“If you do not know, who live here, how should I know, who live in Lorraine?”

“How did these people come?”

“Some on foot, some on horseback; some alone, and some with lackeys.”

“Were they soldiers?”

“There were but two swords among the six; I think they were Gascons.  This concerns you, M. Poulain, to find out.  But to return to the League.  Salcede, who had betrayed us, and would have done so again, not only did not speak, but retracted on the scaffold—­thanks to the duchess, who, in the suite of one of these card-bearers, had the courage to penetrate the crowd even to the place of execution, and made herself known to Salcede, at the risk of being pointed out.  At this sight Salcede stopped his confession, and an instant after, the executioner stopped his repentance.  Thus, gentlemen, you have nothing to fear as to our enterprise in Flanders; this secret is buried in the tomb.”

It was this last speech which had so pleased all the conspirators.  Their joy seemed to annoy Briquet; he slipped down from his place, and returning to the court, said to the porter, “Parma and Lorraine.”  The gate was opened, and he left.

History tells us what passed afterward.  M. de Mayneville brought from the Guises the plan of an insurrection which consisted of nothing less than to murder all the principal people of the city who were known to be in favor with the king, and then to go through the streets crying, “Vive la Messe! death to our enemies!” In fact, to enact a second St. Bartholomew; in which, however, all hostile Catholics were to be confounded with the Protestants.

CHAPTER XII.

The chamber of his majesty Henri III.

In a great room at the Louvre sat Henri, pale and unquiet.  Since his favorites, Schomberg, Quelus and Maugiron had been killed in a duel, St. Megrin had been assassinated by M. de Mayenne, and the wounds left by their deaths were still fresh and bleeding.  The affection he bore his new favorites was very different from what he had felt for the old.  He had overwhelmed D’Epernon with benefits, but he only loved him by fits and starts, and at certain times he even hated him, and accused him of cowardice and avarice.

D’Epernon knew how to hide his ambition, which was indeed vague in its aspirations; but his cupidity governed him completely.  When he was rich, he was laughing and good-tempered; but when he was in want of money, he used to shut himself up in one of his castles, where, frowning and sad, he bemoaned his fate, until he had drawn from the weakness of the king some new gift.

Joyeuse was very different.  He loved the king, who, in turn, had for him almost a fatherly affection.  Young and impulsive, he was, perhaps, somewhat egotistical, and cared for little but to be happy.  Handsome, brave and rich, Nature had done so much for him that Henri often regretted that she had left so little for him to add.  The king knew his men well, for he was remarkably clear-sighted:  and though often betrayed, was never deceived.  But ennui was the curse of his life; he was ennuye now, and was wondering if any one would come and amuse him, when M. le Duc d’Epernon was announced.  Henri was delighted.