“The duc, sire,” continued Gaston, “was nearly were I stand: he was walking in the same direction as your majesty; M. de Loignac was exactly where your lieutenant of musketeers is; M. de Saint-Maline and his majesty’s ordinaries were behind him and around him. It was here that he was struck.” The king turned towards his officer, and saw something like a cloud pass over his martial and daring countenance. “Yes, from behind!” murmured the lieutenant, with a gesture of supreme disdain. And he endeavored to resume the march, as if ill at ease at being between walls formerly defiled by treachery. But the king, who appeared to wish to be informed, was disposed to give another look at this dismal spot. Gaston perceived his nephew’s desire. “Look, sire,” said he, taking a flambeaux from the hands of M. de Saint-Remy, “this is where he fell. There was a bed there, the curtains of which he tore with catching at them.” “Why does the floor seem hollowed out at this spot?” asked Louis. “Because it was here the blood flowed,” replied Gaston; “the blood penetrated deeply into the oak, and it was only by cutting it out that they succeeded in making it disappear. And even then,” added Gaston, pointing the flambeaux to the spot, “even then this red stain resisted all the attempts made to destroy it.” Louis XIV. raised his head. Perhaps he was thinking of that bloody trace that had once been shown him at the Louvre, and which, as a pendant to that of Blois, had been made there one day by the king his father with the blood of Concini. “Let us go on,” said he. The march was resumed promptly; for emotion, no doubt, had given to the voice of the young prince a tone of command which was not customary with him. When he arrived at the apartment destined for the king, which communicated not only with the little passage we have passed through, but further with the great staircase leading to the court,— “Will your majesty,” said Gaston, “condescend to occupy this apartment, all unworthy as it is to receive you?” “Uncle,” replied the young king, “I render you my thanks for your cordial hospitality.” Gaston bowed to his nephew, embraced him, and then went out. Of the twenty musketeers who had accompanied the king, ten reconducted Monsieur to the reception-rooms, which were not yet empty, notwithstanding the king had retired. The ten others were posted by their officer, who himself explored, in five minutes, all the localities, with that cold and certain glance which not even habit gives unless that glance belongs to genius. Then, when all were placed, he chose as his headquarters the ante-chamber, in which he found a large fauteuil, a lamp, some wine, some water, and some dry bread. He refreshed his lamp, drank half a glass of wine, curled his lip with a smile full of expression, installed himself in his large armchair, and made preparations for sleeping. Chapter IX. In which the Unknown of the Hostelry of Les Medici loses his Incognito.