“Yes, that is just the cause of his death; he talked too much.” “St. Luc, you are hiding something from me!” cried Jeanne, seizing his hands. “I! Nothing; not even the place where he lies.” “Where is it?” “Down there behind the wall; just where Bussy used to tie his horse.” “It was you who killed him.” “Parbleu! that is not very difficult to discover.” “Unlucky that you are!” “Ah, dear friend! he provoked me, insulted me, drew the sword first.” “It is dreadful! the poor man!” “Good; I was sure of it; before a week is over he will be called St. Monsoreau.” “But you cannot stay here in the house of the man you have killed.” “So I thought at once, and that is why I came to ask you to get ready.” “He has not wounded you?” “No, I am perfectly unhurt.” “Then, we will go.” “As quickly as possible, for you know the accident may be discovered at any moment.” “Then Diana is a widow.” “That is just what I thought of.” “After you killed him?” “No, before.” “Well, I will go and tell her.” “Spare her feelings.” “Do not laugh. Meanwhile you get the horses saddled. But where shall we go?” “To Paris.” “But the king?” “Oh! he will have forgotten everything by this time; besides, if there is to be war, as seems probable, he will be glad of me. But I must have pen and ink.” “For what?” “To write to Bussy; I cannot leave Anjou without telling him why.” “No, of course not; you will find all that you require in my room.” St. Luc went in, and wrote,-- “DEAR FRIEND, “You will learn, by report, ere long, the accident which has happened to M. de Monsoreau; we had together, by the old copse, a discussion on broken-down walls and horses that go home alone. In the heat of the argument, he fell on a bed of poppies and dandelions so hard that he died there. “Your friend for life, “St. Luc. “P. S. As you may think this rather improbable, I must add that we had our swords in our hands. I set off at once for Paris to make peace with the king, Anjou not seeming to me very safe after what has occurred.” Ten minutes after a servant set off for Angers with this letter, while M. and Madame de St. Luc went out by another door, leaving Diana much grieved at their departure, and much embarrassed how to tell the baron what had occurred. She had turned away her eyes from St. Luc as he passed. “That is the reward for serving your friends,” said he to his wife; “decidedly all people are ungrateful excepting me.” CHAPTER LXVI. IN WHICH WE SEE THE QUEEN-MOTHER ENTER THE TOWN OF ANGERS, BUT NOT TRIUMPHANTLY.