“Well, then, I must lose my place,” said he. “Really?” “Yes; there are things I prefer to it.” “You are very disinterested.” “It is my character, monseigneur.” “Then of course you will not mind the king’s knowing your character?” “Who will tell him?” “Diable! if he asks me about you, I must repeat our conversation.” “Ma foi! monseigneur, if all they say in Paris were reported to the king, his two ears would not be enough to listen with.” “What do they say at Paris, monsieur?” asked the prince sharply. Monsoreau tried to calm himself. “How should a poor invalid, as I am, know?” said he. “If the king is angry at seeing his work badly done, he is wrong.” “How so?” “Because, doubtless, my accident proceeds, to some extent, from him.” “Explain yourself.” “M. de St. Luc, who wounded me, is a dear friend of the king’s. It was the king who taught him the thrust by which he wounded me, and it might have been the king who prompted him.” “You are right; but still the king is the king.” “Until he is so no longer.” The duke trembled. “Is not Madame de Monsoreau here?” said he. “Monseigneur, she is ill, or she would have come to present her respects to you.” “Ill! poor woman! it must be grief at seeing you suffer.” “Yes, and the fatigue of moving.” “Let us hope it will be a short indisposition. You have so skilful a doctor.” “Yes, that dear Rémy----” “Why, he is Bussy’s doctor.” “He has lent him to me.” “You are, then, great friends?” “He is my best, I might say my only, friend.” “Adieu, come!” As the duke raised the tapestry, he fancied he saw the skirt of a dress disappear into the next room, and immediately Bussy appeared at his post in the middle of the corridor. Suspicion grew stronger with the duke. “We are going,” said he to Bussy, who ran down-stairs without replying; while the duke, left alone, tried to penetrate the corridor where he had seen the silk dress vanish. But, turning, he saw that Monsoreau had followed, and was standing at the door. “Your highness mistakes your way,” said he. “True,” said the duke, “thank you.” And he went down with rage in his heart. When he returned home, Aurilly glided into his room. “Well,” said the duke, “I am baffled by the husband!” “And, perhaps, also by the lover, monseigneur.” “What do you say?” “The truth.” “Speak, then.” “I hope your highness will pardon me--it was in your service.” “I pardon you in advance. Go on.” “After your highness had gone up-stairs, I watched under a shed in the courtyard.” “Ah! What did you see?” “I saw a woman’s dress; I saw this woman lean forward, and then I heard the sound of along and tender kiss.” “But who was the man?” “I cannot recognize arms.” “No, but you might gloves.” “Indeed, it seemed to me----” “That you recognized them?” “It was only a guess.” “Never mind.” “Well, monseigneur, they looked like the gloves of M. de Bussy.” “Buff, embroidered with gold, were they not?” “Yes, monseigneur.”