I confess that I had failed to take into account the pitch to which his nerves would be strung at such a time, and had expected to produce a greater effect than followed my words. His hand went indeed to his breast, but it was hard to say which was the more discomposed, La Varenne or he. And the manner in which, with scorn and defiance, he flung back my accusation in my teeth, lacked neither vigour nor the semblance of innocence. While Henry was puzzled, La Varenne was appalled. I saw that I had gone too far, or not far enough, and at once calling into my face and form all the sternness in my power, I bade the traitor remain where he was, then turning to his Majesty I craved leave to speak to him apart. He hesitated, looking from me to D’Entragues with an air of displeasure which embraced us both, but in the end, without permitting M. Louis to speak, he complied, and, going aside with me, bade me, with coldness, speak out. As soon, however, as I had repeated to him Boisrose’s words, his face underwent a change, for he, too, had remarked the discomfiture which the latter’s appearance had caused D’Entragues in the morning. “Ha! the villain!” he said. “I do not now think you precipitate. Arrest him at once, but do him no harm!” “If he resist, sire?” I asked. “He will not,” the king answered. “And in no case harm him! You understand me?” I bowed, having my own thoughts on the subject, and the king, without looking again at D’Entragues, rode quickly away. M. Louis tried to follow, and cried loudly after him, but I thrust my horse in the way, and bade him consider himself a prisoner; at the same time requesting La Varenne, with Vitry and Coquet, who had come up and were looking on like men thunderstruck, to take four of the guards and follow the king. “Then, sir, what do you intend to do with me?” D’Entragues asked, the air of fierceness with which he looked from me to the six men who remained barely disguising his apprehensions. “That depends, M. Louis,” I replied, recurring to my usual tone of politeness, “on your answers to three questions.” He shrugged his shoulders. “Ask them,” he said, curtly. “Do you deny that you have laid an ambush for the king on the road which passes the Rock of the Serpents?” “Absolutely.” “Or that you were yesterday at an inn near here in converse with three men?” “Absolutely.” “Do you deny that there is such an ambush laid?” “Absolutely,” he repeated, with scorn. “It is an old wives’ story. I would stake my life on it.” “Enough,” I answered, slowly. “You have been your own judge. The evening grows cold, and as you are my prisoner I must have a care of you. Kindly put on this cloak and precede me, M. d’Entragues. We return to Fontainebleau by the Rock of the Serpents.”