Little did I think of the prophecy until that August dawn, when I stood by the side of the Lieutenant of Montigny and saw the head of Charles de Gontaut, Duc de Biron, and Marshal of France, held up to the shuddering spectators in the red hand of Monsieur of Paris. 'It almost seems as if I shall not have my interview,' I said to Madame a minute or so later, when the commotion caused by Coiffier had ceased. 'When were you to go in?' she asked. 'As soon as ever M. de Belin came out to summon me.' 'Then here he is,' and as she spoke I saw the door open, and Belin looked out. 'Go,' she said, and then our eyes met and I stepped up to the cabinet. 'Courage,' whispered Belin, and I was before the King. In the first two steps I took on entering the room, I perceived that there had been a scene; Sully was standing against the open window, his back to the light, and gravely stroking his beard. The Marshal was pacing backwards and forwards in an agitated manner, and the King himself was leaning against a high desk, beating a tattoo with his fingers on the veneer. As de Belin presented me, I bent to my knee, and there was a dead silence, broken only by Henry renewing the quick, impatient tapping of his fingers on the woodwork of the desk. He was, what was unusual with him when in Paris, in half armour, and perhaps in compliment to the King of Spain, for it was the anniversary of the treaty of Vervins, wore the scarlet and ermine-lined mantle of the _Toison d'Or_. In the silence my eyes unconsciously caught the glitter of the collar, and I could almost read the device, '_Pretium non vile laborum_,' on the pendant fleece. 'You may rise, monsieur,' the King said at last coldly, and added, 'and you may speak. It is because I understand that you broke the laws unwittingly that I have for the moment excused you--now what have you to say?' As he spoke his piercing eyes met me full in the face, and for the moment I could not find words. '_Ventre St. Gris!_' and Henry picked up a melocotin from a salver that was by him and played with it between his fingers; 'you could not have been born under the two cows on a field _or_, else you would have found tongue ere this, M. d'Auriac. You are not of the south, are you?' 'No, sire, though my father was Governor of Provence, and married into the Foix Candale.' 'If so, you should be a perfect Chrysostom. What have you to say?' I had regained my courage by this and took the matter in both hands. 'Your Majesty, I will speak--I charge the Marshal, Duc de Biron, with being a traitor to you and to France, I charge him with conspiring----' 'You liar!'