BOURBON yielded with an ill grace, and entered an ante-chamber with the king, in which several gentlemen and pages were assembled. Two ushers were stationed at a door at the farther end of the chamber. At the king's approach this door was thrown open, and Bourbon found himself in the presence of the person he most hated on earth.

The Duchess d'AngoulÊme was seated at a table, engaged in converse with the Chancellor Duprat, who arose on the king's entrance with Bourbon, and made a profound obeisance, but the duchess retained her seat.

Though at this time Louise de Savoie was nearer fifty than forty, she had by no means lost her personal attractions. She bestowed great care in the preservation of her charms, and Nature seconded her efforts, Careful, temperate, active, both in mind and body, ill health had produced no ravages upon her frame, and at forty-five—nay, even at forty-seven, which was her exact age when Bourbon appeared before her—the duchess looked younger than many an indolent beauty of thirty-five. Her complexion was fresh and blooming, her cheek rounded and full, her eyes bright, her brow white as marble and with scarcely a wrinkle, and her dark tresses entirely untinged with grey. In brief, she was still so handsome that it was supposed she must have discovered some wondrous potion for the preservation of her youth. Her figure was tall, and admirably proportioned, with a slight tendency to embonpoint, which she successfully combated by exercise and abstemiousness. It was from the duchess that FranÇois and Marguerite inherited their symmetry of form and beauty of feature. Her hands were small, white, soft, and dimpled, and her long taper fingers were covered with rings. Her deportment was majestic, and at times imperious. She did not neglect to heighten the effect of her charms and imposing appearance by richness of attire. On this occasion she was arrayed in purple cloth of gold tissue, her stomacher being embroidered all over with flat gold and damask. Her sleeves were paned with gold and quilted, and fastened with gold aiglets. She wore a partlet ornamented with rubies and other precious stones; her head-dress, diamond-shaped and having long side lappets, glittered with gems. From her neck hung a chain of gold, enamelled black, sustaining a magnificent diamond cross, and her girdle was ornamented with diamonds, rubies, and pearls. Over the king her son, as we have said, Louise de Savoie had early obtained an extraordinary ascendancy, which she never lost. He appointed her Regent of the kingdom when he set out on his first Italian campaign, and had resolved to entrust the government again to her care during the war which he now meditated for the repossession of the Milanese.

Ambitious of power, the Duchess d'AngoulÊme was also greedy and avaricious, and scrupled not to enrich herself from the royal treasures. Of a miserly disposition, she amassed money, not to spend, but hoard it, and she died possessed of enormous wealth.

Louise was the daughter of Philippe, Duke de Savoie, and Marguerite de Bourbon, and was wedded at the age of twelve to Charles d'OrlÉans, Comte d'AngoulÊme. Six years later she became a widow.

Bourbon's swarthy cheek flushed, and the blood mounted to his brow, as he stood before the duchess. Bowing haughtily, he remained at a little distance from her.

Approaching his mother, the king said, in his cheerful accents,

“I have brought back the truant chevalier, madame.”

Adding a few words in a low tone, he turned to Bourbon, and telling him he would return anon, quitted the chamber with Duprat.

Left alone with the Constable, Louise regarded him anxiously and tenderly, but the stern expression of Bourbon's features underwent no change. The duchess, however, would not be discouraged, but said, in a gentle voice which she thought calculated to move him, “Dismiss that frown, Charles de Bourbon, and come and sit nigh me. Nay,” she added, playfully, “I will be obeyed.”

But Bourbon moved not, and his brow grew yet more sombre.

Presently she arose, and, stepping up to him, laid her hand gently upon his arm.

He shrank from her touch as if a viper had stung him.

Mastering her anger by a great effort, she said,

“Come, let us be friends, Charles de Bourbon. We have been enemies long enough.”

“Friends, madame!” exclaimed Bourbon, bitterly. “You can scarcely expect it.”

“But you will forgive me, Charles, will you not, when I tell you I still love you?” she rejoined.

“You are too old for love, madame—far too old,” he rejoined, with a look almost of loathing. “You may have loved me years ago, though your conduct since would lead me to doubt it. But now the feeling ought to he—must be—a stranger to your breast.”

“My love for you is strong as ever, and enables me even to bear this language from you,” she said. Hear my explanation before you reproach me so severely.”

