become second nature. It was as if there were two spirits in this man. One a genial influence that was held in bonds by the other, a cold, calculating, intellectual essence. Such was Maximilian de Bethune, Marquis de Rosny and Duc de Sully. He was not yet nominally chief minister. But it was well known that he was in the King's inmost secrets, and that there was no man who held more real power in the State than the Master-General of the Ordnance. As I finished my survey of him, he finished his despatch, and after folding and addressing it he turned it upside down and said to me: 'Now for your important news, monsieur. It must be very important to have brought _you_ here.' 'I do not understand?' He looked at me, a keen inquiry in his glance. 'You do not understand?' he said. 'Indeed, no, monseigneur.' 'Hum! You are either deeper than I take you to be, or a born fool. Look, you, are you not Alban de Breuil, Sieur d'Auriac, who was lately in arms in the service of Spain against France as a rebel and a traitor?' 'I was on the side of the League.' 'Monsieur, the League died at Ivry----' 'But not for us.' He made an impatient gesture. 'We won't discuss that. Are you not the man I refer to? Say yes or no.' 'I am d'Auriac--there is no other of my name--but no more a rebel or traitor than Messieurs de Guise, de Mayenne, and others. The King's Peace has pardoned us all. Why should I fear to come to you? I have come to do you a service, or rather the King a service.' 'Thank you. May I ask if you did not receive a warning at La Fere, and another at Bidache?' 'From M. d'Ayen--yes. Monseigneur, I refuse to believe what I heard.' 'And yet your name heads a list of half a dozen whom the King's Peace does not touch. One of my reasons for receiving you was to have you arrested.' 'It is a high honour, all this bother about a poor gentleman of Normandy, when Guise, de Mayenne, Epernon, and others keep their skins whole.' 'You have flown your hawk at too high a quarry, monsieur.' 'Then that painted ape, d'Ayen, told a true tale,' I burst out in uncontrollable anger. 'Monseigneur, do what you will to me. Remember that you help to the eternal dishonour of the King.' The words hit him, and the blood flushed darkly under the pale olive of the man's cheek. 'Monsieur, you forget yourself.' 'It is not I, but you who do so--you who forget that your name is Bethune. Yes, touch that bell. I make no resistance. I presume it will be the Chatelet?' His hand, half stretched towards the button of the call-bell before him, suddenly stayed itself. 'Were my temper as hasty as your tongue, monsieur, it would have been the Chatelet in half an hour.' 'Better that----' I began, but he interrupted me with a quick wave of his hand.