“Alas!  I know it well.  I wished so much to possess Cahors, that I told my poor mother to make it a sine qua non of our marriage.  See, I am speaking Latin now.  Cahors, then, was my wife’s dowry; they owe it to me—­”

“Sire, to owe and pay—­”

“Are two different things, I know.  So your opinion is, that they will never pay me?”

“I fear not.”

“Diable!”

“And frankly—­”

“Well?”

“They will be right, sire.”

“Why so?”

“Because you did not know your part of king; you should have got it at once.”

“Do you not, then, remember the tocsin of St. Germain l’Auxerrois?” said Henri, bitterly.  “It seems to me that a husband whom they try to murder on the night of his marriage might think less of his dowry than of his life.”

“Yes; but since then, sire, we have had peace; and excuse me, sire, you should have profited by it, and, instead of making love, have negotiated.  It is less amusing, I know, but more profitable.  I speak, sire, as much for my king as for you.  If Henri of France had a strong ally in Henri of Navarre, he would be stronger than any one; and if the Protestants and Catholics of France and Navarre would unite in a common political interest, they would make the rest of the world tremble.”

“Oh, I do not pretend to make others tremble, so long as I do not tremble myself.  But if I cannot get Cahors, then, and you think I cannot—­”

“I think so, sire, for three reasons.”

“Tell them to me, Chicot.”

“Willingly.  The first is that Cahors is a town of good produce, which Henri III. will like to keep for himself.”

“That is not very honest.”

“It is very royal, sire.”

“Ah! it is royal to take what you like.”

“Yes; that is called taking the lion’s share, and the lion is the king of animals.”

“I shall remember your lesson, Chicot.  Now, your second reason.”

“Madame Catherine—­”

“Oh! does my good mother still mix in politics?”

“Always; and she would rather see her daughter at Paris than at Nerac—­near her than near you.”

“You think so?  Yet she does not love her daughter to distraction.”

“No; but Madame Marguerite serves you as a hostage, sire.”

“You are cunning, Chicot.  Devil take me, if I thought of that!  But you may be right; a daughter of France would be a hostage in case of need.  Well, the third?”

“Between the Duc d’Anjou, who seeks to make a throne for himself in Flanders, between mm. de Guise, who wish for a crown, and shake that of France, and his majesty the king of Spain, who wishes for universal monarchy, you hold the balance and maintain a certain equilibrium.”

“I, without weight?”

“Just so.  If you became powerful, that is to say, heavy, you would turn the scale, and would be no longer a counterpoise, but a weight.”