“I have not reproached you, madame, but I say that your declarations are utterly inconsistent with your conduct. You have pursued me with unceasing animosity. By your instrumentality, madame—for I well know you were the cause of my removal—I was despoiled of my authority in the Milanese, which I had helped to win, and the government given to Lautrec, by whose mismanagement the fruits of the battle of Marignan were lost. Not only did you prevent the reimbursement of the large sums I had expended for the king's use in Italy, but you withheld the payment of my pensions as grand-chamberlain of France, as governor of Languedoc, and as Constable. I deserved better treatment from the king, but I knew from whom the wrongs proceeded, and made no complaint. This was not enough. By your instigation a deeper affront was offered me, I will not vaunt my military skill, though I had proved it sufficiently at Marignan, but I was excluded by you—by you, madame, for you directed the king—from the four grand military commanderships formed by his majesty, and given by him to the Duke d'AlenÇon, the Duke de VendÔme, Bonnivet, and Lautrec, Still I was patient.”

“Why were you patient, Charles? Why did you not complain to me?” cried the duchess.

“Though deeply mortified by the affront,” pursued Bourbon, disregarding the question, “I did not hesitate to obey the king's commands to join the army of Picardy, and brought with me six thousand well-armed fantassins, and three hundred lances. How was I requited? I need not tell you, madame, since the work was yours, that the command of the vanguard, which was mine by right, was given to the incapable D'AlenÇon. That affront was hard to bear, yet I did bear it. Well might the king call me the Prince Mal-endurant!”

“Again I ask you, Charles, why did you not appeal to me?” said the duchess.

“Appeal to you, madame—to the author of my wrongs!” rejoined the Constable, fiercely. “I would have died rather than so humiliate myself. Though profoundly wounded, I remained loyal in heart to the king. No act, no word evinced resentment. But, instead of disarming your animosity, my patience only aggravated it. You had not wreaked your vengeance sufficiently upon me. Disgrace was not enough. I must endure spoliation. You threw off the mask and assailed me in person. In concert with your unscrupulous adviser, Duprat, you contrived a diabolical plan to deprive me of the whole of my possessions. An infamous process was commenced against me, which has filled all France—all Europe—with astonishment. The finishing stroke has only to be put to your work. My property has been sequestrated by the Parliament, and may be confiscated. But beware, madame!” he added, in a voice of terrible menace. “Beware! A fearful retribution will follow.”

“Threaten me not, Charles de Bourbon,” she rejoined. “But listen. I do not deny the charges you have brought against me. Had you submitted to the first blow—had you sued for grace—all the rest would have been spared you.”

“Sue for grace, madame! Sue for grace to you!” cried the Constable. “You know little of Charles de Bourbon if you think he would so demean himself.”

“Hear me out,” said the duchess. “I was determined to conquer your pride—to bring you to my feet—but you compelled me, by your inflexibility, to have recourse to harsher measures than I originally intended. You have to thank yourself, Charles, for the punishment you have endured. But throughout it all, I have suffered more than you—far more.”

“I am glad to hear it,” remarked Bourbon. “But I doubt it.

“When I have seemed to hate you most, I have loved you best, Charles. My heart was torn by conflicting emotions—rage, grief, love. You had spurned my love, and few women could pardon such an affront. But I could forgive it, and would have forgiven you, if you had returned to me. But you ever held aloof. You forced me to go on. Blow after blow was dealt, in the hope that each might be the last. Oh, how it would have joyed me to restore you to the government of the Milanese!—to have ordered the payment of your pensions!—to have given you the command of the army of Picardy! But all can now be set right.”

“Impossible, madame,” rejoined Bourbon.

“Say not so, Charles. Since you have been made aware of my motives, you must view my conduct in a different light. Let the past be forgotten. Let all animosity be at an end between us. Henceforth, let us be friends—nay, more than friends. Do you not understand me, Charles?”

“I would fain not do so, madame,” rejoined Bourbon, averting his gaze from her.

“Let not resentment blind you to your own interests, Charles,” pursued the duchess. “You have felt my power to injure you. Henceforth, you shall find how well I can serve you. I can restore all you have lost—honours, commands, pensions. Nay, I can raise you higher than you have ever risen, and load you with wealth beyond your conception. All this I can do—and will do. Kneel down at my feet, Charles—not to supplicate my pardon, for that you have—but to renew those protestations of love which you once offered me. Kneel, I conjure you.”

But Bourbon remained inflexible.

“My knees would refuse their office were I inclined to comply,” he said.

