Two hours later, that is, about one o’clock in the afternoon, before the king’s dinner, the chancellor and Cardinal de Tournon came to fetch the prince and present him to Francois II. in the great gallery of the chateau of Amboise, where the councils were held. There, before the whole court, Conde pretended surprise at the coldness with which the little king received him, and asked the reason of it. “You are accused, cousin,” said the queen-mother, sternly, “of taking part in the conspiracy of the Reformers; and you must prove yourself a faithful subject and a good Catholic, if you do not desire to draw down upon your house the anger of the king.” Hearing these words said, in the midst of the most profound silence, by Catherine de’ Medici, on whose right arm the king was leaning, the Duc d’Orleans being on her left side, the Prince de Conde recoiled three steps, laid his hand on his sword with a proud motion, and looked at all the persons who surrounded him. “Those who said that, madame,” he cried in an angry voice, “lied in their throats!” Then he flung his glove at the king’s feet, saying: “Let him who believes that calumny come forward!” The whole court trembled as the Duc de Guise was seen to leave his place; but instead of picking up the glove, he advanced to the intrepid hunchback. “If you desire a second in that duel, monseigneur, do me the honor to accept my services,” he said. “I will answer for you; I know that you will show the Reformers how mistaken they are if they think to have you for their leader.” The prince was forced to take the hand of the lieutenant-general of the kingdom. Chicot picked up the glove and returned it to Monsieur de Conde. “Cousin,” said the little king, “you must draw your sword only for the defence of the kingdom. Come and dine.” The Cardinal de Lorraine, surprised at his brother’s action, drew him away to his own apartments. The Prince de Conde, having escaped his apparent danger, offered his hand to Mary Stuart to lead her to the dining hall; but all the while that he made her flattering speeches he pondered in his mind what trap the astute Balafre was setting for him. In vain he worked his brains, for it was not until Queen Mary herself betrayed it that he guessed the intention of the Guises. “‘Twould have been a great pity,” she said laughing, “if so clever a head had fallen; you must admit that my uncle has been generous.” “Yes, madame; for my head is only useful on my shoulders, though one of them is notoriously higher than the other. But is this really your uncle’s generosity? Is he not getting the credit of it rather cheaply? Do you think it would be so easy to take off the head of a prince of the blood?” “All is not over yet,” she said. “We shall see what your conduct will be at the execution of the noblemen, your friends, at which the Council has decided to make a great public display of severity.” “I shall do,” said the prince, “whatever the king does.”