“Sire,” said the duke, “would it please you that, after our devotions, M, de Monsoreau should go and prepare a chase for us in the woods of Compiègne?”
“But do you not know that to-morrow – ”
He was going to say, “Four of your friends are to fight four of mine;” but he stopped, for he remembered that it was a secret.
“I know nothing,” said the duke; “but if your majesty will inform me – ”
“I meant that, as I am to pass the night at the Abbey of St. Genevieve, I should perhaps not be ready for to-morrow; but let the count go; if it be not to-morrow, it shall be the day after.”
“You hear?” said the duke to Monsoreau.
“Yes monseigneur.”
At this moment Quelus and Schomberg entered. The king received them with open arms.
Monsoreau said softly to the duke, “You exile me, monseigneur.”
“Is it not your duty to prepare the chase for the king?”
“I understand – this is the last of the eight days fixed by your highness, and you prefer sending me to Compiègne to keeping your promise.”
“No, on the contrary; I keep my promise.”
“Explain yourself.”
“Your departure will be publicly known.”
“Well?”
“Well, do not go, but hide near your house; then, believing you gone, the man you wish to know will come; the rest concerns yourself: I engage for no more.”
“Ah! if that be so – ”
“You have my word.”
“I have better than that, I have your signature.”
“Oh, yes, mordieu! I know that.”
Aurilly touched D’Epernon’s arm and said, “It is done; Bussy will not fight to-morrow.”
“Not fight!”
“I answer for it.”
“Who will prevent it?”
“Never mind that.”
“If it be so, my dear sorcerer, there are one thousand crowns for you.”
“Gentlemen,” said the king, who had finished his toilet, “to St. Germain l’Auxerrois.”
“And from there to St. Genevieve?” asked the duke.
“Certainly,” replied Henri, passing into the gallery where all his court were waiting for him.
CHAPTER LXXXVI.
WHICH WILL ELUCIDATE THE PREVIOUS CHAPTER
The evening before M. de Monsoreau had returned to his home from the Hôtel Guise, and had found Bussy there. Then, in his friendship for this brave gentleman, he had taken him aside, and said:
“Will you permit me to give you a piece of advice?”
“Pray do.”
“If I were you, I should leave Paris to-morrow.”
“I! and why so?”
“All that I can tell you is, that your absence may save you from great embarrassment.”
“How so?”
“Are you ignorant of what is to take place to-morrow?”
“Completely.”
“On your honor?”
“On my word as a gentleman.”
“M. d’Anjou has confided nothing to you?”
“Nothing; M. d’Anjou confides nothing to me beyond what all the world knows.”
“Well! I, who am not the Duc d’Anjou, who love my friends for their own sakes, and not for mine, I will tell you, my dear count, that he is preparing for grave events to-morrow, and that the parting of Guise and Anjou meditate a stroke which may end in the fall of the king.”
Bussy looked at M. de Monsoreau with suspicion, but his whole manner expressed so much sincerity that it was impossible to doubt him.
“Count,” replied he, “my sword belongs to the Duc d’Anjou. The king, against whom I have done nothing, hates me, and has never let slip an occasion of doing or saying something wounding to me; and to-morrow I tell you – but you alone, remember – I am about to risk my life to humiliate Henri de Valois in the person of his favorites.”
“Then you are resolved to risk all the consequences of your adherence to the duke?”
“Yes.”
“You know where it may lead you?”