An hour later I sat with Lorgnac and Le Brusquet in a little room in the former's house in the Rue Tire Boudin. At the Louvre I had discovered that there was no chance of my being able to see the Queen until after the supper hour; and so I accepted the hospitality De Lorgnac offered me, and was back again in the very house in which I had spent my last night in Paris.

A few minutes after our arrival Le Brusquet ambled up on a Spanish mule, and soon we three were deep in discussing what had happened since the day I rode out of the Porte St. Michel. I had perforce to relate my own adventures, and when I described my meeting with La Marmotte and her strange request De Lorgnac rose from his seat, and approaching the window, said:

"You can see MaÎtre Barou's store from here. It abuts on my stables, and you will not have far to go to keep your appointment."

"If I do keep it; but at present I have no such intention."

"You must keep it." It was Le Brusquet's incisive voice that cut in.

"Why? There is no reason why we should ever meet again."

"There is every reason—that is, if you take sufficient interest in the future of Mademoiselle de Paradis."

De Lorgnac came back to his seat. I looked inquiry, and Le Brusquet continued:

"A few things have been happening lately that make me think there is a porridge on the boil that would be the better for our help in the stirring. There have been little whispers afloat that Diane is meditating a great coup. Certain it is, that she and that upright judge Dom Antony de Mouchy have been much together of late. Certain it is that this coquetting with the new faith means more than Christian toleration; and, putting this and that together, I have got a clue. You do not know Carloix, do you?"

"No."

"Well, MaÎtre Vincent Carloix was my sister's husband whilst she lived. He is also my very good friend, and, besides that, secretary to that most noble lord FranÇois de ScÉpeaux, Marshal de Vieilleville. Carloix is a discreet man; but I gathered enough from him to guess that it would be safer for a Christaudin to be a prisoner with a Barbary corsair than be in Paris now, despite all the hobnobbing that goes on between the Court and VendÔme and the Admiral."

"But," said De Lorgnac, "how does all this concern Mademoiselle de
Paradis? Even if it did she is the Queen's ward."

"Anne d'Audeberte was a maid-of-honour, and you both know what happened to her. My dear De Lorgnac, our friend here has told us enough for us to know that mademoiselle is a heretic to her pretty fingertips. This is bad—for her. Recollect that the Vidame d'Orrain is Diane's right-hand man; and we may be certain that his attempt on Mademoiselle de Paradis was made with the full knowledge of the Duchess. Recollect, again, that this woman La Marmotte is the wife or mistress—I care not which—of Orrain's own man——"

"And as the Chevalier here ran him through the ribs he may not unnaturally desire to repay the account," put in De Lorgnac.

"It is not that," I said; "she warned me of danger in Le Jaquemart."

"Precisely. It is of that I was thinking," said Le Brusquet. "No, Chevalier—for to us you are the Chevalier d'Orrain and not Bertrand Broussel—no, La Marmotte means you no harm, and I would stake a thousand pistoles against an obolus that you will hear something of interest concerning mademoiselle. She is not going to warn you about yourself, I fancy," and he laughed; "she knows that the Chevalier d'Orrain can look to his skin."

"But what can be the cause of Diane de Poitiers' enmity of mademoiselle?" I asked. "So far as I know, they have only but once seen each other, and that but three hours ago."

"The greatest of all causes, monsieur—money. Diane loves gold as a swallow loves a fly. When a woman is avaricious she will let nothing stand between her and her desire. Again, it is no disrespect to the Vidame, your noble brother, to say he would sell his soul for a hundred crowns, and Dom Antony de Mouchy is worse than either he or Diane. Why, man, they have shared between them the wretched estate of a journeyman tailor! The property of a street-hawker, burnt in the Place Maubert, was granted to them, and they took it."

"It is almost incredible!" I exclaimed.

"But it is true," said De Lorgnac.

"It appears to me," I said, "that my departure for Italy will be a little delayed."

"If you were as superstitious as I am," and Le Brusquet smiled as he spoke, "you would say that departure is a dream of the past."

"Why?"

"Eh bien, a month ago, you left Paris from this very house never to return, and here you are back again! It is my belief that your fate is against your leaving Paris, and your game will have to be played here. That slice of the Romagna you intended for your own helping will go to fill another's plate."

