“On the contrary, he killed a lackey of Quelus’s.” “Oh!” murmured the king, “here is a civil war lighted up.” Quelus started. “It is true,” said he. “Ah,” said Chicot. “You begin to perceive it, do you?” “But, M. Chicot, you cried with us, ‘Death to the Angevins!’” “Oh! that is a different thing; I am a fool, and you are clever men.” “Come, peace, gentlemen; we shall have enough of war soon.” “What are your majesty’s orders?” “That you employ the same ardor in calming the people as you have done in exciting them, and that you bring back all the Swiss, my guards, and my household, and have the doors of the Louvre closed, so that perhaps tomorrow the bourgeois may take the whole thing for a sortie of drunken people.” The young men went off, and Henri returned to his mother. “Well,” said she, “what has passed?” “All you foresaw, mother.” “They have escaped?” “Alas! yes.” “What else?” “Is not that enough?” “The city?” “Is in tumult; but that is not what disquiets me.” “No, it is the provinces.” “Which will revolt.” “What shall you do?” “I see but one thing.” “What is that?” “To withdraw the army from La Charité, and march on Anjou.” “And M. de Guise?” “Oh, I will arrest him if necessary.” “And you think violent measures will succeed?” “What can I do, then?” “Your plan will not do.” “Well, what is your idea?” “Send an ambassador.” “To whom?” “To your brother.” “An ambassador to that traitor! You humiliate me, mother.” “This is not a moment to be proud.” “An ambassador will ask for peace?” “Who will buy it if necessary.” “With what? mon Dieu!” “If it were only to secure quietly, afterwards, those who have gone to make war on you.” “I would give much for that.” “Well, then, the end is worth the means.” “I believe you are right, mother; but whom shall I send?” “Seek among your friends.” “My mother, I do not know a single man to whom I could confide such a mission.” “Confide it to a woman, then.” “My mother, would you consent?” “My son, I am very old, and very weak, and death will perhaps await me on my return; but I will make this journey so rapidly that your brother and his friends will not have had time to learn their own power.” “Oh, my good mother!” cried Henri, kissing her hands, “you are my support, my benefactress!” “That means that I am still Queen of France,” murmured she. CHAPTER LXIII. IN WHICH IT IS PROVED THAT GRATITUDE WAS ONE OF ST. LUC’S VIRTUES. The next morning, M. de Monsoreau rose early, and descended into the courtyard of the palace. He entered the stable, where Roland was in his place. “Are the horses of monseigneur taught to return to their stable alone?” asked he of the man who stood there. “No, M. le Comte.” “But Roland did so yesterday.” “Oh, he is remarkably intelligent.” “Has he ever done it before?” “No, monsieur; he is generally ridden by the Duc d’Anjou, who is a good rider, and never gets thrown.”