"Good fortune should cure you," said he; "when you succeed, you should hate less." "However high I should rise, others would be higher." They rode on silently for some time. At last Ernanton held out his hand to St. Maline, and said, "Shall I try to cure you?" "No, do not try that; you would fail. Hate me, on the contrary, and I shall admire you." An hour after they entered the Louvre; the king had gone out, and would not return until evening. CHAPTER XXX. DE LOIGNAC'S INTERVIEW WITH THE FORTY-FIVE. Each of the young men placed himself at a window to watch for the return of the king. Ernanton, however, soon forgot his present situation, and became abstracted in thinking who the woman could be who had entered Paris as his page, and whom he had since seen in such a splendid litter; and with a heart more disposed to love adventure than to make ambitious calculations, he forgot why he was sitting there, till, suddenly raising his head, he saw that St. Maline was no longer there. He understood at once that he had seen the king arrive, and had gone to him. He rose quickly, traversed the gallery, and arrived at the king's room just as St. Maline was coming out. "Look!" cried he joyfully, "what the king has given me," and he showed a gold chain. "I congratulate you, monsieur," said Ernanton, quietly, and he entered in his turn. St. Maline waited impatiently until he came out again, which he did in about ten minutes, although it appeared an hour to St. Maline. When Ernanton came out, he looked all over him, and seeing nothing, he cried joyfully, "And you, monsieur, what has he given to you?" "His hand to kiss," replied Ernanton. St. Maline crushed his chain impatiently in his hands, and they both returned in silence. As they entered the hall, the trumpet sounded, and at this signal all the Forty-five came out of their rooms, wondering what was the matter; while they profited by this reunion to examine each other. Most of them were richly dressed, though generally in bad taste. They all had a military tournour, and long swords, boots and gloves of buckskin or buffalo, all well gilded or well greased, were almost universal. The most discreet might be known by their quiet colors, the most economical by the substantial character of their equipments, and the most gay by their white or rose-colored satins. Perducas de Pincornay had bought from some Jew a gold chain as thick as a cable; Pertinax de Montcrabeau was all bows and embroidery: he had bought his costume from a merchant who had purchased it of a gentleman who had been wounded by robbers. It was rather stained with blood and dirt, it was true, but he had managed to clean it tolerably. There remained two holes made by the daggers of the robbers, but Pertinax had had them embroidered in gold.