it to a letter.”  The king showed signs of being touched.  “I have an idea of taking you away with me to Italy,” said he:  “would you come with me willingly?” “Not only to Italy,” was the answer, “but to the end of the world.  The doctors assure me that I shall soon be in a condition to bear the motion of a litter; I already feel better; your Majesty’s kindnesses will soon complete my cure.”  Francis testified his satisfaction.  Some of his advisers, with more distrust and more prevision, pressed him to order the arrest of so dangerous a man, notwithstanding his protestations; but Francis refused.  According to what some historians say, if he had taken off the sequestration laid upon the constable’s possessions, actually restored them to him, as well as discharged the debts due to him and paid his pensions, and carried him off to Italy, if, in a word, he had shown a bold confidence and given back to him at once and forever the whole of his position, he would, perhaps, have weaned him from his plot, and would have won back to himself and to France that brave and powerful servant.  But Francis wavered between distrust and hope; he confined himself to promising the constable restitution of his possessions if the decree of Parliament was unfavorable to him; he demanded of him a written engagement to remain always faithful to him and to join him in Italy as soon as his illness would allow him; and, on taking leave of him, left with him one of his own gentlemen, Peter de Brentonniere, Lord of Warthy, with orders to report to the king as to his health.  In this officer Bourbon saw nothing more or less than a spy, and in the king’s promises nothing but vain words dependent as they were upon the issue of a lawsuit which still remained an incubus upon him.  He had no answer for words but words; he undertook the engagements demanded of him by the king without considering them binding; and he remained ill at Moulins, waiting till events should summon him to take action with his foreign allies.

This state of things lasted far nearly three weeks.  The king remained stationary at Lyons waiting for the constable to join him; and the constable, saying he was ready to set out and going so far as to actually begin his march, was doing his three leagues a day by litter, being always worse one day than he was the day before.  Peter de Warthy, the officer whom the king had left with him, kept going and coming from Lyons to Moulins and from Moulins to Lyons, conveying to the constable the king’s complaints and to the king the constable’s excuses, without bringing the constable to decide upon joining the king at Lyons and accompanying him into Italy, or the king upon setting out for Italy without the constable.  “I would give a hundred thousand crowns,” the king sent word to Bourbon, “to be in Lombardy.”  “The king will do well,” answered Bourbon, “to get there as soon as possible, for despatch is needful beyond everything.”  When Warthy insisted strongly, the constable had him called up