“I have been very anxious,” replied she. “Why the devil did you bring madame to Paris?” said the other man rudely. “Ma foi! it is a malediction that you must always have a petticoat tacked to your doublet!” “Ah, dear Agrippa,” replied the man who had spoken first, “it is so great a grief to part from one you love.” “On my soul, you make me swear to hear you talk! Did you come to Paris to make love? It seems to me that Béarn is large enough for your sentimental promenades, without continuing them in this Babylon, where you have nearly got us killed twenty times to-day. Go home, if you wish to make love, but, here, keep to your political intrigues, my master.” “Let him scold, ma mie, and never mind him; I think he would be ill if he did not.” “But, at least, ventre St. Gris, as you say, get into the litter, and say your sweet things to madame; you will run less risk of being recognized there than in the open street.” “You are right, Agrippa. Give me a place, ma mie, if you permit me to sit by your side.” “Permit, sire; I desire it ardently,” replied the lady. “Sire!” murmured Chicot, who, carried away by an impulse, tried to raise his head, and knocked it against the stone wall. Meanwhile the happy lover profited by the permission given, and seated himself in the litter. “Oh! how happy I am,” he cried, without attending in the least to the impatience of his friend--“ventre St. Gris, this is a good day. Here are my good Parisians, who execrate me with all their souls, and would kill me if they could, working to smooth my way to the throne, and I have in my arms the woman I love. Where are we, D’Aubigné? when I am king, I will erect here a statue to the genius of the Béarnais.” “The Béarn----” began Chicot, but he stopped, for he had given his head a second bump. “We are in the Rue de la Ferronnerie, sire,” said D’Aubigné, “and it does not smell nice.” “Get in then, Agrippa, and we will go on.” “Ma foi, no, I will follow behind; I should annoy you, and, what is worse, you would annoy me.” “Shut the door then, bear of Béarn, and do as you like.” Then to the coachman he said, “Lavarrenne, you know where.” The litter went slowly away, followed by D’Aubigné. “Let me see,” said Chicot, “must I tell Henri what I have seen? Why should I? two men and a woman, who hide themselves; it would be cowardly. I will not tell; that I know it myself is the important point, for is it not I who reign? His love was very pretty, but he loves too often, this dear Henri of Navarre. A year ago it was Madame de Sauve, and I suppose this was La Fosseuse. However, I love the Béarnais, for I believe some day he will do an ill turn to those dear Guises. Well! I have seen everyone to-day but the Duc d’Anjou; he alone is wanting to my list of princes. Where can my François III. be? Ventre de biche, I must look for the worthy monarch.”