“It is very fine of M. de Bussy, but however little we may be worth, we can each do our own work; we will accept, therefore, the count’s proposal, fighting separately, or rather, which will be still better, as we do not seek to assassinate a gallant man, chance shall decide which of us shall fight M. de Bussy.” “And the three others?” “Oh! M. de Bussy has too many friends, and we too many enemies, for them to remain with folded arms. Do you agree to this, gentlemen?” “Yes!” cried all. “If MM. Ribeirac, Antragues, and Livarot would join the party, it would be complete.” “Gentlemen,” said St. Luc, “I will transmit your desires to M. de Bussy, and I believe I may promise that he is too courteous not to agree to your wishes. It therefore only remains for me to thank you in his name.” Then he took his leave, after throwing his purse to the four lackeys, whom he found outside, to drink to their masters’ healths. CHAPTER LXXVII. IN WHAT RESPECT M. DE ST. LUC WAS MORE CIVILIZED THAN M. DE BUSSY, THE LESSONS WHICH HE GAVE HIM, AND THE USE WHICH M. DE BUSSY MADE OF THEM. St. Luc returned, proud of having executed his commission so well. Bussy thanked him, but looked sad, which was not natural to him. “Have I done badly?” said St. Luc. “Ma foi, my dear friend, I only regret you did not say, ‘at once.’” “Why! what is the hurry?” “I wish to die as soon as possible.” St. Luc looked at him in astonishment. “Die! at your age, with your name, and Diana!” “Yes, I shall kill them, I know, but I shall receive some good blow which will tranquilize me forever.” “What black ideas, Bussy!” “A husband whom I thought dead, and who has returned to life; a wife who can scarcely quit the bedside of the pretended dying man. Not to see her, smile on her, touch her hand. Mon Dieu!----” St. Luc interrupted him with a burst of laughter. “Oh!” cried he, “the innocent man. Why, no lover can be more fortunate than you.” “Prove that to me.” “You are the friend of M. de Monsoreau.” “Yes, I am ashamed to say, he calls me his friend.” “Well! be his friend.” “Oh! and abuse this title!” “Is he really your friend?” “He says so.” “No; for he makes you unhappy. Now the end of friendship is to make one another happy. At least, so his majesty says, and he is learned in friendship. So, if he makes you unhappy, he is not your friend; therefore you may treat him either as a stranger, and take his wife from him, or as an enemy, and kill him if he murmurs.” “In fact, I hate him. But do you not think he loves me?” “Diable! Take away his wife and see.” “I must continue to be a man of honor.” “And let Madame de Monsoreau cure her husband both physically and morally. For it is certain that if you get yourself killed, she will attach herself to the only man who remains to her.” Bussy frowned.