“And a wife,” added Livarot. “We will hunt a boar, count,” said the prince. “Oh, yes, to-morrow!” cried the gentlemen. “What do you say, Monsoreau?” “I am always at your highness’s orders, but I am too much fatigued to conduct a chase to-morrow; besides which, I must examine the woods.” “And we must leave him time to see his wife,” cried the duke. “Granted,” cried the young men; “we give him twenty-four hours to do all he has to do.” “Yes, gentlemen, I promise to employ them well.” “Now go to bed,” said the duke, and M. de Monsoreau bowed, and went out, very happy to escape. CHAPTER LXI. HOW THE KING LEARNED THE FLIGHT OF HIS BELOVED BROTHER, AND WHAT FOLLOWED. When Monsoreau had retired, the repast continued, and was more gay and joyous than ever. “Now, Livarot,” said the duke, “finish the recital of your flight from Paris, which Monsoreau interrupted.” Livarot began again, but as our title of historian gives us the privilege of knowing better than Livarot himself what had passed, we will substitute our recital for that of the young man. Towards the middle of the night Henri III. was awoke by an unaccustomed noise in the palace. It was oaths, blows on the wall, rapid steps in the galleries, and, amidst all, these words continually sounding, “What will the king say?” Henri sat up and called Chicot, who was asleep on the couch. Chicot opened one eye. “Ah, you were wrong to call me, Henri,” said he; “I was dreaming that you had a son.” “But listen.” “To what? You say enough follies to me by day, without breaking in on my nights.” “But do you not hear?” “Oh, oh! I do hear cries.” “Do you hear, ‘What will the king say?’” “It is one of two things--either your dog Narcissus is ill, or the Huguenots are taking their revenge for St. Bartholomew.” “Help me to dress.” “If you will first help me to get up.” “What a misfortune!” sounded from the antechamber. “Shall we arm ourselves?” said the king. “We had better go first and see what is the matter.” And almost immediately they went out by the secret door into the gallery. “I begin to guess,” said Chicot; “your unlucky prisoner has hanged himself.” “Oh, no; it cannot be that.” “So much the worse.” “Come on;” and they entered the duke’s chamber. The window was open, and the ladder still hung from it. Henri grew as pale as death. “Oh, my son, you are not so blasé as I thought!” said Chicot. “Escaped!” cried Henri, in such a thundering voice that all the gentlemen who were crowded round the window turned in terror. Schomberg tore his hair, Quelus and Maugiron struck themselves like madmen; as for D’Epernon, he had vanished. This sight calmed the king. “Gently, my son,” said he, laying hold of Maugiron. “No! mordieu!” cried he, “I will kill myself!” and he knocked his head against the wall. “Hola! help me to hold him.” “It would be an easier death to pass your sword through your body!” said Chicot.