“How long will this farce last, think you?” inquired De Noailles, with a laugh. “Not a day—not an hour,” rejoined Simon Renard, “if these suspicious and timorous English nobles will but act in concert, and confide in me.” “Confide in you?” said De Noailles, smiling. “They fear you more than Northumberland.” “They will not succeed without me,” returned Renard, coldly. “Mark me, De Noailles, I, Simon Renard, simple bailli of Amont in the Franche-Comte, and an unworthy representative of his Majesty Charles the Fifth, hold in my right hand the destiny of this fair land of England.” “Ha! ha! ha!” laughed De Noailles. “You have learnt to rhodomontade at the court of Madrid, I perceive, Monsieur le Bailli.” “This is no rhodomontade, messire,” rejoined the other, sternly; “were I to join with Northumberland and Suffolk, I could establish Jane upon the throne. Acting with the privy council, who, as you well know, are, like ourselves, the duke’s secret enemies, I shall strike the sceptre from her grasp, and place it in the hand of Mary. Nay more, I will tell you that if I had not wished to ensure Northumberland’s destruction, I would not have suffered him to proceed thus far. But he has now taken a step which nothing can retrieve.” “My hatred of him is as great as your own, M. Renard,” observed De Noailles, gravely; “and I shall rejoice as heartily as yourself, or any of his enemies, in his downfall. But I cannot blind myself to his power. Clinton, the Lord High Admiral, his fast friend, is in possession of the Tower, which is full of armed men and ammunition. The royal treasures are in his hands; the troops, the navy, are his—and, as yet, the privy council have sanctioned all his decrees—have sworn obedience to Jane—have proclaimed Mary illegitimate, and deprived her of her inheritance.” “They shall eat their own words,” replied Renard, in a sarcastic tone. “But it is time, De Noailles, to admit you to my full confidence. First, swear to me, by the holy Evangelists, that I may trust you.” “I swear it,” replied De Noailles, “provided,” he added, smiling, “your scheme has nothing treasonable against my liege lord, Henry the Second.” “Judge for yourself,” answered Renard. “There is a plot hatching against the life of Northumberland.” “Mortdieu!” exclaimed the French ambassador; “by whom?” “To-night you shall meet the conspirators,” replied Renard. “Their names?” demanded De Noailles. “It matters not,” answered the other; “I am their leader. Will you make one of us?” “Willingly,” rejoined the Frenchman. “But how is the duke to be put to death?” “By the headsman,” replied Simon Renard. “He shall die the death of a traitor.” “You were ever mysterious, messire,” observed De Noailles, drily; “and you are now more mysterious than ever. But I will join your plot with all my heart. Pardieu! I should like to offer Northumberland’s head to Queen Mary. It would be as acceptable as that of Cicero to Fulvia.”