‘And he approved? He approved, of course?’ ‘Beyond doubt the man was a traitor,’ M. de Rosny answered delicately. ‘His life was forfeit, sire. Who can question it?’ ‘And he has paid the forfeit,’ the king rejoined, looking down at the floor and immediately falling into a moodiness as sudden as his excitement. His lips moved. He muttered something inaudible, and began to play absently with his cup and ball, his mind occupied apparently with a gloomy retrospect. ‘M. de Guise, M. de Guise,’ he murmured at last, with a sneer and an accent of hate which told of old humiliations long remembered. ‘Well, damn him, he is dead now. He is dead. But being dead he yet troubles us. Is not that the verse, father? Ha!’ with a start, ‘I was forgetting. But that is the worst wrong he has done me,’ he continued, looking up and growing excited again. ‘He has cut me off from Mother Church. There is hardly a priest comes near me now, and presently they will excommunicate me. And, as I hope for salvation, the Church has no more faithful son than me.’ I believe he was on the point, forgetting M. de Rosny’s presence there and his errand, of giving way to unmanly tears, when M. de Rambouillet, as if by accident, let the heel of his scabbard fall heavily on the floor. The king started, and passing his hand once or twice across his brow, seemed to recover himself. ‘Well,’ he said, ‘no doubt we shall find a way out of our difficulties.’ ‘If your Majesty,’ Rosny answered respectfully, ‘would accept the aid my master proffers, I venture to think that they would vanish the quicker.’ ‘You think so,’ Henry rejoined. ‘Well, give me your shoulder. Let us walk a little.’ And, signing to Rambouillet to leave him, he began to walk up and down with M. de Rosny, talking familiarly with him in an undertone. Only such scraps of the conversation as fell from them when they turned at my end of the gallery now reached me. Patching these together, however, I managed to understand somewhat. At one turn I heard the king say, ‘But then Turenne offers--’ At the next, ‘Trust him? Well, I do not know why I should not. He promises--’ Then ‘A Republic, Rosny? That his plan? Pooh! he dare not. He could not. France is a kingdom by the ordinance of God in my family.’ I gathered from these and other chance words, which I have since forgotten, that M. de Rosny was pressing the king to accept the help of the King of Navarre, and warning him against the insidious offers of the Vicomte de Turenne. The mention of a Republic, however, seemed to excite his Majesty’s wrath rather against Rosny for presuming to refer to such a thing than against Turenne, to whom he refused to credit it. He paused near my end of the promenade. ‘Prove it!’ he said angrily. ‘But can you prove it? Can you prove it? Mind you, I will take no hearsay evidence, sir. Now, there is Turenne’s agent here--you did not know, I dare say, that he had an agent here?’