“Is that also the wish of your companion?” said Henri, and he looked at this companion, whose hat was pushed down over his eyes, and who had not yet spoken.

“Yes, comte,” replied he, in a scarcely audible voice.

Henri rose, walked straight to the end of the table, while every one watched his movements and astonished look.

“Monsieur,” said he, to the one who had spoken first, “do me a favor?”

“What is it, M. le Comte?”

“Tell me if you are not Aurilly’s brother, or Aurilly himself?”

“Aurilly!” cried all.

“And let your companion,” continued Henri, “raise his hat a little and let me see his face, or else I shall call him monseigneur, and bow before him.”  And as he spoke he bowed respectfully, hat in hand.  The officer took off his hat.

“Monseigneur le Duc d’Anjou!” cried all.  “The duke, living!”

“Ma foi, gentlemen,” replied he, “since you will recognize your conquered and fugitive prince, I shall not deny myself to you any longer.  I am the Duc d’Anjou.”

“Vive, monseigneur!” cried all.

CHAPTER LXXIII.

Paul-Emile.

“Oh! silence, gentlemen,” said, the prince, “do not be more content than I am at my good fortune.  I am enchanted not to be dead, you may well believe; and yet, if you had not recognized me, I should not have been the first to boast of being alive.”

“What! monseigneur,” cried Henri, “you recognized me—­you found yourself among a troop of Frenchmen, and would have left us to mourn your loss, without undeceiving us?”

“Gentlemen, besides a number of reasons which made me wish to preserve my incognito, I confess that I should not have been sorry, since I was believed to be dead, to hear what funeral oration would have been pronounced over me.”

“Monseigneur!”

“Yes; I am like Alexander of Macedon; I make war like an artist, and have as much self-love; and I believe I have committed a fault.”

“Monseigneur,” said Henri, lowering his eyes, “do not say such things.”

“Why not?  The pope only is infallible, and ever since Boniface VIII. that has been disputed.”

“See to what you exposed us, monseigneur, if any of us had given his opinion on this expedition, and it had been blamed.”

“Well, why not? do you think I have not blamed myself, not for having given battle, but for having lost it.”

“Monseigneur, this goodness frightens me; and will your highness permit me to say that this gayety is not natural.  I trust your highness is not suffering.”

A terrible cloud passed over the prince’s face, making it as black as night.

“No,” said he, “I was never better, thank God, than now, and I am glad to be among you all.”

The officers bowed.

“How many men have you, Du Bouchage?” asked he.