Biron, ignorant of the treachery of Lafin, arrives at Fontainebleau. He reckons on the King’s ignorance and their old friendship, and trusts to a confident bearing and a bold denial of all charges. They meet--the Maréchal and the King--in the great parterre, where, it being the month of June, sweetly scented herbs and gay flowers fill the diamonded beds--under the lime _berceau_ surrounding the garden. Biron, perfectly composed, makes three low obeisances to the King, then kisses his hand. Henry salutes him. His eyes are moist as he looks at him. “You have done well to confide in me,” he says; “I am very glad to see you, Biron,” and he passes his arm round the Maréchal’s neck, and draws him off to describe to him the many architectural plans he has formed for the embellishment of the château, and to show him the great “gallery of Diana” which is in course of decoration. He hopes that Biron will understand his feelings, and that kindness will tempt him to confess his crime. Biron, however, is convinced that if he braves the matter out, he will escape; he ascribes Henry’s clemency to an infatuated attachment to himself. He wears an unruffled brow, is cautious and plausible though somewhat silent, carefully avoids all topics which might lead to discussion of any matters touching his conduct, and pointedly disregards the hints thrown out from time to time by the King. Henry is miserable; he feels he must arrest the Maréchal. Sully urges him to lose no time. Still his generous heart longs to save his old friend and companion in arms. Towards evening the Court is assembled in the great saloon. The King is playing a game of _primero_. Biron enters. He invites him to join; Biron accepts, and takes up the cards with apparent unconcern. The King watches him; is silent and absent, and makes many mistakes in the game. The clock strikes eleven, Henry rises, and taking Biron by the arm, leads him into a small retiring-room or cabinet at the bottom of the throne-room, now forming part of that large apartment. The King closes the door carefully. His countenance is darkened by excitement and anxiety. His manner is so constrained and unnatural that Biron begins to question himself as to his safety; still he sees no other resource but to brave his treason out. “My old companion,” says the King, in an unsteady voice, standing in the centre of the room, “you and I are countrymen; we have known each other from boyhood. We were playfellows. I was then the poor Prince de Béarn, and you, Biron, a cadet of Gontaut. Our fortunes have changed since then. I am a great king, and you are a Duke and Maréchal of France.” Biron bows; his confident bearing does not fail him. “Now, Biron,” and Henry’s good-natured face grows stern--“I have called you here to say, that if you do not instantly confess the truth (and all the truth, instantly, mind), you will repent it bitterly. I was in hopes you would have done so voluntarily, but you have not.--Now I can wait no longer.”