“Well! my dear friend, if it is my destiny to be killed by M. de Monsoreau.” “Well!” “Well! he will kill me.” “And then, a week after, Madame de Monsoreau will be reconciled to her husband, which will dreadfully enrage your poor soul, which will see it from above or below, without being able to prevent it.” “You are right, Rémy; I will live.” “Quite right; but that is not all, you must be charmingly polite to him; he is frightfully jealous of the Duc d’Anjou, who, while you were ill in bed, promenaded before the house with his Aurilly. Make advances, then, to this charming husband, and do not even ask him what has become of his wife, since you know quite well.” “You are right, Rémy, I believe. Now I am no longer jealous of the bear, I will be civil to him.” At this moment some one knocked at the door. “Who is there?” cried Bussy. “Monsieur,” replied a page, “there is a gentleman below who wishes to speak to you.” “To speak to me so early; who is it?” “A tall gentleman, dressed in green velvet.” “Can it be Schomberg?” “He said a tall man.” “True, then Monsoreau, perhaps; well, let him enter.” After a minute the visitor entered. “M. Chicot!” cried Bussy. “Himself, M. le Comte.” Rémy retired into another room, and then Chicot said, “Monsieur, I come to propose to you a little bargain.” “Speak, monsieur,” said Bussy, in great surprise. “What will you promise me if I render you a great service?” “That depends on the service, monsieur,” replied Bussy, disdainfully. Chicot feigned not to remark this air of disdain. “Monsieur,” said he, sitting down and crossing his long legs, “I remark that you do not ask me to sit down.” The color mounted to Bussy’s face. “Monsieur,” continued Chicot, “have you heard of the League?” “I have heard much of it,” said Bussy. “Well, monsieur, you ought to know that it is an association of honest Christians, united for the purpose of religiously massacring their neighbors, the Huguenots. Are you of the League, monsieur? I am.” “But--monsieur----” “Say only yes, or no.” “Allow me to express my astonishment----” “I did myself the honor of asking you if you belonged to the League.” “M. Chicot, as I do not like questions whose import I do not understand, I beg you to change the conversation before I am forced to tell you that I do not like questioners. Come, M. Chicot, we have but a few minutes left.” “Well! in a few minutes one can say a great deal; however, I might have dispensed with asking you the question, as if you do not belong to the League now, you soon will, as M. d’Anjou does.” “M. d’Anjou! Who told you that?” “Himself, speaking to me in person, as the gentlemen of the law say, or rather write; for example, that dear M. Nicolas David, that star of the Forum Parisiense. Now you understand that as M. d’Anjou belongs to the League, you cannot help belonging to it also; you, who are his right arm. The League knows better than to accept a maimed chief.” “Well, M. Chicot, what then?”