At the same time that M. de Monsoreau fell under the sword of St. Luc, a flourish of trumpets sounded at the closed gates of Angers. It was Catherine de Medicis, who arrived there with rather a large suite. They sent to tell Bussy, who rose from his bed, and went to the prince, who immediately got into his. Certainly the airs played by the trumpets were fine, but they had not the virtue of those which made the walls of Jericho fall, for the gates did not open. Catherine leaned out of her litter to show herself to the guards, hoping the sight of her would do more than the sound of the trumpets. They saw her, and saluted her courteously, but did not open the gates. Then she sent a gentleman to demand admittance, but they replied that Angers being in a state of war, the gates could not be opened without some necessary formalities. Catherine was furious. At last Bussy appeared, with five other gentlemen. “Who is there?” cried he. “It is her majesty the queen mother, who has come to visit Angers.” “Very well, go to the left, and about eighty steps off you will find the postern.” “A postern for her majesty!” cried the gentleman. But Bussy was no longer there to hear, he and his friends had ridden off towards the indicated spot. “Did your majesty hear?” asked the gentleman. “Oh! yes, monsieur, I heard; let us go there, if that be the only way to get in.” The cortege turned to the left, and the postern opened. “Your majesty is welcome to Angers,” said Bussy. “Thank you, M. de Bussy,” said the queen, descending from her litter, and advancing towards the little door. Bussy stopped her. “Take care, madame,” said he, “the door is low, and you will hurt yourself.” “Must I then stoop?” replied she; “it is the first time I ever entered a city so.” Once through the gate she re-entered her litter to go to the palace, Bussy and his friends escorting her. “Where is my son?” cried she; “why do I not see M. d’Anjou?” “Monseigneur is ill, madame, or else your majesty cannot doubt that he would have come himself to do the honors of his city.” Catherine was sublime in hypocrisy. “Ill--my poor child, ill!” cried she; “ah! let us hasten to him; is he well taken care of?” “Yes, madame, we do our best.” “Does he suffer?” “Horribly, he is subject to these sudden indispositions.” “It was sudden, then?” “Mon Dieu! yes, madame.” When they arrived at the palace, Bussy ran up first to the duke. “Here she is!” cried he. “Is she furious?” “Exasperated.” “Does she complain?” “No, she does worse, she smiles.” “What do the people say?” “They looked at her in mute terror; now, monseigneur, be careful.” “We stick to war?” “Pardieu, ask one hundred to get ten, and with her you will only get five.” “Bah! you think me very weak. Are you all here? Where is Monsoreau?” “I believe he is at Méridor.” “Her majesty the queen mother!” cried the usher at the door.