“Ah! Bussy! yes, it was Bussy. Oh, I was blind and yet not blind; but I could not believe in so much audacity.” “But your highness must not believe it too lightly; might there not have been a man hidden in her room?” “Yes, doubtless, but Bussy, who was in the corridor, would have seen him.” “That is true.” “And then the gloves----” “Yes, and besides the kiss, I heard----” “What?” “Three words, ‘Till to-morrow evening.’” “Oh! mon Dieu!” “So that, if you like, we can make sure.” “Aurilly, we will go.” “Your highness knows I am at your orders.” “Ah! Bussy, a traitor! Bussy, the honest man--Bussy, who does not wish me to be King of France;” and the duke, smiling with an infernal joy, dismissed Aurilly. CHAPTER LXXX. THE WATCHERS. The duke kept Bussy near him all day, so as not to lose sight of his movements. Bussy did not care, so that he had his evenings free. At ten o’clock he wrapped himself in his cloak, and with a rope ladder under his arm went towards the Bastile. The duke, who did not know that he had a ladder, and could not believe in any one walking alone at night through the streets of Paris, thought Bussy would certainly call at his hotel for a horse and a servant, and lost ten minutes in preparations. During those ten minutes, Bussy, active and in love, had already gone three-fourths of the distance. He was lucky, as brave people generally are, and met with no accident by the way, and on arriving saw a light in the windows. It was the signal agreed on between him and Diana. He threw his ladder up to the balcony, it had six hooks to it, and was sure to fasten itself somewhere. At the noise, Diana put out her light and opened the window to fasten the ladder. The thing was done in a moment. Diana looked all around; the street seemed deserted. Then she signed to Bussy to mount, and he was up in five seconds. The moment was happily chosen, for while he got in at the window, M. de Monsoreau, after having listened patiently for a quarter of an hour at his wife’s door, descended the stairs painfully, leaning on the arm of a confidential valet, and it so happened that he opened the street-door just as the ladder was drawn up, and the window closed. He looked around, but the streets were deserted. “You have been badly informed,” said he to the servant. “No, monsieur, I have just left the Hôtel d’Anjou, and they told me that the duke had ordered two horses for this evening. But perhaps it was not to come here.” “Where else should he go?” said Monsoreau, with a somber air. He, like all jealous persons, thought the whole world had nothing to do but to torment him. “Perhaps I should have done better to stay in her room,” murmured he. “But they probably have signals for corresponding; she would have warned him of my presence, and I should have learned nothing. It is better to watch outside. Come, conduct me to the hiding-place, whence you say one can see everything.” “Come, monsieur.”