“Why, if you do belong to it, or they think you are likely to do so, what has happened to his royal highness will certainly happen to you.” “And what has happened to him?” “Monsieur,” said Chicot, rising and imitating M. de Bussy’s manner of a little before, “I do not love questions, nor questioners, therefore I have a great mind to let them do to you what they have done to-night to the duke.” “M. Chicot,” said Bussy, with a smile, “speak, I beg of you; where is the duke?” “He is in prison?” “Where?” “In his own room. Four of my good friends guard him. M. de Schomberg, who was dyed blue yesterday, as you know, since you passed during the operation; M. d’Epernon, who is yellow from the fright he had; M. de Quelus, who is red with anger; and M. de Maugiron, who is white with ennui; it is beautiful to see; not to speak of the duke, who is going green with terror, so that we shall have a perfect rainbow to delight our eyes.” “Then, monsieur, you think my liberty in danger?” “Danger! monsieur; suppose that they are already on the way to arrest you.” Bussy shuddered. “Do you like the Bastile, M. de Bussy? it is a good place for meditation, and M. Laurent Testu, the governor, keeps a good cook.” “They would send me to the Bastile?” “Ma foi! I ought to have in my pocket something like an order to conduct you there. Would you like to see it?” and Chicot drew from his pocket an order from the king in due form, to apprehend, wherever he might be, M. Louis de Clermont, Seigneur de Bussy. “Written very nicely by M. Quelus,” continued Chicot. “Then, monsieur,” cried Bussy, “you are really rendering me a service?” “I think so; do you agree with me?” “Monsieur, I beg you to tell me why you do it; for you love the king, and he hates me.” “M. le Comte, I save you; think what you please of my action. But do you forget that I asked for a recompense?” “Ah, true.” “Well?” “Most willingly, monsieur.” “Then some day you will do what I ask you?” “On my honor, if possible.” “That is enough. Now mount your horse and disappear; I go to carry this order to those who are to use it.” “Then you were not to arrest me yourself?” “I! for what do you take me?” “But I should abandon my master.” “Have no scruples; he abandons you.” “You are a gentleman, M. Chicot.” Bussy called Rémy. To do him justice, he was listening at the door. “Rémy, our horses!” “They are saddled, monsieur.” “Ah!” said Chicot, “this young man knows what he is about.” Bussy thanked Chicot once more, and went down. “Where are we going?” said Rémy. “Well----” said Bussy, hesitating. “What do you say to Normandy?” said Chicot. “It is too near.” “Flanders, then?” “Too far.” “Anjou is a reasonable distance, monsieur,” said Rémy. “Well, then, Anjou,” said Bussy, coloring. “Adieu, monsieur!” said Chicot. “It is destiny,” said Rémy, when he was gone. “Let us be quick, and perhaps we may overtake her,” said Bussy. CHAPTER XLVII.