Tavannes and his master now reminded each other, like two school-boys, of certain pranks they had played in Paris, and the evening’s amusement was soon arranged.  The two Italians, challenged to climb roofs, and jump from one to another across alleys and streets, wagered that they would follow the king wherever he went.  They and Tavannes went off to change their clothes.  The Comte de Solern, left alone with the king, looked at him in amazement.  Though the worthy German, filled with compassion for the hapless position of the king of France, was honor and fidelity itself, he was certainly not quick of perception.  Charles IX., surrounded by hostile persons, unable to trust any one, not even his wife (who had been guilty of some indiscretions, unaware as she was that his mother and his servants were his enemies), had been fortunate enough to find in Monsieur de Solern a faithful friend in whom he could place entire confidence.  Tavannes and Villeroy were trusted with only a part of the king’s secrets.  The Comte de Solern alone knew the whole of the plan which he was now about to carry out.  This devoted friend was also useful to his master, in possessing a body of discreet and affectionate followers, who blindly obeyed his orders.  He commanded a detachment of the archers of the guards, and for the last few days he had been sifting out the men who were faithfully attached to the king, in order to make a company of tried men when the need came.  The king took thought of everything.

“Why are you surprised, Solern?” he said.  “You know very well I need a pretext to be out to-night.  It is true, I have Madame de Belleville, but this is better; for who knows whether my mother does not hear of all that goes on at Marie’s?”

Monsieur de Solern, who was to follow the king, asked if he might not take a few of his Germans to patrol the streets, and Charles consented.  About eleven o’clock the king, who was now very gay, set forth with his three courtiers,—­namely, Tavannes and the two Gondis.

“I’ll go and take my little Marie by surprise,” said Charles IX. to Tavannes, “as we pass through the rue de l’Autruche.”  That street being on the way to the rue Saint-Honore, it would have been strange indeed for the king to pass the house of his love without stopping.

Looking out for a chance of mischief,—­a belated burgher to frighten, or a watchman to thrash—­the king went along with his nose in the air, watching all the lighted windows to see what was happening, and striving to hear the conversations.  But alas! he found his good city of Paris in a state of deplorable tranquillity.  Suddenly, as he passed the house of a perfumer named Rene, who supplied the court, the king, noticing a strong light from a window in the roof, was seized by one of those apparently hasty inspirations which, to some minds, suggest a previous intention.