“I beg your pardon, sire, I ought to escort, or at least, to watch over, my brothers.”

“You are right; away with you, but return as quickly as you can.”

Joyeuse did not wait for this permission to be repeated; he quietly ordered his horses, and having satisfied himself that Henri had already set off, galloped all the way until he reached his destination.

Without even changing his dress, the young man went straight to the Rue de Chevet Saint-Laudry.  At the end of this street was the Rue d’Enfer, and parallel with it the Rue des Marmouzets.

A dark and venerable-looking house, behind whose walls the lofty summits of a few trees could be distinguished, the windows of which were few, bad, barred, and a wicket at the side, completed the exterior appearance of the Convent des Hospitalieres.

Upon the keystone of the arch of the porch an artisan had rudely engraved these Latin words with a chisel:—­

MATRONAE HOSPITES.

Time had partially destroyed both the inscription and the stone.

Joyeuse knocked at the wicket, and had his horses led away to the Rue des Marmouzets, fearing that their presence in the street might attract too much attention.

Then, knocking at the entrance gate, he said, “Will you be good enough to go and inform Madame la Superieure that Monsieur le Duc de Joyeuse, Grand Amiral de France, is desirous of speaking to her on behalf of the king.”

The face of the nun who had made her appearance behind the gate blushed beneath her veil, and she shut the gate.

Five minutes afterward a door was opened, and Joyeuse entered a room, set apart for the reception of visitors.  A beautiful woman, of lofty stature, made Joyeuse a profound reverence, which the admiral returned gracefully and respectfully.

“Madame,” said he, “the king is aware that you are about to admit, or that you have already admitted, among the number of the inmates here, a person with whom I require to speak.  Will you be good enough to place me in communication with that person?”

“Will you tell me the name of the lady you wish to see, monsieur?”

“I am not aware of it.”

“In that case, then, how can I possibly accede to your request?”

“Nothing is easier.  Whom have you admitted during the last month?”

“You either tell me too precisely, or with not sufficient precision, who this person is,” said the superior, “and I am unable to comply with your wish.”

“Why so?”

“Because, during the last month I have received no one here until this morning.”

“This morning?”

“Yes, Monsieur le Duc, and you can understand that your own arrival, two hours after hers, has too much the appearance of a pursuit to enable me to grant you permission to speak to her.”

“I implore you, madame.”

“Impossible, monsieur.”

“Will you merely let me see this lady?”