“Take care monseigneur,” said Maugiron, “you are stepping on my figures.” “Mon Dieu!” cried the musician, “he insults my master!” “Dear M. Aurilly,” said D’Epernon, still arranging his mustachois, “how are you?” “Be so kind as to bring me here your little dagger,” said Maugiron. “Gentlemen, gentlemen, do you not remember where you are?” “Yes, yes, my dear Orpheus, that is why I ask for your dagger; you see M. le Duc has none.” “Aurilly!” cried the duke, in a tone full of grief and rage, “do you not see that I am a prisoner?” “A prisoner! to whom?” “To my brother; you might know that by my jailers.” “Oh! if I had but guessed it.” “You would have brought your lute to amuse his highness,” said a mocking voice behind them, “but I thought of it, and sent for it; here it is.” “How does your chess go on, Chicot?” said D’Epernon. “I believe I shall save the king, but it is not without trouble. Come, M. Aurilly, give me your poniard in return for the lute; a fair exchange.” The astonished musician obeyed. “There is one rat in the trap,” said Quelus, who returned to his post in the antechamber, only exchanging his cup and ball for Schomberg’s shooting tube. “It is amusing to vary one’s pleasures,” said Chicot; “so for a change I will go and sign the League.” CHAPTER XLVIII. THE RECEPTION OF THE CHIEFS OF THE LEAGUE. The time for the great reception drew near. Paris, nearly as tumultuous as the evening before, had sent towards the Louvre its deputation of leaguers, its bodies of workmen, its sheriffs, its militia, and its constantly-increasing masses of spectators. The king, on his throne in the great hall, was surrounded by his officers, his friends, his courtiers, and his family, waiting for all the corporations to defile before him, when M. de Monsoreau entered abruptly. “Look, Henriquet,” said Chicot, who was standing near the king. “At what?” “At your chief huntsman; pardieu, he is well worth it. See how pale and dirty he is!” Henri made a sign to M. de Monsoreau, who approached. “How is it that you are at the Louvre, monsieur? I thought you at Vincennes.” “Sire, the stag was turned off at seven o’clock this morning, but when noon came, and I had no news, I feared that some misfortune had happened to your majesty, and I returned.” “Really!” “Sire, if I have done wrong, attribute it to an excess of devotion.” “Yes, monsieur, and I appreciate it.” “Now,” said the count, hesitatingly, “if your majesty wishes me to return to Vincennes, as I am reassured----” “No, no, stay; this chase was a fancy which came into our head, and which went as it came; do not go away, I want near me devoted subjects, and you have just classed yourself as such.” Monsoreau bowed, and said, “Where does your majesty wish me to remain?” “Will you give him to me for half an hour?” said Chicot to the king, in a low voice. “What for?” “To torment him a little. You owe me some compensation for obliging me to be present at this tiresome ceremony.”