“Good! as if you were not exiled to Poland; and La Charité is nearer to the Louvre than Cracow is. Ah, yes, you send him to the army--that is so clever; that is to say, you put thirty thousand men under his orders, ventre de biche! and a real army, not like your army of the League; no, no, an army of bourgeois is good for Henri de Valois, but Henri de Guise must have an army of soldiers--and what soldiers? hardened warriors, capable of destroying twenty armies of the League; so that if, being king in fact, Henri de Guise had the folly one day to wish to be so in name, he would only have to turn towards the capital, and say, ‘Let us swallow Paris, and Henri de Valois and the Louvre at a mouthful,’ and the rogues would do it. I know them.” “You forget one thing in your argument, illustrious politician.” “Ah, diable! it is possible! If you mean a fourth king----” “No; you forget that before thinking of reigning in France, when a Valois is on the throne, it would be necessary to look back and count your ancestors. That such an idea might come to M. d’Anjou is possible; his ancestors are mine, and it is only a question of primogeniture. But M. de Guise!” “Ah! that is just where you are in error.” “How so?” “M. de Guise is of a better race than you think.” “Better than me, perhaps,” said Henri, smiling. “There is no perhaps in it.” “You are mad. Learn to read, my friend.” “Well, Henri, you who can read, read this;” and he drew from his pocket the genealogy which we know already, handing it to Henri, who turned pale as he recognized, near to the signature of the prelate, the seal of St. Peter. “What do you say, Henri? Are not your fleur-de-lys thrown a little in the background?” “But how did you get this genealogy?” “I! Do I seek these things? It came to seek me.” “Where?” “Under the bolster of a lawyer.” “And what was his name?” “M. Nicolas David.” “Where was he?” “At Lyons.” “And who took it from under the bolster?” “One of my good friends.” “Who is he?” “A monk.” “His name?” “Gorenflot.” “What! that abominable leaguer, who uttered those incendiary discourses at St. Genevieve, and again yesterday in the streets of Paris?” “You remember the history of Brutus, who pretended to be a fool?” “He is, then, a profound politician? Did he take it from the advocate?” “Yes, by force.” “Then he is brave?” “Brave as Bayard.” “And having done this, he has not asked for any recompense?” “He returned humbly to his convent, and only asks me to forget that he ever came out.” “Then he is modest?” “As St. Crepin.” “Chicot, your friend shall be made a prior on the first vacancy.” “Thanks for him, Henri.” “Ma foi!” said Chicot to himself, “if he escapes being hung by Mayenne, he will have an abbey.” CHAPTER L. ETEOCLES AND POLYNICES.