“Oh, yes, I understand--Courier of Venus; but no, I see I am wrong--they do not seal billet-doux with seals of that size.” The duke hid the letter altogether. “How discreet this dear François is!” said the king, with a smile which frightened his brother. However, making an effort to recover himself, he said: “Did your majesty wish to say anything particular to me?” “What I have to say to you, monsieur, I wish to say before witnesses. Here, gentlemen,” continued he, turning to the four young men, “listen to us; I order you.” “Sire,” said the duke, with a glance full of rage and hatred, “before insulting a man of my rank, you should have refused me the hospitality of the Louvre; in the Hotel d’Anjou, at least, I should have been free to reply to you.” “Really, you forget, then, that wherever you are, you are my subject; that I am the king, and that every house is mine.” “Sire, I am at the Louvre, at my mother’s.” “And your mother is in my house. But to the point--give me that paper.” “Which?” “That which you were reading, which was on your table, and which you hid when I came in.” “Sire, reflect.” “On what?” “On this, that you are making a request unworthy of a gentleman, and fit only for a police-officer.” The king grew livid. “That letter, monsieur!” “A woman’s letter, sire.” “There are some women’s letters very good to see, and dangerous not to see--such as those our mother writes.” “Brother!” “This letter, monsieur!” cried the king, stamping his foot, “or I will have it torn from you by my Swiss!” The duke jumped out of bed, with the letter crumpled in his hand, evidently with the intention of approaching the fire. But Henri, divining his intention, placed himself between him and the fire. “You would not treat your brother thus?” cried the duke. “Not my brother, but my mortal enemy. Not my brother, but the Duc D’Anjou, who went all through Paris with M. de Guise, who tries to hide from me a letter from one of his accomplices, the Lorraine princes.” “This time,” said the duke, “your police are wrong.” “I tell you I saw on the seal the three merlets of Lorraine. Give it to me, mordieu! or----” Henri advanced towards his brother and laid his hand on his shoulder. François had no sooner felt the touch of his hand than, falling on his knees, he cried out, “Help! help! my brother is going to kill me.” These words, uttered in an accent of profound terror, startled the king and mitigated his rage. The idea passed quickly through his mind that in their family, as by a curse, brother had always assassinated brother. “No, my brother,” said he, “you are wrong; I do not wish to hurt you, but you cannot contend with me. I am the master, and if you did not know it before, you know it now.” “Yes, my brother, I acknowledge it.” “Very well, then give me that letter; the king orders it.” The duke let it fall, and the king picked it up, but without reading it put it in his pocket-book.