“Yes, monsieur.”

  “Will you be good enough to tell us what?”

  “A letter.”

  “From where?”

  “From the Louvre.”

  “Sealed with what seal?”

  “The royal seal.”

  Ernanton 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.” — ”Yes.”

  “Monsieur,” continued Ernanton, “I was told to carry it, but this gentleman was to deliver it.” And he handed the letter to St. Maline, who gave it to Chicot.

  “You see,” said Ernanton, “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?”

  “The king did not say,” said St. Maline, with a meaning air.

  “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, Ernanton’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 St. Maline the letter brought by M. Ernanton de Carmainges. — THE SHADE.”

  “Adieu, monsieur,” said St. Maline, taking his.

  “Adieu, monsieur, and a pleasant journey to you,” added Ernanton. “Have you anything else to send to the Louvre?”

  “Nothing, I thank you.”

  Then the young men set off toward Paris, and Chicot in the opposite direction. When he was out of sight —

  “Now, monsieur,” said Ernanton to St. Maline, “dismount, if you please.”

  “And why so?”

  “Our task is accomplished; we have now to converse, and this place appears excellent for an explanation of this sort.”

  “As you please, monsieur;” and they got off their horses.

  Then Ernanton said, “You know, monsieur, that without 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 St. 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 hold the language I did just now.”

  “No; but you think the same.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Because your words were dictated by hatred and envy, and they cannot already be extinct in your heart.”

  St. Maline colored, but did not reply.

  Ernanton 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.”

  St. Maline looked like a demon, and drew his sword furiously.

  “I have fought eleven times,” said he, “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.”

  “Oh!” said St. 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? 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 I can do nothing against you, and unluckily your merit remains. I should not like any one to know the cause of our quarrel.”

  “No one will know it, monsieur.”

  “No one?”

  “No; for if we fight I should kill you, or you would 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, and 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?”

  “No, I have said enough. If you are not content, so much the better, for you are not superior to me.”

  “But, monsieur, one cannot end a quarrel thus, without the risk of being laughed at.” — ”I know it.”

  “Then you refuse to fight?”

  “With you.”

  “After having provoked me?”

  “I confess it.”

  “But if my patience fail, and I attack you?”

  “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 kill you.”

  Ernanton sheathed his sword. “You are a strange man,” said he, “and I pity you.”

  “You pity me!”

  “Yes, for you must suffer.”

  “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?”

  “Yes, and failed. What does the venomous plant? What do the bear and bird of prey? They destroy, but certain people use them for the chase. So shall I be in the hands of MM. d’Epernon and 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.’“

  Ernanton was calmed; St. Maline was no longer an object of anger but of pity.

  “Good fortune should cure you,” said he; “when you succeed, you should hate less.”

  “However high I should rise, others would be higher.”

  They rode on silently for some time. At last Ernanton held out his hand to St. 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.

  CHAPTER XXX.

  DE LOIGNAC’S INTERVIEW WITH THE FORTY-FIVE.

  Each of the young men placed himself at a window to watch for the return of the king. Ernanton, however, soon forgot his present situation, and became abstracted in thinking 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 make ambitious calculations, he forgot why he was sitting there, till, suddenly raising his head, he saw that St. Maline was no longer there. He understood at once that he had seen the king arrive, and had gone to him. He rose quickly, traversed the gallery, and arrived at the king’s room just as St. Maline was coming out.

  “Look!” cried he joyfully, “what the king has given me,” and he showed a gold chain.

  “I congratulate you, monsieur,” said Ernanton, quietly, and he entered in his turn.

  St. Maline waited impatiently until he came out again, which he did in about ten minutes, although it appeared an hour to St. Maline.

  When Ernanton came out, he looked all over him, and seeing nothing, he cried joyfully, “And you, monsieur, what has he given to you?”

  “His hand to kiss,” replied Ernanton.

  St. Maline crushed his chain impatiently in his hands, and they both returned in silence. As they entered the hall, the trumpet sounded, and at this signal all the Forty-five came out of their rooms, wondering what was the matter; while they profited by this reunion to examine each other. Most of them were richly dressed, though generally in bad taste. They all had a military tournour, and long swords, boots and gloves of buckskin or buffalo, all well gilded or well greased, were almost universal.

  The most discreet might be known by 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 each other, when M. de Loignac entered frowning, and placed himself in front of them, with a countenance anything but agreeable.

  “Gentlemen,” said he, “are you all here?”

  “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 to much. 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 tranquillity 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?”

  “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 each other with suspicion and disquietude.

