His brother, Louis de Bourbon, Prince de Condé, was likewise present. His was a character to inspire more respect if not more affection. He was, however, a more pronounced Calvinist than the King of Navarre, and was generally considered to be the secret leader of the rebellious spirits. He possessed the power to make himself a great favorite with the people, being not only a bold rider but very skilful with the sword and dagger, although in stature he was quite short, and had decidedly disproportionate shoulders. Besides, he was a great gallant, very clever, and passionately devoted to the ladies. A popular chanson of the day spoke thus of him:-- "Ce petit homme tant joli, Toujours cause et toujours rit, Et toujours baise sa mignonne. Dieu gard' de mal le petit homme."[2] The gentlemen who, openly or secretly, advocated the principles of the Reformed religion were naturally grouped around the King of Navarre and the Prince de Condé,--among them being Admiral de Coligny, La Renaudie, and the Baron de Castelnau, who, having but recently arrived from Touraine, his native province, had been presented at court that day for the first time. The assemblage, despite the absence of many great seigneurs, was numerous and distinguished; but amid all the confusion, excitement, and enjoyment, two men remained absorbed by grave and apparently unpleasant reflections. These two men, whose abstraction was caused by widely different reasons, were the king and the Constable de Montmorency. Henri II. was at the Louvre corporeally, but his thoughts were all at Calais. During the three weeks since the departure of the Duc de Guise, he had been thinking unceasingly, night and day, of that perilous expedition, the object of which was to drive the English out of the kingdom forever, but which was quite as likely to seriously endanger the welfare of France. Henri had more than once blamed himself for having allowed Monsieur de Guise to attempt so hazardous a stroke. If the undertaking should prove abortive, what a disgrace for France in the eyes of all Europe! what superhuman efforts must be made to repair such a failure! The disastrous day of St. Laurent would be a mere bagatelle beside that. The constable had undergone defeat, but François de Lorraine had actually gone in search of it. The king, who had had no intelligence from the besieging army for three days, was preoccupied with gloomy forebodings, and paid but little heed to the encouraging assurances of the Cardinal de Lorraine, who, standing near the king's couch, was vainly trying to restore his courage. Diane de Poitiers was quick to remark the gloomy humor of her royal lover; but as she observed Monsieur de Montmorency in another part of the room, apparently in quite as great dejection as the king, she directed her steps toward him. It was the siege of Calais which was the cause of his downheartedness, but, as we have said, for a very different reason.