“Then I must perforce take on myself the part which of right belongs to you, Charles. By the death of your spouse, Suzanne de Bourbon, you are free to wed again. I offer you my hand. You ought to solicit it on your bended knee—but no matter!—I offer it to you.”

“Is the king aware of your design, madame? Does he approve of the step?” demanded Bourbon.

“The king sent for you at my instance to arrange the marriage,” rejoined the duchess.

“His majesty's complaisance is carried to the extremest point,” said Bourbon. “But he seems to have taken my assent for granted—as you have done, madame.”

“We could not doubt it,” said the duchess, smiling confidently. “The proposed union offers you too many advantages to be rejected.”

“Enumerate them, I pray you?” said Bourbon. “First, then, the marriage will amicably settle the process between us, and will operate like a decree in your favour, for you will retain your possessions. Next, I shall bring you a royal dowry. As my husband, you will be second only in authority to the king. Nay, you will have greater power than he. You will find Louise de Savoi a very different wife from Suzanne de Bourbon. I will enrich you—I will augment your power—I will aggrandise you. You shall be king—all but in name.”

“I doubt not your power to accomplish all this, madame,” rejoined Bourbon. “I know your unbounded influence over your son. I know you have filled your coffers from the royal treasures—as was proved by the confession of the wretched SemblenÇay, who gave you the five million ducats he ought to have sent to Italy, and who paid the penalty of his folly with his life. I know that in effect you have already despoiled me of my possessions—

“Dwell on these matters no longer, Charles,” she interrupted. “Forget the past, and look forward to a brilliant future. My offer is accepted?—speak!”

“You deem me so much abased that I must needs accept it, madame,” said Bourbon. “But I am not yet fallen so low. I reject it—scornfully reject it.”

“Reflect, Charles—reflect before you come to this fatal determination, for fatal it will be to you,” she cried. “You are ruined—irretrievably ruined—if you wed me not.”

“I would sooner be degraded from my rank—I would sooner mount the scaffold, than wed you, Louise de Savoie, my some time mistress, but now my bitter enemy,” said the Constable, fiercely.

“Bourbon, I swear to you I am not your enemy,” cried the duchess. “Do not regard me with scorn and hate. Look at me as a loving woman. My heart—my soul is yours. Since you will not stoop to me, I will do what I never yet did to man—I will kneel to you.”

And she threw herself before him, and clasped his hands.

“Forgive me, Charles!” she cried, in half suffocated accents. “Forgive me for the great love I have ever borne you.”

Notwithstanding the supplications and tears of the duchess, there was no symptom of yielding in Bourbon. With almost rudeness, he said, “Arise, madame. It is useless to prolong this interview. Farewell!”

“Stay, I command you, Charles de Bourbon,” she said, rousing all her dignity. “For a moment I had forgotten myself, but your barbarous conduct has restored me. Henceforward I will banish your image from my breast, or only retain it there to animate my vengeance. Your possessions shall be at once confiscated. I will make you a beggar, and then see if you can find a wife among the meanest of my court dames.”

“I shall not need to do so, madame,” rejoined Bourbon, sternly. “Let it confound you to learn that the Emperor Charles V has offered me in marriage his sister Leanor, widow of the late King of Portugal.

“The Emperor has offered you his sister?” exclaimed the duchess. “It is false—it is false!”

“You will find it true, madame,” said Bourbon, with a contemptuous smile.

“You shall never wed her,” cried the duchess. “If you reject me, you shall wed no one else.”

“These threats are idle, madame,” rejoined Bourbon, scornfully. “I laugh at your impotent malice. You have wreaked your vengeance to the utmost. But you will never be able to subdue me to your will.”

“Traitor and villain, I see through your designs!” cried the duchess. “You meditate reprisals through the enemies of your country. But I will effectually crush you. If your treasonable practices be proved, I will have your head—ay, your head, Charles de Bourbon.”

“I have no fear for my head,” laughed Bourbon, disdainfully. “It is safe enough, even though I am in the king's palace at Fontainebleau.”

“A moment, Charles!” cried the duchess, suddenly relapsing into tenderness, and making an effort to detain him. “Are we to part thus?”

“How otherwise should we separate, madame, than with threats on your part—defiance on mine?” said Bourbon.

And with a haughty inclination he was about to depart, when the door was suddenly thrown open, and the king, unannounced, entered the cabinet.