Having already followed one royal hunt somewhat too minutely, we will not attempt to trace the present; only observing that during the course of the day, Chavigni had many opportunities of conversing with the King, and took care to inform him that the campaign in the Netherlands was showing itself much against the arms of France; that no plan was formed by the Government, which did not by some means reach the ears of the Spanish generals, and consequently that all the manoeuvres of the French troops were unavailing; and from this, as a natural deduction, he inferred, that some one at the court of France must convey information to the enemy; mingling these pleasant matters of discourse, with sundry sage observations respecting the iniquity and baseness of thus betraying France to her enemies. Louis was exactly in the humour that the Statesman could have wished. Peevish from the absence of Cinq Mars, and annoyed by the unexpected coming of Richelieu, he listened with indignation to all that Chavigni told him, of any one in France conveying intelligence to a country which he hated with the blindest antipathy. The predominant passion in the King's mind had long been his dislike to Spain, but more especially to Philip, whom he regarded as a personal enemy: and Chavigni easily discerned, by the way in which the news he conveyed was received, that if they could cast any probable suspicion on the Queen, (and Chavigni really believed her guilty,) Louis would set no bounds to his anger. But just at the moment he was congratulating himself upon the probable success of their schemes, a part of the storm he had been so busily raising fell unexpectedly upon himself. "Well, Monsieur de Chavigni," said the King, after the chase was over, and the Royal party were riding slowly back towards Chantilly, "this hunting is a right noble sport: think you not so, Sir?" "In truth I do, Sire," replied Chavigni; "and even your Majesty can scarce love it better than myself." "I am glad to hear it, Sir," rejoined the King, knitting his brows; "'tis a good sign. But one thing I must tell you, which is, that I do not choose my Royal forests to be made the haunt of worse beasts than stags and boars.--No wolves and tigers.--Do you take me, Sir?" "No, indeed, Sire," replied Chavigni, who really did not comprehend the King's meaning, and was almost tempted to believe that he had suddenly gone mad. "Allow me to remind your Majesty that wolves are almost extinct in this part of France, and that tigers are altogether beasts of another country." "There are beasts of prey in every part of the world," answered the King. "What I mean, Sir, is, that robbers and assassins are beginning to frequent our woods; especially, Sir, the wood of Mantes. Was it that, or was it the forest of Laye, in which the young Count de Blenau was attacked the other day?"