“Ma foi! I am examining, by the king’s order, the physiognomy of the city. He said to me, ‘St. Luc, walk about the streets of Paris, and if you hear any one say I have abdicated, contradict him.’”
“And have you heard it?”
“Nowhere; and as it is just midnight, and I have met no one but M. de Monsoreau, I have dismissed my friends, and am about to return.”
“M. de Monsoreau?”
“Yes.”
“You met him?”
“With a troop of armed men; ten or twelve at least.”
“Impossible!”
“Why so?”
“He ought to be at Compiègne.”
“He ought to be, but he is not.”
“But the king’s order?”
“Bah! who obeys the king?”
“Did he know you?”
“I believe so.”
“You were but five?”
“My four friends and I.”
“And he did not attack you?”
“On the contrary, he avoided me, which astonished me, as on seeing him, I expected a terrible battle.”
“Where was he going?”
“To the Rue de la Tixanderie.”
“Ah! mon Dieu!”
“What?”
“M. de St. Luc, a great misfortune is about to happen.”
“To whom?”
“To M. de Bussy.”
“Bussy! speak, Rémy; I am his friend, you know.”
“Oh! M. de Bussy thought him at Compiègne.”
“Well?”
“And, profiting by his absence, is with Madame de Monsoreau.”
“Ah!”
“Do you not see? he has had suspicions, and has feigned to depart, that he might appear unexpectedly.”
“Ah! it is the Duc d’Anjou’s doing, I believe. Have you good lungs, Rémy?”
“Corbleu! like a blacksmith’s bellows.”
“Well! let us run. You know the house?”
“Yes.”
“Go on then.” And the young men set off like hunted deer.
“Is he much in advance of us?” said Rémy.
“About a quarter of an hour.”
“If we do but arrive in time!”
CHAPTER XCI.
THE ASSASSINATION
Bussy, himself without disquietude or hesitation, had been received by Diana without fear, for she believed herself sure of the absence of M. de Monsoreau. Never had this beautiful woman been more beautiful, nor Bussy more happy. She was moved, however, by fears for the morrow’s combat, now so near, and she repeated to him, again and again, the anxiety she felt about it, and questioned him as to the arrangements he had made for flight. To conquer was not all; there was afterwards the king’s anger to avoid, for it was not probable that he would ever pardon the death or defeat of his favorites.
“And then,” said she, “are you not acknowledged to be the bravest man in France? Why make it a point of honor to augment your glory? You are already superior to other men, and you do not wish to please any other woman but me, Louis. Therefore, guard your life, or rather – for I think there is not a man in France capable of killing you, Louis – I should say, take care of wounds, for you may be wounded. Indeed, it was through a wound received in fighting with these same men, that I first made your acquaintance.”
“Make yourself easy,” said Bussy, smiling; “I will take care of my face – I shall not be disfigured.”
“Oh, take care of yourself altogether. Think of the grief you would experience if you saw me brought home wounded and bleeding, and that I should feel the same grief on seeing your blood. Be prudent, my too courageous hero – that is all I ask. Act like the Roman of whom you read to me the other day: let your friends fight, aid the one who needs it most, but if three men – if two men attack you, fly; you can turn, like Horatius, and kill them one after another.”
“Yes, my dear Diana.”
“Oh, you reply without hearing me, Louis; you look at me, and do not listen.”
“But I see you, and you are beautiful.”
“Do not think of my beauty just now! Mon Dieu! it is your life I am speaking of. Stay, I will tell you something that will make you more prudent – I shall have the courage to witness this duel.”