As he spoke, the seeming lad threw back his hood, and displayed a head as charming and intelligent as was ever painted by Leonardo da Vinci. Black eyes, full of fun, but which could assume an expression almost terrible in its seriousness, a little rosy month, and a round chin terminating the perfect oval of a rather pale face. It was Madame de Montpensier, a dangerous syren, who had the soul of a demon with the face of an angel. “Ah, brother cardinal,” cried she, “how well you acted the holy man! I was really afraid for a minute that you were serious; and he letting himself be greased and crowned. Oh, how horrid he looked with his crown on!” “Never mind,” said the duke, “we have got what we wanted, and François cannot now deny his share. Monsoreau, who doubtless had his own reasons for it, led the thing on well, and now he cannot abandon us, as he did La Mole and Coconnas.” Chicot saw that they had been laughing at M. d’Anjou, and as he detested him, would willingly have embraced them for it, always excepting M. de Mayenne, and giving his share to his sister. “Let us return to business,” said the cardinal, “is all well closed?” “Oh, yes!” said the duchess, “but if you like I will go and see.” “Oh, no; you must be tired.” “No; it was too amusing.” “Mayenne, you say he is here?” “Yes.” “I did not see him.” “No, he is hidden in a confessional.” These words startled Chicot fearfully. “Then he has heard and seen all?” asked the duke. “Never mind, he is one of us.” “Bring him here, Mayenne.” Mayenne descended the staircase and came straight to where Chicot was hiding. He was brave, but now his teeth chattered with terror. “Ah,” thought he, trying to get out his sword from under his monk’s frock, “at least I will kill him first!” The duke had already extended his hand to open the door, when Chicot heard the duchess say: “Not there, Mayenne; in that confessional to the left.” “It was time,” thought Chicot, as the duke turned away, “but who the devil can the other be?” “Come out, M. David,” said Mayenne, “we are alone.” “Here I am, monseigneur,” said he, coming out. “You have heard all?” asked the Duc de Guise. “I have not lost a word, monseigneur.” “Then you can report it to the envoy of his Holiness Gregory XIII.?” “Everything.” “Now, Mayenne tells me you have done wonders for us; let us see.” “I have done what I promised, monseigneur; that is to say, found a method of seating you, without opposition, on the throne of France!” “They also!” thought Chicot; “everyone wants then to be King of France!” Chicot was gay now, for he felt safe once more, and he had discovered a conspiracy by which he hoped to ruin his two enemies. “To gain a legitimate right is everything,” continued Nicolas David, “and I have discovered that you are the true heirs, and the Valois only a usurping branch.” “It is difficult to believe,” said the duke, “that our house, however illustrious it may be, comes before the Valois.”