“Grandchamp, my friend,” said she, “Remy and I are going to accomplish a pilgrimage on which we have long determined; speak of this journey to none, and do not mention my name to any one.”

“Oh!  I promise you, madame,” replied the old servant; “but we shall see you again?”

“Doubtless, Grandchamp; if not in this world, in the next.  But, apropos, Grandchamp, this house is now useless to us.”

Diana drew from a drawer a bundle of papers.

“Here are the title-deeds; let or sell this house; but if, in the course of a month, you do not find a purchaser, abandon it and return to Meridor.”

“But if I find some one, how much am I to ask?”

“What you please, Grandchamp.”

“Shall I take the money to Meridor?”

“Keep it for yourself, my good Grandchamp.”

“What, madame, such a sum?”

“Yes, I owe it to you for your services; and I have my father’s debts to pay as well as my own.  Now, adieu!”

Then Diana went upstairs, cut the picture from the frame, rolled it up, and placed it in her trunk.

When Remy had tied the two trunks with leather thongs, and had glanced into the street to see that there were no lookers-on, he aided his mistress to mount.

“I believe, madame,” said he, “that this is the last house in which we shall live so long.”

“The last but one, Remy.”

“And what will be the other?”

“The tomb, Remy.”

CHAPTER LXI.

What monseigneur Francois, duc D’ANJOU, duc de Brabant and comte de
Flanders, was doing in Flanders.

Our readers must now permit us to leave the king at the Louvre, Henri of Navarre at Cahors, Chicot on the road, and Diana in the street, to go to Flanders to find M. le Duc d’Anjou, recently named Duc de Brabant, and to whose aid we have sent the great admiral of France—­Anne, duc de Joyeuse.

At eighty leagues from Paris, toward the north, the sound of French voices was heard, and the French banner floated over a French camp on the banks of the Scheldt.  It was night; the fires, disposed in an immense circle, bordered the stream, and were reflected in its deep waters.

From the top of the ramparts of the town the sentinels saw shining, by the bivouac fires, the muskets of the French army.  This army was that of the Duc d’Anjou.  What he had come to do there we must tell our readers; and although it may not be very amusing, yet we hope they will pardon it in consideration of the warning; so many people are dull without announcing it.