"No, no, my lord!" replied D'Aubin; "King Henry holds the Catholic faith as well as yourself; and, indeed, loves monks and priests rather better than either you or I do. To him, also, have I sworn fidelity and attachment, as my lawful sovereign; and I will neither break my oath, nor forget my allegiance." "Thank God, that the thread of a tyrant's life is spun of very perishable materials!" said Madame de Montpensier, with a significant glance at the Duchess de Guise; "and were this Henry dead, we might well count upon you, D'Aubin: is it not so?" D'Aubin replied not for a moment; and the soft sleepy-eyed Duchess of Guise could not refrain from pursuing the subject jestingly; although her sister-in-law endeavoured, by a chiding look, to stay her, till D'Aubin had answered. "Perhaps the noble Count may be a Huguenot himself." she exclaimed: "who knows, in these strange changeable times----" "Or, perhaps, this dearly-beloved cousin of his may have been one these twenty years," said the Chevalier d'Aumale; "for shut up in that old castle of theirs, these St. Reals may have been Turks and infidels, for anything that we can tell." "I wish there was as good a Catholic present as St. Real," replied D'Aubin; "and as for myself, though not very learned in all its mysteries, I hold the faith of my fathers, and will not abandon it. My lord of Mayenne, I would fain speak with you for one moment, in this oriel here," he added. The Duke of Mayenne instantly complied; and, advancing with the Count into the deep recess of one of the windows at the farther end of the room, he listened to what D'Aubin had to say, and then replied gravely. The Count rejoined; and, though the subject which they discussed seemed to interest them highly, it might be inferred, from the laughter which occasionally mingled with their discourse, that their conversation had taken a turn towards some topic less unpleasant than that which had been broached at the beginning of their first interview. In the meantime, however, a new personage had been added to the party at the other end of the room. He was a tall gaunt man, of about five-and-forty, with aquiline features, a keen kite-like eye, fine teeth, and curly hair and beard: in short, he was one of those men who are called handsome by people in whose computation of beauty the expression of mind, and soul, and feeling make no part of the account. His dress was not only military, but of such a character as to show that his most recent occupation had been the exercise of his profession. The steel cuirass was still upon his shoulders, the heavy boots upon his legs; and, though some attempt had been made to brush away the dust of a journey, a number of long brown streaks, on various parts of his apparel, evinced, that whatever toilet he had made had been hasty and incomplete.