I sprang up, and Monsieur, my duke, embraced me.

“Lucky we came up the lane when we did, eh, Felix?” M. Etienne said.  “But, Monsieur, I have not asked you yet what madness sent you traversing this back passage at two in the morning.”

“I might ask you that, Etienne.”

The young man hesitated a bare moment before he answered: 

“I am just come from serenading Mlle. de Montluc.”

A shade fell over Monsieur’s radiance.  At his look, M. Etienne cried out: 

“I’ve told you I’m no Leaguer!  Mayenne offered me mademoiselle if I would come over.  I refused.  Last night he sent me word that he would kill me as a common nuisance if I sought to see her.  That was why I tried.”

“Monsieur,” I cried, curiosity mastering me, “was she in the window?”

He shook his head, his eyes on his father’ face.

“Etienne,” Monsieur said slowly, “can’t you see that Mlle. de Montluc is not for you?”

“I shall never see it, Monsieur.  The first article in my creed says she is for me.  And I’ll have her yet, for all Mayenne.”

“Then, mordieu, we’ll steal her together!”

“You!  You’ll help me?”

“Why, dear son,” Monsieur explained, “it broke my heart to think of you in the League.  I could not bear that my son should help a Spaniard to the throne of France, or a Lorrainer either.  But if it is a question of stealing the lady—­well, I never prosed about prudence yet, thank God!”

M. Etienne, wet-eyed, laughing, hugged Monsieur.

“By St. Quentin, we’ll get you your lady!  I hated the marriage while I thought it would make you a Leaguer.  I could not see you sacrifice your honour to a girl’s bright eyes.  But your life—­that is different.”

“My life is a little thing.”

“No,” Monsieur said; “it is a good deal—­one’s life.  But one is not to guard one’s life at the cost of all that makes life sweet.”

“Ah, you know how I love her!”

“They call me a fool,” Monsieur went on musingly, “because I risk my life in wild errands.  But, mordieu!  I am the wise man.  For they who think ever of safety, and crouch and scheme and shuffle to procure it, why, look you, they destroy their own ends.  For, when all is done, they have never really lived.  And that is why they hate death so, these worthies.  While I, who have never cringed to fear, I live like a king.  I go my ways without any man’s leave; and if death comes to me a little sooner for that, I am a poor creature if I do not meet him smiling.  If I may live as I please, I am content to die when I must.”

“Aye,” said M. Etienne, “and if we live as we do not please, still we must die presently.  Therefore do I purpose never to give over striving after my lady.”

“Oh, we’ll win her by noon.  But first we’ll sleep.  There’s Felix yawning his head off.  Come, come.”

We set off along the alley, the St. Quentins arm in arm, I at their heels.  Monsieur looked over his shoulder with a sudden anxiety.