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 beg that his brothers would come also. They had a number of plans, which only wanted the sanction and support of the chiefs. Bussy Leclerc came to announce that he had instructed the monks of three monasteries in the use of arms, and had enrolled 500 bourgeois in a regiment.

  Lachapelle-Marteau had worked on the magistrates and had 200 black robes ready for councilors. Brigard had gained the merchants of the Rue Lombards and the Rue St. Denis. Cruce could answer for the University of Paris, and Delbar promised for all the sailors in the port, a dangerous body of 500 men. Each of the others had something to offer, even Nicholas Poulain, the friend of Chicot.

  When Mayenne had heard them 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 Mayenne, “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.”

  “But, monseigneur, 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.”

  “Let me hear it, then.”

  The leaguers looked at each other, then Marteau advanced.

  “Monseigneur,” said he, “we think the success 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 his 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.”

  “Murder him?”

  “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 Procureur Laguesle. St. Bartholomew has taught us how to manage.”

  “This is all well, gentlemen; but you have not told me if you mean, at the same time, to force the doors of the Louvre — that strong and well-guarded fortress. Believe me, the king is not so easily taken as the chevalier of the watch.”

  “We have chosen four thousand men, who hate the king, for this undertaking.”

  “And you think that enough?”

  “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 to send for them, it would take two hours for the messenger to go on horseback, and eight for them to return on foot, so that they would just arrive in time to be stopped at the gates, and in a few hours we should be masters of Paris.”

  “Very good; but supposing all this accomplished, the watch disarmed, the authorities disappeared, and all obstacles removed, what do you mean to do?”

  “Form a new government of honest people. As for ourselves, 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 difficult to satisfy.”

  “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 the Ile de France?”

  Nicholas Poulain, who had hitherto kept in the background, was now forced to advance. “Certainly, monseigneur, there are a great many,” he replied.

  “Could you guess at their number?”

  “About four thousand thieves, three thousand or more beggars, and four or five hundred assassins.”

  “Well, there are at least eight thousand good-for-nothings; of what religion are they?”

  Poulain laughed. “Of all, monseigneur; or, rather, of none; gold is their god, and blood their prophet.”

  “Yes; but their politics? Are they Valois, Leaguers, Navarrais, or what?”

  “Robbers only.”

  “Monseigneur,” said Cruce, “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?” 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.”

  “Diable!” cried the deputies, looking at each other.

  “I think this is a question for grave consideration, gentlemen,” said the duke. “I will think it over, and endeavor 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 who has traveled twenty-four leagues on horseback in forty-eight hours to seek a little sleep.”

  “We humbly take our leave, monseigneur,” said Brigard; “what day shall you fix for our next meeting?”

  “As soon as possible, gentlemen; to-morrow, or the day after. Au revoir.”

  No sooner had he disappeared than a door opened, and a woman rushed in.

  “The duchesse!” they cried.

  “Yes, gentlemen; who comes to save you from your embarrassments. What the Hebrews could not do, Judith did; hope, then, gentlemen, for I 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 Nicholas Poulain, “I wish I were out of all this.”

  CHAPTER XXXII.

  BROTHER BORROMÉE.

  It was about ten o’clock in the evening when the deputies returned home. Nicholas Poulain remained behind the others, reflecting on the perplexing situation in which he found himself, and considering whether he should report all that he had heard to M. d’Epernon, when, in the middle of the Rue de la Pierre-au-Réal, he ran right against a Jacobin monk. They both began to swear, but, looking up, recognized each other.

  “Brother Borromée!” cried Poulain.

  “Nicholas Poulain!” exclaimed the monk.

  “How are you?” asked Nicholas cautiously. “Where in the world were you running to in such a hurry at this time of night? Is the priory on fire?”

  “No; I was going to the Duchesse de Montpensier’s hotel, to speak to M. de Mayneville.”

  “And what for?”

  “Oh! it is very simple,” said Borromée, seeking for a specious answer; “the reverend prior was solicited by the duchesse 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 Guise.”

  “Exactly so; for I hear she is at the Hotel St. Denis, with her brother.”

  “Quite true; but why do you deceive me? It is not the treasurer who is sent with these sort of messages.”

  “But to a princess! Now do not detain me, or I shall miss her.”

  “She will return, you might have waited for her.”

  “True; but I shall not be sorry to see M. le Duc also.”

  “Oh! that is more like the truth, so go on. There is something new going on,” thought Nicholas; “but why should I try to discover what it is?”

  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 of Navarre occupied himself only with love affairs.

  “Paris is all ready, but must wait,” said Mayenne.

  At this moment M. de Mayneville entered, and announced Borromée.

