“Well, take him.” “Where does your majesty wish me to stand?” again asked M. de Monsoreau. “Where you like; go behind my armchair, that is where I put my friends.” “Come here,” said Chicot, making room for M. de Monsoreau, “come and get the scent of these fellows. Here is game which can be tracked without a hound. Here are the shoemakers who pass, or rather, who have passed; then here are the tanners. Mort de ma vie! if you lose their scent, I will take away your place.” M. de Monsoreau listened mechanically; he seemed preoccupied, and looked around him anxiously. “Do you know what your chief huntsman is hunting for now?” said Chicot, in an undertone, to the king. “No.” “Your brother.” “The game is not in sight.” “Just ask him where his countess is.” “What for?” “Just ask.” “M. le Comte,” said Henri, “what have you done with Madame de Monsoreau? I do not see her here.” The count started, but replied, “Sire, she is ill, the air of Paris did not agree with her; so having obtained leave from the queen, she set out last night, with her father, for Méridor.” “Paris is not good for women in her situation,” said Chicot. Monsoreau grew pale and looked furiously at him. “This poor countess!” continued Chicot, “she will die of ennui by the way.” “I said that she traveled with her father.” “A father is very respectable, I allow, but not very amusing; and if she had only that worthy baron to amuse her it would be sad; but luckily----” “What!” cried the count. “What?” “What do you mean by ‘luckily’?” “Ah, it was an ellipsis I used.” The count shrugged his shoulders. “Oh, but it was. Ask Henri, who is a man of letters.” “Yes,” said the king; “but what did your adverb mean?” “What adverb?” “‘Luckily.’” “‘Luckily’ means luckily. Luckily, then, there exist some of our friends, and very amusing ones, who, if they meet the countess, will amuse her, and as they are going the same way, it is probable they will. Oh, I see them from here; do you not, Henri; you, who are a man of imagination? There they go, on a good road, well mounted, and saying sweet things to Madame la Comtesse, which she likes very much, dear lady.” M. de Monsoreau was furious, but he could not show it before the king; so he said as mildly as he could, “What, have you friends traveling to Anjou?” “Good; pretend to be mysterious.” “I swear to you----” “Oh! you know they are there, although I saw you just now seeking for them mechanically among the crowd.” “You saw me?” “Yes, you, the palest of all chief huntsmen, past, present, and future, from Nimrod to M. d’Aulefort, your predecessor.” “M. Chicot!” “The palest, I repeat.” “Monsieur, will you return to the friends of whom you spoke, and be so good as to name them, if your super-abundant imagination will let you.” “Seek, monsieur. Morbleu, it is your occupation to hunt out animals, witness the unlucky stag whom you deranged this morning, and who thought it very unkind of you. Seek.”