“Is he in the cell?”
“Oh no! he will look first at the crypt and the relics.”
At this moment a bell sounded.
“The king is returning,” said the Duc de Guise; “let us become monks again.” And immediately the hoods covered ardent eyes and speaking scars, and twenty or thirty monks, conducted by the three brothers, went towards the crypt.
CHAPTER LXXXVIII.
CHICOT THE FIRST
The king visited the crypt, kissed the relics-often striking his breast, and murmuring the most doleful psalms. At last the prior said, “Sire, will it please you now to depose your earthly crown at the feet of the eternal king?”
“Let us go!” said the king.
They arrived at the cell, on the threshold of which stood Gorenflot, his eyes brilliant as carbuncles.
Henri entered. “Hic portus salutis!” murmured he.
“Yes,” replied Foulon.
“Leave us!” said Gorenflot, with a majestic gesture; and immediately the door shut, and they were left alone.
“Here you are, then, Herod! pagan! Nebuchadnezzar!” cried Gorenflot, suddenly.
“Is it to me you speak, my brother?” cried the king, in surprise.
“Yes, to you. Can one accuse you of anything so bad, that it is not true?”
“My brother!”
“Bah! you have no brother here. I have long been meditating a discourse, and now you shall have it. I divide it into three heads. First, you are a tyrant; second, you are a satyr; third, you are dethroned.”
“Dethroned!”
“Neither more or less. This abbey is not like Poland, and you cannot fly.”
“Ah! a snare!”
“Oh, Valois, learn that a king is but a man.”
“You are violent, my brother.”
“Pardieu! do you think we imprison you to flatter you?”
“You abuse your religious calling.”
“There is no religion.”
“Oh, you are a saint, and say such things!”
“I have said it.”
“You speak dreadfully, my brother.”
“Come, no preaching; are you ready?”
“To do what?”
“To resign your crown; I am charged to demand it of you.”
“You are committing a mortal sin.”
“Oh! I have right of absolution, and I absolve myself in advance. Come, renounce, Brother Valois.”
“Renounce what?”
“The throne of France.”
“Rather death!”
“Oh! then you shall die! Here is the prior returning. Decide!”
“I have my guards – my friends; they will defend me.”
“Yes, but you will be killed first.”
“Leave me at least a little time for reflection.”
“Not an instant!”
“Your zeal carries you away, brother,” said the prior, opening the door; and saying to the king, “Your request is granted,” he shut it again.
Henri fell into a profound reverie. “I accept the sacrifice,” he said, after the lapse of ten minutes.
“It is done – he accepts!” cried Gorenflot.
The king heard a murmur of joy and surprise.
“Read him the act,” said a voice, and a monk passed a paper to Gorenflot.
Gorenflot read it to the king, who listened with his head buried in his hands.
“If I refuse to sign?” cried he, shedding tears.
“It will be doubly your ruin,” said the Duc de Guise, from under his hood. “Look on yourself as dead to the world, and do not force your subjects to shed the blood of a man who has been their king.”
“I will not be forced.”