“You speak of tyranny, Prince, towards yourself. It may be well for your highness to consider, however, that the King, my master, has to a certain extent justified your accusation.” Condé looks up at him keenly. “But it is tyranny exercised in your favour, Monsieur le Prince, not to your prejudice.” Sully’s eyes are bent upon the Prince. While he speaks a half smile flitters about his mouth. “I do not understand you, Duke. Explain yourself,” replies Condé, with real or affected ignorance; but something in the expression of Sully’s face caused him to drop the tone of bravado he had hitherto assumed. “His Majesty, Prince, has justified your accusation of tyranny by having hitherto insisted, nay even compelled, those about him to acknowledge you--well--_for what you are not_!” Condé almost bounds from his seat. There was a horrible suspicion that his mother had shortened his father’s life, and this suspicion had cast doubts upon his legitimacy. Sully sits back in his chair and contemplates Condé at his ease. “Your highness will, I think, do well for the future to consider how much you owe to his Majesty’s bounty in many ways.” And these last words are strongly emphasised. Condé is silent. “Again, I say, as your highness is fortunately accepted as a Prince of the blood, you must bear the penalties of this high position.” Condé, who has turned ashy pale, rises with difficulty--he even holds the table for support. “Have you more to say to me, Duc de Sully, or is our interview ended?” He speaks in a suppressed voice, and looks careworn and haggard. “Monseigneur, I have now only to thank you for the honour you have done me in coming here,” replies Sully, rising, a malicious smile upon his face. “I commend to your consideration the remarks I have had the honour to make to you. Believe me, you owe everything to the King, my master.” CHAPTER XXVIII. THE PREDICTION FULFILLED. Henry was seated in his closet playing at cards, with Bassompierre, the Comtes de Soissons, Cœuvres, and Monseigneur de Lorraine. It was late, and the game was almost concluded, when Monsieur d’Ellène, a gentleman-in-waiting, entered hurriedly, and whispered something in the King’s ear. In an instant Henry’s face expressed the utmost consternation. He threw down his cards, clenched his fists with passion, and rose hastily; then, leaning over upon Bassompierre’s shoulder, who sat next to him, he said in a low voice-- “Marshal, I am lost. Condé has fled with his wife into the woods. God knows whether he means to murder her, or carry her out of France. Take care of my cards. Go on playing. I must learn more particulars. Do the same, and follow me as soon as you can.” And he left the room.