Ernanton, so saying, held out the tablets to the king, who gently put them back.

“What did you say, D’Epernon?” said he; “M. de Carmainges is an honest man and a faithful servant?”

“What did I say, sire.”

“Yes; I heard you pronounce the word ‘prison.’  Mordieu! on the contrary, when one meets a man like M. de Carmainges, it is reward we should speak of.  A letter, duke, belongs only to the bearer and to the person to whom it is sent.  You will deliver your letter, M. de Carmainges.”

“But, sire,” said D’Epernon, “think of what that letter may contain.  Do not play at delicacy, when, perhaps, your majesty’s life is concerned.”

“You will deliver your letter, M. de Carmainges,” said the king.

“Thanks, sire,” said Carmainges, beginning to retire.

“Where do you take it?”

“To Madame la Duchesse de Montpensier, I believed I had had the honor of telling your majesty.”

“I mean, to the Hotel Guise, St. Denis, or where?”

“I had no instructions on that subject, sire.  I shall take the letter to the Hotel Guise, and there I shall learn where Madame de Montpensier is.”

“And when you have found her?”

“I will deliver my letter.”

“Just so.  M. de Carmainges, have you promised anything else to M. de Mayenne than to deliver that letter to his sister?”

“No, sire.”

“No secrecy as to the place where you find her?”—­“No, sire.”

“Then I will impose only one condition on you.”

“I am your majesty’s servant.”

“Deliver your letter, and then come to me at Vincennes, where I shall be this evening.”

“Yes, sire.”

“And you will tell me where you found the duchesse?”

“I will, sire.”

“I ask no other confidences; remember.”

“Sire, I promise.”

“What imprudence, sire!” cried D’Epernon.

“There are men you cannot understand, duke.  This one is loyal to Mayenne, he will be loyal to me.”

“Toward you, sire, I shall be more than loyal—­I shall be devoted,” cried Ernanton.

“Now, D’Epernon, no more quarrels,” said the king; “and you must at once pardon in this brave fellow what you looked upon as a want of loyalty, but which I regard as a proof of honesty.”

“Sire,” said Ernanton, “M. le Duc is too superior a man not to have discovered, through my disobedience (for which I confess my regret), my respect for him; only, before all things, I must do what I believe to be my duty.”

“Parfandious!” said the duke, changing his expression like a mask, “this trial has done you honor, my dear Carmainges, and you are really a fine fellow—­is he not, De Loignac?  However, we gave him a good fright;” and the duke burst out laughing.

De Loignac did not answer; he could not lie like his illustrious chief.

“If it was a trial, so much the better,” said the king, doubtfully; “but I counsel you not to try these experiments often; too many people would give way under them.  Now, let us go, duke; you accompany me?”