“We fell into a nest of sorcerers and arrested two, compatriots of yours, who may perhaps be able to explain to the minds of French gentlemen how you, who are not Frenchmen, have managed to lay hands on two of the chief offices of the Crown,” replied Tavannes, half jesting, half in earnest.

“But the king?” inquired the Grand-master, who cared little for Tavanne’s enmity.

“He stays with his mistress.”

“We reached our present distinction through an absolute devotion to our masters,—­a noble course, my dear Tavannes, which I see that you also have adopted,” replied Albert de Gondi.

The three courtiers walked on in silence.  At the moment when they parted, on meeting their servants who then escorted them, two men glided swiftly along the walls of the rue de l’Autruche.  These men were the king and the Comte de Solern, who soon reached the banks of the Seine, at a point where a boat and two rowers, carefully selected by de Solern, awaited them.  In a very few moments they reached the other shore.

“My mother has not gone to bed,” cried the king.  “She will see us; we chose a bad place for the interview.”

“She will think it a duel,” replied Solern; “and she cannot possibly distinguish who we are at this distance.”

“Well, let her see me!” exclaimed Charles IX.  “I am resolved now!”

The king and his confidant sprang ashore and walked quickly in the direction of the Pre-aux-Clercs.  When they reached it the Comte de Solern, preceding the king, met a man who was evidently on the watch, and with whom he exchanged a few words; the man then retired to a distance.  Presently two other men, who seemed to be princes by the marks of respect which the first man paid to them, left the place where they were evidently hiding behind the broken fence of a field, and approached the king, to whom they bent the knee.  But Charles IX. raised them before they touched the ground, saying:—­

“No ceremony, we are all gentlemen here.”

A venerable old man, who might have been taken for the Chancelier de l’Hopital, had the latter not died in the preceding year, now joined the three gentlemen, all four walking rapidly so as to reach a spot where their conference could not be overheard by their attendants.  The Comte de Solern followed at a slight distance to keep watch over the king.  That faithful servant was filled with a distrust not shared by Charles IX., a man to whom life was now a burden.  He was the only person on the king’s side who witnessed this mysterious conference, which presently became animated.

“Sire,” said one of the new-comers, “the Connetable de Montmorency, the closest friend of the king your father, agreed with the Marechal de Saint-Andre in declaring that Madame Catherine ought to be sewn up in a sack and flung into the river.  If that had been done then, many worthy persons would still be alive.”

“I have enough executions on my conscience, monsieur,” replied the king.