“You are right; come;” and they went to their horses. “They are going,” said the valet. “Yes. Did you recognize them?” “They seemed to me to be the prince and Aurilly.” “Just so. But I shall soon be more sure still.” “What will monsieur do?” “Come.” Meanwhile, the duke and Aurilly turned into the Rue St. Catherine, intending to return by the boulevard of the Bastile. Monsoreau went in, and ordered his litter. What the duke had foreseen happened. At the noise that Monsoreau made, Bussy took the alarm, the light was extinguished, the ladder fixed, and Bussy, to his great regret, was obliged to fly, like Romeo, but without having, like him, seen the sun rise and heard the lark sing. Just as he touched the ground, and Diana had thrown him the ladder, the duke and Aurilly arrived at the corner of the Bastile. They saw a shadow suspended from Diana’s window, but this shadow disappeared almost instantaneously at the corner of the Rue St. Paul. “Monsieur,” said the valet to Monsoreau, “we shall wake up the household.” “What do I care?” cried Monsoreau, furiously. “I am master here, I believe, and I have at least the right to do what M. d’Anjou wished to do.” The litter was got ready, and, drawn by two stout horses, it was soon at the Hôtel d’Anjou. The duke and Aurilly had so recently come in that their horses were not unsaddled. Monsoreau, who had the entree, appeared on the threshold just as the duke, after having thrown his hat on a chair, was holding out his boots to a valet to pull off. A servant, preceding him by some steps, announced M. de Monsoreau. A thunderbolt breaking his windows, could not have astonished the prince more. “M. de Monsoreau!” cried he, with an uneasiness he could not hide. “Myself, monseigneur,” replied he, trying to repress his emotion, but the effort he made over himself was so violent that his legs failed him, and he fell on to a chair which stood near. “But you will kill yourself, my dear friend,” said the duke; “you are so pale, you look as though you were going to faint.” “Oh, no; what I have to say to your highness is of too much importance; I may faint afterwards.” “Speak, then, my dear comte.” “Not before your people, I suppose.” The duke dismissed everyone. “Your highness has just come in?” said Monsoreau. “As you see, comte.” “It is very imprudent of your highness to go by night in the street.” “Who told you I had been in the streets?” “The dust on your clothes.” “M. de Monsoreau, have you another employment besides that of chief huntsman?” “Yes, that of spy, monseigneur; all the world follow that calling now, more or less, and I, like the rest.” “And what does this profession bring you, monsieur?” “Knowledge.” “It is curious.” “Very curious.” “Well, tell me what you have to say.” “I came for that.” “You permit me to sit down?” said the duke.