“Monseigneur, you shall be strictly obeyed, and no one shall know excepting ourselves that we have the honor of your company among us.”

“And these gentlemen will keep the secret?” said the duke, looking round.

All bowed, and Du Bouchage went out.

It only required an hour for this fugitive, this conquered runaway, to become again proud, careless, and imperious.  To command 100 men or 100,000 men, was still to command.

While Du Bouchage executed his orders with the best grace he could, Francois asked questions.  He was astonished that a man of the rank of Du Bouchage had consented to take the command of this handful of men, and of such a perilous expedition.  The duke was always suspicious, and asked, therefore, and learned that the admiral had only yielded to his brother’s earnest request.  It was the ensign who gave this information—­he who had been superseded in his command by Henri himself, as Henri had been by the duke.

The prince fancied he detected a slight irritation in this man’s mind against Du Bouchage; therefore he continued to interrogate him.

“But,” said he, “what was the comte’s reason for soliciting so earnestly such a poor command?”

“First, zeal for the service, no doubt.”

“First!—­what else?”

“Ah! monseigneur, I do not know.”

“You deceive me—­you do know.”

“Monseigneur, I can give only, even to your highness, public reasons.”

“You see,” said the duke, turning to the others, “I was quite right to hide myself, gentlemen, since there are in my army secrets from which I am excluded.”

“Ah! monseigneur,” said the ensign, “you misunderstand me; there are no secrets but those which concern M. du Bouchage.  Might it not be, for example, that, while serving the general interests, he might have wished to render a service to some friend or relation by escorting him?”

“Who here is a friend or relation of the comte?  Tell me, that, I may embrace him.”

“Monseigneur,” said Aurilly, mixing in the conversation, “I have discovered a part of the secret.  This relation whom M. du Bouchage wished to escort is—­a lady.”

“Ah! ah! why did they not tell me so frankly.  That dear Henri—­it is quite natural.  Let us shut our eyes to the relation, and speak of her no more.”

“You had better not, monseigneur, for there seems a great mystery.”

“How so?”

“Yes, the lady, like the celebrated Bradamante, about whom I have so often sung to your highness, disguises herself in the dress of a man.”

“Oh! monseigneur,” cried the ensign, “M. du Bouchage seems to me to have a great respect for this lady, and probably would be very angry at any indiscretion.’”

“Doubtless, monsieur; we will be mute as sepulchers—­as mute as poor St. Aignan; only, if we see the lady, we will try not to make grimaces at her.  Where is this lady, Aurilly?”—­“Upstairs.”