“How! monseigneur takes the trouble to come to my house to seek me.” “Yes mordieu, I want an explanation.” “From me?” “Yes, from you.” “I listen, monseigneur.” “You tell me to steel myself against the suggestions of my mother, and to sustain the attack valiantly. I do so; and in the hottest of the fight you tell me to surrender.” “I gave you all those charges, monseigneur, because I was ignorant of the object for which your mother came; but now that I see that she has come to promote your highness’s honor and glory----” “How! what do you mean?” “Doubtless: what does your highness want? To triumph over your enemies, do you not? For I do not believe, as some people say, that you wish to become King of France.” The duke looked sullen. “Some might counsel you to it, but believe me they are your most cruel enemies. Consider for yourself, monseigneur; have you one hundred thousand men--ten millions of livres--alliance with foreigners--and, above all, would you turn against your king?” “My king did not hesitate to turn against me.” “Ah! there you are right. Well! declare yourself--get crowned--take the title of King of France--and if you succeed, I ask no better; I should grow great with you.” “Who speaks of being king?” cried the duke, angrily; “you discuss a question which I have never proposed, even to myself.” “Well, then, that is settled. Let them give you a guard and five hundred thousand livres. Obtain, before peace is signed, a subsidy from Anjou, to carry on the war. Once you have it, you can keep it. So, we should have arms and money, and we could do----God knows what.” “But once they have me at Paris, they will laugh at me.” “Oh! impossible, monseigneur; did you not hear what the queen mother offered you?” “She offered me many things.” “That disquiets you?” “Yes.” “But, among other things, she offered you a company of guards, even if I commanded it.” “Yes, she offered that.” “Well, accept; I will be captain; Antragues and Livarot lieutenants; and Ribeirac ensign. Let us get up your company for you, and see if they dare to laugh at you then.” “Ma foi! I believe you are right, Bussy; I will think of it.” “Do so, monseigneur.” “What were you reading so attentively when I came in?” “Oh! a letter, which interests you still more than me. Where the devil were my brains, that I did not show it to you?” “What is it?” “Sad news, monseigneur; Monsoreau is dead.” “What!” cried the duke, with a surprise which Bussy thought was a joyful one. “Dead, monseigneur.” “M. de Monsoreau!” “Mon Dieu! yes; are we not all mortal?” “Yes; but so suddenly.” “Ah! but if you are killed?” “Then, he was killed?” “So it seems; and by St. Luc, with whom he quarreled.” “Oh, that dear St. Luc!” “I did not think he was one of your highness’s friends.” “Oh, he is my brother’s, and, since we are to be reconciled, his friends are mine. But are you sure?”