Gaston went out, the gravel, half-covered with snow, creaked under his feet--the regent watched him for some time from the window of the corridor--then, when he had lost sight of him-- "Well," said he, "each one must go his own way. Poor fellow!" And he returned to the room, where he found Dubois, who had entered by another door, and was waiting for him. Dubois's face wore an expression of malicious satisfaction which did not escape the regent, who watched him some time in silence, as if trying to discover what was passing through the brain of this second Mephistopheles. Dubois was the first to speak. "Well, monseigneur, you are rid of him at last, I hope." "Yes," replied the duke; "but in a manner which greatly displeases me--I do not like playing a part in your comedies, as you know." "Possibly; but you might, perhaps, do wisely in giving me a part in yours." "How so?" "They would be more successful, and the denouements would be better." "I do not understand--explain yourself, and quickly, for I have some one waiting whom I must receive." "Oh! certainly, monseigneur, receive them, and we will continue our conversation later--the denouement of this comedy has already taken place, and cannot be changed." And with these words, Dubois bowed with the mock respect which he generally assumed whenever, in the eternal game they played against each other, he held the best cards. Nothing made the regent so uneasy as this simulated respect; he held him back-- "What is there now?" asked he; "what have you discovered?" "That you are a skillful dissimulator, peste!" "That astonishes you?" "No, it troubles me; a few steps further, and you will do wonders in this art--you will have no further need of me; you will have to send me away to educate your son, whom, it must be confessed, requires a master like myself." "Speak quickly." "Certainly, monseigneur; it is not now, however, a question of your son, but of your daughter." "Of which daughter?" "Ah! true; there are so many. First, the Abbess of Chelles, then Madame de Berry, then Mademoiselle de Valois; then the others, too young for the world, and therefore for me, to speak of; then, lastly, the charming Bretagne flower, the wild blossom which was to be kept away from Dubois's poisoning breath, for fear it should wither under it." "Do you dare to say I was wrong?" "Not so, monseigneur: you have done wonders; not wishing to have anything to do with the infamous Dubois, for which I commend you, you--the archbishop of Cambray being dead--have taken in his place the good, the worthy, the pure Nocé, and have borrowed his house." "Ah!" said the regent, "you know that?"