“Cloth of gold for them, while you a gentleman, a colonel, a Clermont, almost a prince, wear simple black velvet.” “Sire,” said Bussy, turning towards the kings’ minions, “as we live in a time when lackeys dress like princes, I think it good taste for princes to dress like lackeys.” And he returned to the young men in their splendid dress the impertinent smiles which they had bestowed on him a little before. They grew pale with fury, and seemed only to wait the king’s permission to fall upon Bussy. “Is it for me and mine that you say that?” asked Chicot, speaking like the king. Three friends of Bussy’s now drew near to him. These were Charles d’Antragues, François, Vicomte de Ribeirac, and Livarot. Seeing all this, St. Luc guessed that Bussy was sent by Monsieur to provoke a quarrel. He trembled more than ever, for he feared the combatants were about to take his house for a battle-field. He ran to Quelus, who already had his hand on his sword, and said, “In Heaven’s name be moderate.” “Parbleu, he attacks you as well as us.” “Quelus, think of the Duc d’Anjou, who supports Bussy; you do not suppose I fear Bussy himself?” “Eh! Mordieu, what need we fear; we belong to the king. If we get into peril for him he will help us.” “You, yes; but me,” said St. Luc, piteously. “Ah dame, why do you marry, knowing how jealous the king is in his friendships?” “Good,” thought St. Luc, “everyone for himself; and as I wish to live tranquil during the first fortnight of my marriage, I will make friends with M. Bussy.” And he advanced towards him. After his impertinent speech, Bussy had looked round the room to see if any one would take notice of it. Seeing St. Luc approach, he thought he had found what he sought. “Monsieur,” said he, “is it to what I said just now, that I owe the honor of the conversation you appear to desire?” “Of what you have just said, I heard nothing. No, I saw you, and wished to salute you, and thank you for the honor you have done me by your presence here.” Bussy, who knew the courage of St. Luc, understood at once that he considered the duties of a host paramount, and answered him politely. Henri, who had seen the movement said, “Oh, oh! I fear there is mischief there; I cannot have St. Luc killed. Go and see, Quelus; no, you are too rash--you, Maugiron.” But St. Luc did not let him approach Bussy, but came to meet him and returned with him to the king. “What have you been saying to that coxcomb?” asked the king. “I, sire?” “Yes, you.” “I said, good evening.” “Oh! was that all?” St. Luc saw he was wrong. “I said, good evening; adding, that I would have the honor of saying good morning to-morrow.” “Ah! I suspected it.” “Will your majesty keep my secret?” said St. Luc. “Oh! parbleu, if you could get rid of him without injury to yourself----” The minions exchanged a rapid glance, which Henri III. seemed not to notice. “For,” continued he, “his insolence is too much.”