François looked at him with eyes that seemed to flash lightning. Bourbon, however, did not quail before the fierce looks and gestures of the king, but replied with stern significance: “A man of my quality, sire, does not marry a wanton.” “Sang Dieu! this to me!” cried the king, transported with rage. And he struck Bourbon in the face with his hand. This mortal insult, as may be imagined, produced a fearful effect on the Constable. His first impulse was to slay his assailant, and his hand involuntarily clutched his sword. But he abandoned the insane design almost as soon as formed. In the effort to constrain himself, his frame and features were terribly convulsed, and a cry of rage that was scarcely human escaped him. The king watched him narrowly, prepared for attack, but manifesting no alarm. “Sire,” cried Bourbon, at length, “that was a craven blow, unworthy of one who aspires to be the first knight in Christendom. No other person but yourself, who had thus insulted me, should live. But you are safe. You have dishonoured me for ever. Take back the dignity you have bestowed upon me, and which I am unworthy longer to wear,” he added, tearing the jewelled cross of Saint Michael from his breast, and casting it on the ground. “Others may fight for you. My sword shall never again be drawn in your service.” With a heart bursting with rage and grief, he rushed out of the room. As Bourbon disappeared, the duchess came from behind the hangings. “So, you have heard what has passed between us, madame?” cried the king. “I have,” she replied. “He is a false traitor and a liar, and has been rightly served. But you will not let him quit the palace? By that blow', which he richly deserved, you have made him your mortal enemy. You have him now in your hands, and you will rue it, if you suffer him to escape. He has many partisans, and may raise a revolt.” “You alarm yourself unnecessarily, madame,” rejoined François. “I have good reason for apprehension,” rejoined the duchess. “He has already entered into secret negotiations with the Emperor.” “Foi de gentilhomme! if I thought so, I would order his instant arrest!” exclaimed the king. “But are you sure, madame? Have you any proof of what you assert?” “He boasted, just now that the Emperor had offered him the widowed Queen of Portugal in marriage,” replied the duchess. “Does not that prove that secret overtures have been made him?” “You are right. He is more dangerous than I thought. I must prevent his defection--by fair means if possible--if not----“. “You have provoked him too far, my son,” interrupted the duchess. “He will never forgive the insult you have put upon him. Allow him to depart, and most assuredly he will league with your enemies.” At this moment Bonnivet entered the cabinet.