But he was horrified before long to see that his pupil was on the verge of falling in love. Henri abandoned the friends with whom the constable had shrewdly surrounded him. Henri became melancholy and dreamy where he had been shy before. Montmorency looked around, and thought that he could see that it was Diane de Poitiers who was enthroned in his fancy. This rough gendarme preferred that it should be Diane rather than another, for in his vulgar fashion he estimated the royal courtesan much more nearly at her true worth than did the chivalrous Montgommery. He based his plans upon the low motives which he attributed to her, judging her by himself; and with his mind once more at ease, he left the dauphin to hover sighing about the grande sénéchale. It was indeed her beauty which aroused Henri's sluggish heart. She was roguish and provoking and lively; her finely-shaped head moved very prettily and quickly hither and thither; her glance shone with promise; and her whole person had a sort of magnetic attraction (they called it magic in those days) which easily led poor Henri astray. It seemed to him that this fair creature would unveil to him the secret of a new life. The siren was to him, strange and innocent savage that he was, as fascinating and dangerous as the hidden mysteries of a cavern. Diane saw all this; but she still hesitated to incur the risk of this new future, through fear of the past in the shape of François I., and of Comte de Montgommery in the present. But one day when the king, always courteous and attentive to the other sex, even to those with whom he was not in love, and to those whom he had ceased to love, was talking with Diane de Poitiers in the embrasure of a window, he noticed the dauphin watching them with a sly and jealous look. François called him. "Aha, Monsieur my son, what are you doing there? Come this way," he said. But Henri, pale and ashamed, after hesitating a moment between his duty and his fear, instead of replying to his father's invitation, adopted the expedient of running away as if he had not heard him. "Well, well, what a boorish, shy dog!" said the king. "Can you understand such bashfulness, Madame Diane? Have you, goddess of the forests, ever seen a fallow deer more terrified? Ah, what a wretched failing?" "Is it your Majesty's pleasure that I should undertake to amend Monseigneur le Dauphin's ways?" asked Diane, smiling. "Surely," said the king, "it would be hard to imagine a prettier teacher or a more delightful apprenticeship." "Consider his education completed, then, Sire," replied Diane; "I will take charge of it." She soon hunted up the fugitive. The Comte de Montgommery, being on duty that day, was not at the Louvre. "I frighten you terribly, Monseigneur, do I not?" Diane began the conversation thus; and the conversation thus begun was continued.