“Well, madame, then, so be it.”

And Remy went down, but still hesitating.

The brave young man had, at the sight of Aurilly, felt, in spite of himself, that nervous shudder that one feels at the sight of a reptile; he wished to kill him because he feared him.  But as he went down, his resolution returned, and he determined, in spite of Diana’s opinion, to interrogate Aurilly—­to confound him, and if he discovered that he had any evil intentions, to kill him on the spot.

Aurilly waited for him impatiently.  Remy advanced armed with an unshakable resolution, but his words were quiet and calm.

“Monsieur,” said he, “my mistress cannot accept your proposal.”

“And why not?”

“Because you are not the steward of M. du Bouchage.”

Aurilly grew pale.  “Who told you so?” said he.

“No one; but M. du Bouchage, when he left, recommended to my care the person whom I accompany, and never spoke of you.”

“He only saw me after he left you.”

“Falsehoods, monsieur; falsehoods.”

Aurilly drew himself up—­Remy looked like an old man.

“You speak in a singular tone, my good man,” said he, frowning; “take care, you are old, and I am young; you are feeble, and I am strong.”

Remy smiled, but did not reply.

“If I wished ill to you or your mistress,” continued Aurilly.  “I have but to raise my hand.”

“Oh!” said Remy, “perhaps I was wrong, and you wish to do her good.”

“Certainly I do.”

“Explain to me then what you desire.”

“My friend, I will make your fortune at once, if you will serve me.”

“And if not?”

“In that case, as you speak frankly, I will reply as frankly, that I will kill you; I have full power to do so.”

“Kill me!” said Remy.  “But if I am to serve you, I must know your projects.”

“Well, you have guessed rightly, my good man; I do not belong to the Comte du Bouchage.”

“Ah! and to whom do you belong?”

“To a more powerful lord.”

“Take care; you are lying again.”

“Why so?”

“There are not many people above the house of Joyeuse.”

“Not that of France?”

“Oh! oh!”

“And see how they pay.” said Aurilly, sliding into Remy’s hand one of the rouleaux of gold.

Remy shuddered and took a step back, but controlling himself, said: 

“You serve the king?”

“No, but his brother, the Duc d’Anjou.”

“Oh! very well!  I am the duke’s most humble servant.”

“That is excellent.”

“But what does monseigneur want?”

“Monseigneur,” said Aurilly, trying again to slip the gold into Remy’s hand, “is in love with your mistress.”

“He knows her, then?”

“He has seen her.”

“Seen her! when?”

“This evening.”

“Impossible; she has not left her room.”