before the people what he had confessed to the judges."

"Ah! you know that, already."

"I try to know all that interests your majesty."

"Thanks; but what do you conclude from all this?"

"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 Salcede."

"Well, duke, do not look gloomy; I am sad enough already. Do be gay."

"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 your majesty that you hardly encourage the new ones."