“I should think so. Look at my dress; am I in the habit of wearing cinnamon-colored clothes?” “And where are you lodging?” “Ah! I hope you will appreciate my devotion; in a tumble-down old house, near the ramparts. But you, my prince, how did you get out of the Louvre? How was it that I found you on the road, with M. d’Aubigné for a companion?” “Because I have friends.” “You! friends!” “Yes, friends that you do not know.” “Well, and who are they?” “The King of Navarre and D’Aubigné, whom you saw.” “The King of Navarre! Ah! true, did you not conspire together?” “I never conspired, M. de Bussy.” “No; ask poor La Mole and Coconnas.” “La Mole,” said the prince, gloomily, “died for another crime than the one alleged against him.” “Well, never mind him. How the devil did you get out of the Louvre?” “Through the window.” “Which window?” “That of my bedroom.” “Then you knew of the rope-ladder?” “What rope-ladder?” “In the cupboard.” “Ah! it seems you knew it,” cried the prince, turning pale. “Oh! your highness knows I have sometimes had the happiness of entering that room.” “In the time of my sister Margot. Then you came in by the window?” “As you came out. All that astonishes me is, that you knew of the ladder.” “It was not I who found it.” “Who then?” “I was told of it.” “By whom?” “By the King of Navarre.” “Ah! the King of Navarre knew of it; I should not have thought so. However, now you are here safe and sound, we will put Anjou in flames, and Béarn and Angoumois will catch the light, so we shall have a fine blaze.” “But did you not speak of a rendezvous?” “It is true; the interest of the conversation was making me forget. Adieu, monseigneur.” “Do you take your horse?” “If it will be useful to you, monseigneur, you may keep it, I have another.” “Well! I accept; we will settle that later.” The duke gave Bussy his hand, and they separated. CHAPTER LVII. THE IDEAS OF THE DUC D’ANJOU. Bussy returned home, but instead of St. Luc, whom he expected, he found only a letter fixing their meeting for the next day. About six in the morning St. Luc started, and rode straight to Bussy’s house. “Accept the hospitality of my poor hut, St. Luc,” said Bussy, “I am encamped here.” “Yes, like a conqueror on the field of battle.” “What do you mean?” “I mean, dear Bussy, that my wife has no secrets from me, and has told me all. Receive my compliments, but, since you have sent for me, permit me to give you a piece of advice.” “Well.” “Get rid as soon as possible of that abominable Monsoreau; no one at the court knows of your love for his wife, so when you marry the widow, no one will say you killed him on purpose.” “There is but one obstacle to this project, which presented itself to my mind, as to yours.” “What is it?” “That I have sworn to Diana to respect the life of her husband, as long as he does not attack me.” “You were very wrong.” “Why so?”