  “Two of you, gentlemen,” continued De Loignac, “have been heard in the open street chattering like a couple of old women, and that about grave things.”

  St. 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 his enemies — precisely one of those whom we have been enrolled to guard him against — had arrived in Paris to conspire against him. This name was pronounced quietly, 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 an emotion; 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 toward them.

  “Nothing can excuse you,” said De Loignac; “even if you were drunk you should be punished for that; and you shall be punished.”

  A terrible silence ensued. Then Pertinax said, “Pardon, monsieur! we are provincials, new to the court, and unaccustomed to politics.”

  “You should not have accepted your posts without weighing their duties.”

  “For the future we will be as mute as sepulchers, we swear to you.”

  “Good; but can you repair the evil you have done to-day?”

  “We will try.”

  “It is impossible, I tell you.”

  “Then, for this time, pardon us.”

  “You live,” continued De Loignac, “with a sort of license which I must repress. Those who find the terms too hard will return; 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.”

  Montcrabeau nearly fainted, and Pertinax grew paler than ever.

  “I shall have,” De Loignac continued, “for smaller offenses 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, and shall only enforce against them my third method of punishment — a fine. You have received one thousand livres apiece, gentlemen; you will each return one hundred.”

  “One hundred!” cried Pincornay; “Cap de Bious! I have not got them; I have spent them on my equipment.”

  “Sell your chain, then. But I have something else to add; I have remarked many signs of irritation between different members of your body, and each time a difference arises I wish the matter referred to me, and I alone shall have the power of allowing a duel to take place. Dueling is much in fashion now, but I do not wish, that, to follow the fashion, my company be constantly left imperfect. The first duel, therefore, that takes place without my permission will be punished with a rigorous imprisonment and a heavy fine. Now fifteen of you will place yourselves this evening at the foot of the staircase when his majesty receives, fifteen will keep without, and fifteen remain at home. Also, as you should have some chief, and I cannot 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 Montcrabeau and M. de Pincornay, you will remember that I expect your fines to be paid to-morrow.”

  They all retired except Ernanton, who lingered behind.

  “Do you wish anything?” asked De Loignac.

  “Yes, monsieur,” said Ernanton, 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, doubtless, but I should wish to know in what this service consists?”

  “That, monsieur, is a question to which I cannot reply.”

  “May I ask why, monsieur?”

  “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 much of which we are ignorant.”

  “You love the king, I suppose?”

  “I do; and I ought to do so, 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?”

  “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 consoles me.”

  “And M. d’Epernon?”

  “He reads the signature of his majesty, and consoles himself as I do.”

  “You are right, monsieur, and I am your humble servant;” and Ernanton was about to retire, when De 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.”

  Ernanton bowed.

  “Perhaps,” continued De 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? It is possible; but look here” — and he drew out a paper which he presented to Ernanton, who read —

  “‘Have M. de Mayenne followed this evening, if he presents himself at the Louvre. — D’EPERNON.’“

  “Well, monsieur?”

  “I will follow M. de Mayenne,” said Ernanton, bowing.

  CHAPTER XXXI.

  THE BOURGEOIS OF PARIS.

  M. de Mayenne, with whom they were so much occupied at the Louvre, set out from the Hotel Guise, booted 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?”

  “Yes, sire; I come in my brother’s name and my own, to recall to your majesty that you have no more faithful subjects than ourselves.”

  “Mordieu!” said the king, “that is so well known that you might have spared yourself this trouble. You must have had some other motive.”

  “Sire, I feared that your regard for us might be shaken by the reports which our enemies circulate about us.”

  “What reports?” asked Henri.

  “What!” cried Mayenne, rather disconcerted; “has not your majesty heard any reports unfavorable to us?”

  “My cousin, know once for all that I allow no one to speak ill in my presence of the Guises.”

  “Well, sire, I do not regret my visit, since I have had the pleasure of finding my king so well disposed toward us; but I will allow that it was needless.”

  “Oh! there is always something to do in Paris.”

  “Yes, sire; but we have our business at Soissons.”

  “What business, duke?”

  “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 De Loignac made a sign to Ernanton, who spoke to his valet, and then followed M. de Mayenne. There was no fear of missing him, for the news of his arrival had spread, and some hundred leaguers had assembled to greet him.

  As the duke reached his hotel, Ernanton saw a litter pierce through the crowd. De Mayenne approached it, and the curtains were opened, and Ernanton thought he recognized his former page. The litter disappeared under the gateway, and Mayenne followed; an instant after, M. de Mayneville appeared on the balcony, and thanked the Parisians in the duke’s name, but begged them to disperse and go home.