“Oh!”

“Mon Dieu, yes; that is what got into the head of that devil of a Bearnais.”

“Go on, Chicot,” said the king, beginning to look annoyed.

“Well! scarcely had he guessed that, than he became what you look now, sad and melancholy; so much so, that he hardly thought of Fosseuse.”

“Bah!”

“Yes, really, and then he conceived that other love I told you of.”

“But this man is a Turk—­a Pagan.  And what did Margot say?”

“This time, my son, you will be astonished.  Margot was delighted.”

“But what is the name of this new mistress?”

“Oh! she is a beautiful and strong person, capable of defending herself if she is attacked.”

“And did she defend herself?”

“Oh, yes!”

“So that Henri was repulsed?”

“At first.”

“And afterward?”

“Oh!  Henri is persevering, and he returned to the charge.”

“So that?”

“So that he won her.”

“How?”

“By petards.”

“What the devil are you talking about?”

“The truth.”

“Petards!  Who is this belle that is taken with petards?”

“It is Mademoiselle Cahors.”

“Mademoiselle Cahors!”

“Yes, a large and beautiful girl, who has one foot on the Got, and the other on the hills, and whose guardian is, or rather was, M. de Vesin, a brave gentleman of my acquaintance.”

“Mordieu!” cried Henri, furiously, “my city! he has taken my city.”

“Why, you see, Henri, you would not give it to him, and he was obliged to take it.  But, apropos, here is a letter that he asked me to deliver into your own hand.”

And Chicot, drawing out a letter, gave it to the king.  It was the one
Henri had written after taking Cahors, and it finished with these words: 
“Quod mihi dixisti profuit multum, cognosco meos devotos; nosce tuos;
Chicotus caetera expediet.”

Which meant, “What you told me was very useful; I know my friends; know yours.  Chicot will tell you the rest.”

CHAPTER LXXVIII.

How, after receiving news from the south, Henri received news from the
north.

The king, highly exasperated, could hardly read the letter which Chicot gave to him.  While he deciphered the Latin with every sign of impatience, Chicot, before a great Venetian mirror, which hung over a gilt table, was admiring the infinite grace of his own person under his military dress.

“Oh!  I am betrayed,” cried Henri, when he had finished the letter; “the Bearnais had a plan, and I never suspected it.”

“My son,” said Chicot, “you know the proverb, ’Still waters run deepest’?”

“Go to the devil with your proverbs.”

Chicot went to the door as if to obey.