“No, sire,” she replied; “and I would fain dissuade you from the expedition. You have now an opportunity of making an advantageous peace with the Emperor. Why not profit by it?” “Honour forbids me,” he rejoined. “My own inclinations prompt me to remain here. But I must requite the affront offered me by Bourbon. I must win back the duchy I have lost.” “And for this you will quit France--you will quit me?” she added, in a lower tone. “I must,” he replied. “I have been attacked, and I owe it to myself to chastise the insolent aggressor.” At this moment a letter was handed to him by Bonnivet. “From the Duchess d'Angoulême, sire,” he said, in a significant tone, as he delivered it. “What says your royal mother, sire?” demanded Diane, who had watched his countenance as he perused the letter. “I will wager she is of my mind, and urges you to abandon the expedition.” “You are right, ma mie,” replied the king. “She tells me she is coming in all haste to Aix, having a secret of great importance to reveal to me, and she entreats me to delay my departure till her arrival.” “And you will comply with the request, sire?” said Diane. “No doubt she has some state secret to communicate. You will wait?” “I shall rather hasten my departure,” rejoined the king. “I can guess the nature of her secret. It is a pretext to detain me--but I will not yield. Make ready, messeigneurs,” he added to the leaders near him. “We shall set forth to Italy to-morrow.” “Why do you not dissuade his majesty from this expedition, messeigneurs?” said Diane to Saint-Paul and Montmorency. “I know you disapprove of it.” “If your majesty would listen to me,” said Saint-Paul, “I would urge you to delay the campaign till the spring. The season is too far advanced. You will have to pass the winter in your tent, in the midst of snow and water.” “On the contrary, I shall pass the winter in the ducal palace at Milan, which is as large and pleasant as the Château de Blois,” replied François. “What think you of the expedition, Montmorency?” he added to the marshal. “Since you ask me, sire, I must say frankly that I am opposed to it,” he replied. “I look upon the plains of Lombardy with dread. They are rife with all ailments. Agues and fever abound there, and pestilence reigns in the cities. I regard Lombardy as one vast sepulchre in which we are all to be engulfed.” “You had the plague at Abbiate-Grasso, and have not forgotten the attack,” remarked the king. “Ay, and the plague is now raging at Milan,” said Montmorency. “Beware of it, sire. 'Tis a more deadly enemy than Bourbon.” “Oh, do not venture into that infected city, sire,” implored Diane. “I have a presentiment that this expedition will be disastrous.” “Bah! I go to win another Marignan,” rejoined François. “We have more than a month of fine weather before us now,” remarked Bonnivet to Diane. “Long before winter has set in his majesty will be master of Milan.”