“I am at your orders,” replied Bussy. CHAPTER LXXVIII. THE PRECAUTIONS OF M. DE MONSOREAU. St. Luc was right, and Jeanne was right, and Bussy soon acknowledged it. As for Diana, she gave herself up to the two instincts that Figaro recognizes as inborn in mankind, to love and to deceive. M. de Monsoreau grew better and better. He had escaped from fever, thanks to the application of cold water, that new remedy which Providence had discovered to Ambrose Paré, when all at once he received a great shock at hearing of the arrival in Paris of the duke with the queen-mother. The day after his arrival, the duke, under the pretext of asking after him, presented himself at his hotel, and it was impossible to close his door against a prince who showed so much interest in him. M. de Monsoreau therefore was obliged to receive the prince, who was most amiable to him and to his wife. As soon as he was gone, M. de Monsoreau took Diana’s arm, and in spite of Rémy’s remonstrances walked three times round his armchair; and, from his satisfied air, Diana was sure he was meditating on some project. The next day the duke came again, and this time Monsoreau walked round his room. That evening Diana warned Bussy that her husband had certainly some project in his head. A few minutes after, when Bussy and Monsoreau were alone, “When I think,” said Monsoreau, “that this prince, who smiles on me, is my mortal enemy, and tried to have me assassinated by M. de St. Luc----” “Oh, assassinated! take care, M. le Comte. St. Luc is a gentleman, and you confess yourself that you provoked him, drew the sword first, and received your wound in fair fight.” “Certainly; but it is not the less true that he obeyed the wishes of M. d’Anjou.” “Listen! I know M. de St. Luc, and I can assure you he is devoted to the king, and hates the duke. If your wound had come from Antragues, Livarot, or Ribeirac, it might be so; but not from St. Luc.” “You do not know,” replied Monsoreau, obstinate in his opinion. At last he was able to go down into the garden. “That will do,” said he; “now we will move.” “Why move?” said Rémy. “The air is good here, and there is plenty of amusement.” “Too much; M. d’Anjou fatigues me with his visits, and he always brings with him a crowd of gentlemen, and the noise of their spurs destroys my nerves.” “But where are you going?” “I have ordered them to get ready my little house at the Tournelles.” Bussy and Diana exchanged a look of loving remembrance. “What, that little place?” cried Rémy, imprudently. “What! do you know it?” “Who does not know the houses of the chief huntsman? particularly I, who lived in the Rue Beautrellis.” “Yes, yes, I will go there. It is a fortress, and one can see from the window, three hundred yards off, who is coming to visit you, and avoid them if you like, particularly when you are well!”