“Yes, sire.”

“Nothing else?”

“Nothing else, sire.”

“Well!  I refuse the offer of the king of Spain.”

“You refuse the hand of the infanta!” cried the Spaniard, with a start, as though he had received a sudden wound.

“It would be a great honor, but I cannot think it a greater one than that of having married a daughter of France.”

“No; but that alliance brought you nearly to the tomb, and this will bring you to the throne.”

“An incomparable piece of good fortune, monsieur, I know; but I will never buy it with the blood and honor of my future subjects.  What! monsieur.  I draw the sword against the king of France, my brother-in-law, for the Spaniards; I arrest the standard of France in its career of glory; I kill brothers by brothers’ hands; I bring the stranger into my country!  No, monsieur; I asked the king of Spain for aid against the Guises, who wish to rob me of my inheritance, but not against the Duc d’Anjou, my brother-in-law; not against Henri III., my friend; not against my wife, sister of my king.  You will aid the Guises, you will say, and lend them your support.  Do so, and I will let loose on you and on them all the Protestants of Germany and France.  The king of Spain wishes to reconquer Flanders, which is slipping from him; let him do what his father, Charles V., did, and ask a free passage to go and claim his title of first bourgeois of Ghent, and Henri III., I am certain, will grant it to him, as Francois I. did.  I wish for the throne of France, says his Catholic majesty; it is possible, but I do not need him to aid me in getting it; I will do that for myself, once it is vacant, in spite of all the kings in the world.  Adieu, then, monsieur.  Tell my brother Philippe that I am grateful for his offers, but cannot believe for a moment that he thought me capable of accepting them.  Adieu, monsieur.”

“Take care, sire,” said the ambassador; “the good understanding between two neighbors may be destroyed by a hasty word.”

“Monsieur, my crown is so light that I should scarcely feel the difference if it slipped off; besides, I believe I can guard it.  Therefore, once more adieu, monsieur, and tell the king your master that I have greater ambitions than he dreams of.”  And the Bearnais, becoming once more, not himself, but what he generally seemed to be, conducted the ambassador, with a courteous smile, to the door.

CHAPTER XLIX.

The poor of Henri of Navarre.

Chicot remained plunged in profound surprise.  Henri lifted the tapestry, and, striking him on the shoulder, said: 

“Well, M. Chicot, how do you think I managed?”

“Wonderfully, sire; and really, for a king who is not accustomed to ambassadors—­”

“It is my brother Henri who sends me such ambassadors.”

“How so, sire?”