“Luynes,” said Louis in a tone of weariness, “I hate to hear you talk upon such subjects.  I have more than enough of them from others.  Is De Guise recovering from his wound? for he must also have suffered in the fray, or the Queen-mother would not have sought tidings of him.”

“Fear not for him, Sire,” said the favourite; “he will be quite able to keep the saddle when M. de Conde heads an army to snatch the crown of our fair France from your own brow.”

“Stay, sir!” exclaimed the young King with sudden dignity.  “Have you also forgotten that I am the son of Henri IV?”

“May your Majesty never forget it more than I do,” said De Luynes, with an audacity before which the eye of Louis sank; “but believe me that the fact will avail you little until you have purged the nation of the foreign fungus which is corroding the root of your authority.”

“Albert,” murmured the weak young monarch, “in the name of Heaven, what would you ask?”

“To see you in reality the King of France, Sire.”

“And for this purpose—­”

“You must appease the Princes.  They are weary of the despotic rule of the Queen-mother and of the influence of these Florentines.”

“I dare not urge the Queen to banish them.”

“Nor should you, Sire.  It is for subjects to solicit, and for sovereigns to command.  There is, moreover, a safer cure than exile for such an evil.”

“Nay, now, De Luynes, you jest,” said Louis, striving to force a sickly smile; “you surely would not counsel—­”

“Your Majesty mistakes me,” interposed the favourite; “I would dare anything to secure your safety.  Justice holds her sword as firmly as her balance, and wields the one as freely as she weighs the other.”

“Enough, enough,” gasped out Louis; “we will talk of this again—­but blood, blood, always blood!  It is sickening.  You will attend me to Fontainebleau, Albert; I must have some sport to-day, and endeavour to forget for a time all your moody arguments.”

De Luynes bowed low as he glanced significantly towards Roger, the favourite valet of the King, who replied to the meaning look by an almost imperceptible shrug of the shoulders as he adjusted the mantle of his royal master.

“Go, Monsieur le Grand Fauconnier,” pursued the King, “and see that all is prepared.  I will follow on the instant.”

Ten minutes subsequently the Court of the Louvre was thronged with courtiers, equipages, and led horses; and within a quarter of an hour the voice of the usher was heard at the foot of the great staircase announcing “The King.”  Then Louis himself appeared, and taking his place in the coach which was awaiting him, he motioned De Luynes to his side, gave the signal of departure, and left the palace at a rapid pace.  The royal suite mounted in haste; and ere long nobles, pages, and equerries had disappeared, and all was once more silent beneath the deep shadows of the regal pile.