"Henri, your brother, when he went, recommended you to my friendship. I wish, since you consult neither the experience of your father, nor the wisdom of your brother the cardinal, to be an elder brother to you. Come, be confiding, and tell me all. I assure you, Du Bouchage, that for everything except death my power and love shall find you a remedy." "Sire," replied the young man, falling at the king's feet, "do not confound me by the expression of a goodness to which I cannot reply. My misfortune is without remedy, for it is that which makes my only happiness." "Du Bouchage, you are mad; you will kill yourself with fancies." "I know it well, sire." "But," cried the king, impatiently, "is it a marriage you wish for?" "Sire, my wish is to inspire love. You see that the whole world is powerless to aid me in this; I alone can obtain it for myself."--"Then why despair?" "Because I feel that I shall never inspire it." "Try, try, my child; you are young and rich. Where is the woman that can resist at once beauty, youth and wealth? There are none, Du Bouchage." "Sire, your goodness is great." "If you wish to be discreet, and tell me nothing, do so; I will find out, and then act. You know what I have done for your brother, I will do as much for you; a hundred thousand crowns shall not stop me." Du Bouchage seized the king's hand, and pressed his lips to it. "May your majesty ask one day for my blood, and I will shed it to the last drop to show you how grateful I am for the protection that I refuse!" Henri III. turned on his heel angrily. "Really," said he, "these Joyeuses are more obstinate than a Valois. Here is one who will bring me every day his long face and eyes circled with black; that will be delightful." "Oh! sire, I will smile so, when I am here, that every one shall think me the happiest of men." "Yes, but I shall know the contrary, and that will sadden me." "Does your majesty permit me to retire?" asked Du Bouchage. "Go, my child, and try to be a man." When he was gone the king approached D'Epernon, and said: "Lavalette, have money distributed this evening to the Forty-five, and give them holiday for a night and a day to amuse themselves. By the mass! they saved me like Sylla's white horse." "Saved?" said Catherine. "Yes, mother." "From what?" "Ah! ask D'Epernon." "I ask you, my son." "Well, madame, our dear cousin, the sister of your good friend M. de Guise--oh! do not deny it; you, know he is your good friend--laid an ambush for me." "An ambush!" "Yes, madame, and I narrowly escaped imprisonment or assassination." "By M. de Guise?" "You do not believe it?" "I confess I do not." "D'Epernon, my friend, relate the adventure to my mother. If I go on speaking, and she goes on shrugging her shoulders, I shall get angry, and that does not suit my health. Adieu, madame; cherish M. de Guise as much as you please, but I would advise them not to forget Salcede." CHAPTER LV. RED PLUME AND WHITE PLUME.