“So much the worse; I should have liked to have made a prince laugh, who hardly ever does so.” “I laugh at your inventing a false story to find out the true one.” “No, I told you the truth.” “Well, then, as we are alone, tell me your little history. Where did it happen?” “In the wood of Méridor.” The duke grew pale again, but did not speak. “Decidedly,” thought Bussy, “the duke is mixed up with that story. Pardieu! monseigneur,” said he, “as M. de Monsoreau seems to have found the method of pleasing you so well, teach it to me.” “Pardieu! yes, Bussy, I will tell you how. Listen; I met, by chance, at church, a charming woman, and as some features of her face, which I only saw through a veil, recalled to me a lady whom I had much loved, I followed her, and found out where she lived. I have gained over her servant, and have a key of the house.” “Well, monseigneur, all seems to go well for you.” “But they say she is a great prude, although free, young, and beautiful.” “Ah! you are romancing.” “Well, you are brave, and love me?” “I have my days.” “For being brave?” “No, for loving you.” “Well, is this one of the days?” “I will try and make it one, if I can serve your highness.” “Well, I want you to do for me what most people do for themselves.” “Make love to her, to find out if she be a prude?” “No, find out if she has a lover. I want you to lay in wait and discover who the man is that visits her.” “There is a man then?” “I fear so.” “Lover, or husband?” “That is what I want to know.” “And you want me to find out?” “If you will do me that great favor----” “You will make me the next chief huntsman.” “I have never yet done anything for you.” “Oh! you have discovered that at last.” “Well, do you consent?” “To watch the lady?” “Yes.” “Monseigneur, I confess I do not like the commission.” “You offered to do me a service, and you draw back already!” “Because you want me to be a spy.” “I ask you as a friend.” “Monseigneur, this is a sort of thing that every man must do for himself, even if he be a prince.” “Then you refuse?” “Ma foi! yes.” The duke frowned. “Well, I will go myself,” said he, “and if I am killed or wounded, I shall say that I begged my friend Bussy to. undertake the task, and that for the first time he was prudent.” “Monseigneur, you said to me the other night, ‘Bussy, I hate all those minions of the king’s who are always laughing at and insulting us; go to this wedding of St. Luc’s, pick a quarrel and try to get rid of them.’ I went; they were five and I was alone. I defied them all; they laid wait for me, attacked me all together, and killed my horse, yet I wounded three of them. To-day you ask me to wrong a woman. Pardon, monseigneur, but that is past the service which a prince should exact from a gallant man, and I refuse.” “So be it; I will do my work myself, or with Aurilly, as I have done already.” “Oh!” said Bussy, with a sudden thought. “What?”