About twenty-five steps from the door was an enormous heap of stones belonging to demolished houses, and serving for fortifications to the children of the neighborhood when they played at battles. In the midst was a space, which could contain two people. The valet spread a cloak, on which Monsoreau sat down, while his servant sat at his feet, with a loaded musket placed beside him. Diana had prudently drawn her thick curtains, so that scarcely a ray of light showed through, to betray that there was life in this gloomy house. They had been watching about ten minutes, when two horses appeared at the end of the street. The valet pointed to them. “I see,” said Monsoreau. The two men got off their horses, and tied them up at the corner of the Hôtel des Tournelles. “Monseigneur,” said Aurilly, “I believe we have arrived too late; he must have gone straight from your hotel and must have entered.” “Perhaps so; but if we did not see him go in, we can see him come out.” “Yes, but when?” “When we please.” “Would it be too curious to ask how you mean to manage?” “Nothing is more easy; we have but to knock at the door, and ask after M. de Monsoreau. Our lover will be frightened at the noise, and as you enter the house he will come out at the window, and I, who am hidden outside, shall see him.” “And Monsoreau?” “What can he say? I am his friend, and was uneasy about him, as he looked so ill yesterday; nothing can be more simple.” “It is very ingenious, monseigneur.” “Do you hear what they say?” asked Monsoreau of his valet. “No, monsieur, but we soon shall, for they are coming nearer.” “Monseigneur,” said Aurilly, “here is a heap of stones which seems made on purpose for us.” “Yes, but wait a moment, perhaps we can see through the opening of the curtain.” And they stood for some minutes trying to find a place to peep through. Meanwhile, Monsoreau was boiling with impatience, and his hand approached the musket. “Oh! shall I suffer this?” murmured he, “shall I devour this affront also? No, my patience is worn out. Mordieu! that I can neither sleep, nor wake, nor even suffer quietly, because a shameful caprice has lodged in the idle brain of this miserable prince. No, I am not a complaisant valet; I am the Comte de Monsoreau, and if he comes near, on my word, I will blow his brains out. Light the match, René.” At this moment, just as the prince was about to seek his hiding-place, leaving his companion to knock at the door, Aurilly touched his arm. “Well, monsieur, what is it?” asked the prince. “Come away, monseigneur, come.” “Why so?” “Do you not see something shining there to the left?” “I see a spark among that heap of stones.” “It is the match of a musket, or arquebuse.” “Ah! who the devil can be in ambush there?” “Some friend or servant of Bussy’s. Let us go and make a detour, and return another way. The servant will give the alarm, and we shall see Bussy come out of the window.”