“Yes, sire,” replied the duke, “we know you to be a pious prince, and that no pleasure can make you forget the glory of God and the interests of the Church. That is why we have come with so much confidence to your majesty.” “With confidence! Do you not always come to me with confidence, my cousin?” “Sire, the confidence of which I speak refers to the proposition I am about to make to you.” “You have a proposition to make to me! Well, speak, as you say, with confidence. What have you to propose?” “The execution of one of the most beautiful ideas which has been originated since the Crusades.” “Continue, duke.” “Sire, the title of most Christian king is not a vain one; it makes an ardent zeal for religion incumbent on its possessor.” “Is the Church menaced by the Saracens once more?” “Sire, the great concourse of people who followed me, blessing my name, honored me with this reception only because of my zeal to defend the Church. I have already had the honor of speaking to your majesty of an alliance between all true Catholics.” “Yes, yes,” said Chicot, “the League; ventre de biche, Henri, the League. By St. Bartholomew! how can you forget so splendid an idea, my son?” The duke cast a disdainful glance on Chicot, while d’Anjou, who stood by, as pale as death, tried by signs, to make the duke stop. “Look at your brother, Henri,” whispered Chicot. “Sire,” continued the Duc de Guise, “the Catholics have indeed called this association the Holy League, and its aim is to fortify the throne against the Huguenots, its mortal enemies; but to form an association is not enough, and in a kingdom like France, several millions of men cannot assemble without the consent of the king.” “Several millions!” cried Henri, almost with terror. “Several millions!” repeated Chicot; “a small number of malcontents, which may bring forth pretty results.” “Sire,” cried the duke, “I am astonished that your majesty allows me to be interrupted so often, when I am speaking on serious matters.” “Quite right,” said Chicot; “silence there.” “Several millions!” repeated the king; “and against these millions, how many Huguenots are there in my kingdom?” “Four,” said Chicot. This new sally made the king and his friends laugh, but the duke frowned, and his gentlemen murmured loudly. Henri, becoming once more serious, said, “Well, duke, what do you wish? To the point.” “I wish, sire--for your popularity is dearer to me than my own--that your majesty should be superior to us in your zeal for religion--I wish you to choose a chief for the League.” “Well!” said the king, to those who surrounded him, “what do you think of it, my friends?” Chicot, without saying a word, drew out a lion’s skin from a corner, and threw himself on it. “What are you doing, Chicot?” asked the king. “Sire, they say that night brings good counsel; that must be because of sleep; therefore I am going to sleep, and to-morrow I will reply to my cousin Guise.”