“Come, my dear Rémy, come. We will speak of her; and next to the pleasure of seeing the woman you love, I know none greater than talking of her.” Bussy then took the arm of the young doctor, and they set off. Rémy on the way tried hard to induce Bussy to return early, insisting that he would be more fit for his duel on the morrow. Bussy smiled. “Fear nothing,” said he. “Ah! my dear master, to-morrow you ought to fight like Hercules against Antæus--like Theseus against the Minotaur--like Bayard--like something Homeric, gigantic, impossible; I wish people to speak of it in future times as the combat, par excellence, and in which you had not even received a scratch.” “Be easy, my dear Rémy, you shall see wonders. This morning I put swords in the hands of four fencers, who during eight minutes could not touch me once, while I tore their doublets to pieces.” So conversing, they arrived in the Rue St. Antoine. “Adieu! here we are,” said Bussy. “Shall I wait for you?” “Why?” “To make sure that you will return before two o’clock, and have at least five or six hours’ sleep before your duel.” “If I give you my word?” “Oh! that will be enough; Bussy’s word is never doubted.” “You have it then.” “Then, adieu, monsieur.” “Adieu, Rémy.” Rémy watched, and saw Bussy enter, not this time by the window, but boldly through the door, which Gertrude opened for him. Then Rémy turned to go home; but he had only gone a few steps, when he saw coming towards him five armed men, wrapped in cloaks. When they arrived about ten yards from him, they said good night to each other, and four went off in different directions, while the fifth remained stationary. “M. de St. Luc!” said Rémy. “Rémy!” “Rémy, in person. Is it an indiscretion to ask what your lordship does at this hour so far from the Louvre?” “Ma foi! I am examining, by the king’s order, the physiognomy of the city. He said to me, ‘St. Luc, walk about the streets of Paris, and if you hear any one say I have abdicated, contradict him.’” “And have you heard it?” “Nowhere; and as it is just midnight, and I have met no one but M. de Monsoreau, I have dismissed my friends, and am about to return.” “M. de Monsoreau?” “Yes.” “You met him?” “With a troop of armed men; ten or twelve at least.” “Impossible!” “Why so?” “He ought to be at Compiègne.” “He ought to be, but he is not.” “But the king’s order?” “Bah! who obeys the king?” “Did he know you?” “I believe so.” “You were but five?” “My four friends and I.” “And he did not attack you?” “On the contrary, he avoided me, which astonished me, as on seeing him, I expected a terrible battle.” “Where was he going?” “To the Rue de la Tixanderie.” “Ah! mon Dieu!” “What?” “M. de St. Luc, a great misfortune is about to happen.” “To whom?” “To M. de Bussy.” “Bussy! speak, Rémy; I am his friend, you know.” “Oh! M. de Bussy thought him at Compiègne.” “Well?” “And, profiting by his absence, is with Madame de Monsoreau.” “Ah!”