“Sire!” exclaimed Bourbon, with ill-concealed vexation, “the countess is here with her father!” “What of that? I shall not ask his consent,” replied the king. “The only person who has any right to object is Maulévrier, and he is not likely to interfere. The Comtesse de Châteaubriand and a large party of court dames are in my train,” he added to Diane. “You shall accompany them.” He then continued in a low voice: “I cannot doubt the great influence you possess over Bourbon. What you say to him he will obey. Charge him, therefore, to join me a week hence at Lyons.” And he moved towards the other side of the chamber, as if to examine the portrait of the beautiful Clara de Gonzaga. Diane instantly took advantage of the opportunity, and, approaching Bourbon, said, in a low voice, “You have accepted the king's offer? You will break with the Emperor and Henry VIII., will you not?” “It is too late,” replied the Constable, in the same tone. “I have signed the compact.” “But consider that the king has promised to share the command of the army with you?” she urged. “Promises made by princes under such circumstances are rarely kept,” replied Bourbon. “I can never be really restored to the king's favour.” “You wrong him,” she said. “He is the soul of loyalty and honour.” “He loyal!” echoed Bourbon. “He is perfidious as his mother. I will not trust him.” “That is your determination?” “My fixed determination,” he rejoined. “Then we shall never meet again--never, Charles,” she said. Bourbon made no reply, and his head sank upon his breast. At this moment the king turned round. “Have you prevailed upon him, fair Diane?” he asked. “Yes, yes, he will come, sire,” she answered, hastily. “You will?” she added to Bourbon, with an entreating look that ought to have been irresistible. “You have said it,” he rejoined. “That is well,” observed the king. “I knew you could not resist her persuasion.” Just then the door opened, and Jean de l'Hôpital entered the room. “I crave your majesty's pardon for this interruption,” he said, “but I am compelled to attend to my illustrious patient. It is necessary that his highness should take the draught prepared for him.” “I applaud your zeal, sir,” replied François, “and I enjoin you to use all your art to restore the prince your master to health as quickly as may be. Think you he will be able to set out for Lyons in three days' time?” “I will not answer for it, sire,” replied Jean de l'Hôpital, consulting Bourbon by a look. “In a week, then?” demanded the king. “Perchance in a week, sire,” replied the physician. “But he must travel slowly, for even then he will be very feeble.” “Come hither, sir,” said the king, taking Jean de l'Hôpital aside. “Answer me truly, as you value your life. What ails the Constable?”