  “Borromée! who is he?” cried the duke.

  “The man whom you sent me from Nancy, when I asked for a man of action and mind.”

  “I remember; I told you he was both. But he was called Borroville.”

  “Yes, monseigneur; but now he is a monk, and Borromée.”

  “Borroville a monk! and why so?”

  “That is our secret, monseigneur; you shall know hereafter, but now let us see him, for his visit disquiets me.”

  “Why, Borroville,” cried the duke, laughing, as he entered; “what a disguise!”

  “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.”

  “And what do you want so late?”

  “I could not come sooner; I have all the priory on my hands.”

  “Well! now speak.”

  “M. le Duc, the king is sending succors to the Duc d’Anjou.”

  “Bah! we have heard that the last three years.”

  “Yes; but this time it is certain. At two o’clock 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?”

  “I heard it from a man who is going to Navarre.”

  “To Navarre! to Henri?”

  “Yes, monseigneur.”

  “And who sends him?”

  “The king, with a letter.”

  “What is his name?”

  “Robert Briquet; he is a great friend of Gorenflot’s.”

  “And an ambassador of the king’s?”

  “Yes; I am sure of it; for he sent one of our monks to the Louvre to fetch the letter.”

  “And he did not show you the letter?”

  “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 suspected, and dismissed him.”

  “You must go yourself.”

  “Impossible!”

  “And why?”

  “Because he knows me.”

  “As a monk, but not as captain, I hope.”

  “Ma foi! I do not know; he seems to know everything.”

  “What is he like?”

  “He is tall — all nerves, muscles and bones; silent, but mocking.”

  “Ah! ah! and clever with his sword?”

  “Marvelously.”

  “A long face?”

  “Yes.”

  “And an old friend of the prior’s?”

  “Yes.”

  “Oh! I have a suspicion which I must have cleared up. Borroville, you must go to Soissons, to my brother — ”

  “But the priory?”

  “Oh! you can invent some excuse to Gorenflot; he believes 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 still alive?”

  CHAPTER XXXIII.

  CHICOT, LATINIST.

  After the departure of the young men, Chicot went on quietly; but 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, and commenced an examination. 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.

  “It is pretty,” said Chicot, “no one could be more generous or more stupid. Decidedly I shall never make anything of the king. All that astonishes me is that he did not have the letter embroidered outside also. Now let me see how much money he has sent. One hundred crowns; just the sum I borrowed from Gorenflot. Ah! pardon, Henri, this is good. 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 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.

  “‘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, however, against ill fortune, so that I do not hesitate to communicate these things to you — things which can only be told 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.

  “‘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, should be more careful than she is of your honor. I advise you, therefore, to watch the communications of Margot 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.

  “‘Those whom as brother and king I denounce to you, generally meet at a little chateau called Loignac, the pretext being generally the chase. This chateau is, besides, 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. Your affectionate,’ etc.

  “Age auctore Chicot,” said Chicot, “here am I, installed counselor of the king of Navarre! This seems to me a bad commission, and in flying one ill, I have fallen into a worse one. Really, I should almost prefer Mayenne. But the letter is clever, and if Henriot be like other husbands, it will embroil him at once with his wife, Turenne, the Guises, and even with Spain. But if Henri de Valois is so well informed of all that passes in Navarre, he must have some spy there.

  “Then, again,” continued he, “this letter will lead me into mischief if I meet a Spaniard, a Lorraine, a Béarnais, 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. Borromée, above all, I suspect may play me some trick. Besides, what did I seek in asking the king for this mission? 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 me from ever reaching the happy age of eighty.

  “Ma foi! but that is not much, for it is only worth living when you are young. But then I might as well have waited for the knife of M. de Mayenne. However, I will take precautions, and 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.

  “Now let me think of my Latin theme,” said he; and this study occupied him until he arrived at Corbeil, where he bestowed a glance at the cathedral, but fixed an earnest look at a traiteur’s, whence came an appetizing 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.

  CHAPTER XXXIV.

  THE FOUR WINDS.

  Chicot, with his little horse, which ought to have been a big one to have carried him, after having slept at Fontainebleau, made a detour to the right, and proceeded toward the little village of Orgeval. He would have gone further that day, but his horse failed him. He put up, therefore, at a good hotel, and went through the rooms to select one where the doors closed well, and chose an apartment which had just been repaired, and the door of which was furnished with a formidable lock.

  Before going to bed, although the hotel had appeared almost empty, 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 over the translation of the king’s letter. There was an extremely high wind blowing, and as it howled in the neighboring trees, it was with a feeling of great satisfaction that Chicot plunged into a very comfortable bed.