“Oh!” said the chancellor, with hesitation, “that is all.” And he looked round as if to say, “If your majesty were alone, you should hear more.” “Speak, chancellor,” said the king, “I have none but friends here.” “Oh! sire, I hesitate to pronounce such powerful names.” “Are they more powerful than I am?” cried the king. “No, sire; but one does not tell secrets in public.” “Monsieur,” said the Duc d’Anjou, “we will retire.” The king signed to the chancellor to approach him, and to the duke to remain. M. de Morvilliers had just bent over the king to whisper his communication, when a great clamor was heard in the court of the Louvre. The king jumped up, but Chicot, running to the window, called out, “It is M. de Guise entering the Louvre.” “The Duc de Guise,” stammered the Duc d’Anjou. “How strange that he should be in Paris,” said the king, reading the truth in M. de Morvilliers’ look. “Was it of him you were about to speak?” he asked. “Yes, sire; he presided over the meeting.” “And the others?” “I know no more.” “You need not write that name on your tablets! you will not forget it,” whispered Chicot. The Duc de Guise advanced, smiling, to see the king. CHAPTER XXXVII. WHAT M. DE GUISE CAME TO DO AT THE LOUVRE. Behind M. de Guise there entered a great number of officers, courtiers, and gentlemen, and behind them a concourse of the people; an escort less brilliant, but more formidable, and it was their cries that had resounded as the duke entered the Louvre. “Ah! it is you, my cousin,” said the king; “what a noise you bring with you! Did I not hear the trumpets sound?” “Sire, the trumpets sound in Paris only for the king, and in campaigns for the general. Here the trumpets would make too much noise for a subject; there they do not make enough for a prince.” Henri bit his lips. “Have you arrived from the siege of La Charité only to-day?” “Only to-day, sire,” replied the duke, with a heightened color. “Ma foi! your visit is a great honor to us.” “Your majesty jests, no doubt. How can my visit honor him from whom all honor comes?” “I mean, M. de Guise,” replied Henri, “that every good Catholic is in the habit, on returning from a campaign, to visit God first in one of his temple’s--the king only comes second. ‘Honor God, serve the king,’ you know, my cousin.” The heightened color of the duke became now still more distinct; and the king, happening to turn towards his brother, saw with astonishment, that he was as pale as the duke was red. He was struck by this emotion in each, but he said: “At all events, duke, nothing equals my joy to see that you have escaped all the dangers of war, although you sought them, I was told in the rashest manner; but danger knows you and flies you.” The duke bowed. “But I must beg you, my cousin, not to be so ambitious of mortal perils, for you put to shame sluggards like us, who sleep, eat, and invent new prayers.”