“I should think so. Then you would be ennuyé no longer?” “Ma foi! no, but if this goes on much longer, I believe I shall kill myself.” “Well! shall I give you my page?” “To me?” “Yes, he is a wonderful lad.” “Thank you, but I detest pages.” “Bah! try him.” “Bussy, you mock me.” “Let me leave him.” “No.” “I tell you, you will like him.” “No, no, a hundred times, no.” “Hola, page, come here.” Jeanne came forward, blushing. “Oh!” cried St. Luc, recognizing her, in astonishment. “Well! shall I send him away?” “No, no. Ah Bussy, I owe you an eternal friendship.” “Take care, you cannot be heard, but you can be seen.” “It is true,” said St. Luc, retreating from his wife. Indeed, M. de Nancey was beginning to wonder what was going on, when a great noise was heard from the gallery. “Ah! mon Dieu!” cried M. de Nancey, “there is the king quarreling with some one.” “I really think so,” replied Bussy, affecting inquietude; “can it be with the Duc d’Anjou, who came with me?” The captain of the guard went off in the direction of the gallery. “Have I not managed well?” said Bussy to St. Luc. “What is it?” “M. d’Anjou and the king are quarrelling; I must go to them. You profit by the time to place in safety the page I have brought you; is it possible?” “Oh, yes; luckily I declared I was ill and must keep my room.” “In that case, adieu, madame, and remember me in your prayers.” And Bussy went off to the gallery, where the king, red with fury, swore to the duke, who was pale with anger, that in the scene of the preceding night Bussy was the aggressor. “I affirm to you, sire,” cried the duke, “that D’Epernon, Schomberg and Quelus were waiting for him at the Hôtel des Tournelles.” “Who told you so?” “I saw them with my own eyes.” “In that darkness! The night was pitch dark.” “I knew their voices.” “They spoke to you?” “They did more, they took me for Bussy, and attacked me.” “You?” “Yes, I.” “And what were you doing there?” “What does that matter to you?” “I wish to know; I am curious to-day.” “I was going to Manasses.” “A Jew?” “You go to Ruggieri, a poisoner.” “I go where I like: I am the king. Besides, as I said, Bussy was the aggressor.” “Where?” “At St. Luc’s ball.” “Bussy provoked five men? No, no, he is brave, but he is not mad.” “Par la mordieu! I tell you I heard him. Besides, he has wounded Schomberg in the thigh, D’Epernon in the arm, and half killed Quelus.” “Ah! really I did not know; I compliment him on it.” “I will make example of this brawler.” “And I, whom your friends attack, in his person and in my own, will know if I am your brother, and if----” At this moment Bussy, dressed in pale-green satin, entered the room. “Sire!” said he, “receive my humble respects.” “Pardieu! here he is,” cried Henri. “Your majesty, it seems, was doing me the honor of speaking of me.” “Yes, and I am glad to see that, in spite of what they told me, your look shows good health.”