“And you bid me grudge my life?  Strange counsel from you, Vigo.”

“No, monsieur, but I bid you not throw it away.  We all hope to die afield, but we have a preference how and where.  If you fell fighting for Navarre, I should be sorry; Monsieur would grieve deep.  But we should say it was well; we grudged not your life to the country and the king.  While, if you fall in this fool affair—­”

“I fall for my lady,” M. Etienne finished.  “The bravest captain of them all does no better than that.”

“M.  Etienne, she is no wife for you.  You cannot get her.  And if you could ’twere pity.  She is a Ligueuse, and you from now on are a staunch Kingsman.  Give her up, monsieur.  You have had this maggot in your brain this four years.  Once for all, get it out.  Go to St. Denis; take your troop among Biron’s horse.  That is the place for you.  You will marry a maid of honour and die a marshal of France.”

M. Etienne laid his arm around Vigo’s shoulder with a smile.

“Good old Vigo!  Vigo, tell me this; if you saw a marshal’s baton waiting you in the field, and at home your dearest friend were alone and in peril, would you go off after glory?”

“Aye, if ’twas a hopeless business to stay, certes I would go.”

“Oh, tell that in Bedlam!” M. Etienne cried.  “You would do nothing of the sort.  Was it to win glory you stayed three years in that hole, St. Quentin?”

“I had no choice, monsieur.  My master was there.”

“And my mistress is here!  You may save your breath, Vigo; I know what I shall do.  The eloquence of monk Christin wouldn’t change me.”

“What is your purpose, M. Etienne?” Vigo asked.

Indeed, there was a vagueness about his scheme as revealed to us.

“It is quite simple.  I purpose to get speech with mademoiselle if I can contrive it, and I think I can.  I purpose to smuggle her out of the Hotel de Lorraine—­such feats have been accomplished before and may be again.  Then I shall bring her here and hold her against all comers.”

“No,” Vigo said, “no, monsieur.  You may not do that.”

“Ventre bleu, Vigo!” his young lord cried.

“No,” said Vigo.  “I can’t have her here, and Mayenne’s army after her.”

“Coward!” shouted M. Etienne.

I thought Vigo would take us both by the scruff of our necks and throw us out of the place.  But he answered undisturbed: 

“No, that is not the reason, monsieur.  If M. le Duc told me to hold this house against the armies of France and Spain, I’d hold it till the last man of us was dead.  But I am here in his absence to guard his hotel, his moneys, and his papers.  I don’t call it guarding to throw a firebrand among them.  Bringing Mayenne’s niece here would be worse than that.”

“Monsieur would never hesitate!  Monsieur is no chicken-heart!” M. Etienne cried.  “If he were here, he’d say, ’We’ll defend the lady if every stone in this house is pulled from its fellow!’”