I laughed, and De Lorgnac rose. "There is Quinte with Cartouche at the door," he said, "and I must be off. Be at the door of the Queen's apartments a little before compline, and so, au revoir!"

"We have almost an hour and a half still," said Le Brusquet, "and if it were not safer for you to be indoors as much as possible I would suggest spending a half-hour at the Bourgogne."

"I think it would be better to stay here; but tell me, do you know anything definite about this design of the Duchess?"

"No. All that I know is that there is something afoot. Vieilleville was approached; but, to his honour, refused to have anything to do with it. I know, however, no details."

"Then all we can do at present is to wait and watch."

He nodded, and poured himself out some wine. Leaving him to sip his
JouÉ I retired to change my dress, and shortly after we rode out to the
Louvre. On arrival there we proceeded at once to Le Brusquet's
apartments, where he received a joyous welcome from his ape.

"Here," he said, as he put the little beast down and took a sword from the wall, "here is the sword you lent me that night. You see it is clean and sharp as ever."

"Let it remain, then, in your hands, monsieur, as a trifling remembrance of Bertrand d'Orrain."

"I thank you! I shall guard it as it should be guarded. Corbleu! but it was a narrow affair that night; but for you VendÔme might be wearing wings now, and the house of BÊsme extinct as the Sphinga."

"It was a lucky chance. I suppose that old fox Camus still has his lair in the same place? I wonder what made him turn against me as he did——"

"Oh, Camus is like a dog that loves biting, a dog that would bite his own master in default of anyone else. Yes; he is there still. As for his turning on you, that is part of his duty; he has been for years a paid servant of Diane."

"How long is this woman to last?"

"As long as her roses. But they say those are fadeless; and Saint
Gelais has had to leave the Court in fear of his life for swearing that
she keeps them ever fresh by daily bathing her face in sow's milk."
And he laughed as he added: "But come, now, it is time to be moving."

We were soon in the long gallery leading to the Queen's apartments; but, instead of the darkness and gloom that pervaded it on the occasion of my last visit, all was in light. Cressets burned everywhere, and at every few yards stood a flambeau-bearer, his torch alight. The vaulted roof above us was dim with the smoke that rose from the torches, and there was everywhere the subdued murmur of voices, as people passed and repassed, or stood in small knots conversing. So great was the change that I could not avoid noticing it; and Le Brusquet explained that it was always so when any of the royal children, who lived at St. Germain-en-Laye, visited the Queen. He had just said this when we rounded the abrupt curve the gallery made, and came face to face with two men walking arm-in-arm in the direction opposite to that we were taking. They were Simon and De Ganache, and recognition was mutual and instant. Monsieur de Ganache saw the surprised look on my face, which he no doubt read, as I glanced from him to my brother; and lifting his hat in a half-defiant, half-shamefaced manner, would have passed on, but Simon held him by the arm, and planting himself right in our path said, with an insolent stare:

"This gentleman must have mistaken the Louvre for the Gloriette."

Le Brusquet plucked my sleeve in warning; but I was cool enough, and had no intention of again laying myself open to the law. I gave Simon stare for stare. "Yes; it is I," I answered coldly; and then, turning to De Ganache: "Monsieur, it was from the Vidame d'Orrain that I had the good fortune to rescue Mademoiselle de Paradis. I thought you knew of this. If not, you know now with whom your arm is linked."

"By God!" Simon burst out, "if I did not remember where I was——"

"Tush!" I broke in, "there are a hundred other places where we can settle our differences. I have no time to be brawling here."

With this I pushed past, and left them looking at each other as, followed by Le Brusquet, I gained the door to the Queen's apartment. As we came up De Lorgnac himself appeared, and passed us into the anteroom. I well remembered that cheerless tomb through which I had passed a month ago; but now it was all glittering bright. The door of the Queen's cabinet was closed; but to the right folding doors—that I had not observed before—were open, giving a glimpse, through the half-drawn curtains, of a crowded salon beyond. In the ante-room itself there were about a dozen or so of ladies-in-waiting and pages, all talking and laughing; and as we followed De Lorgnac I felt a light touch at my elbow, and turning met a merry face that smiled up at me. It was little Mademoiselle Davila, the same who with Madame de Montal had met us at Longpont.

"Eh bien! So you have come, monsieur. I can tell you that you have been expected. Oh! we have heard about you at last—heard twice over—and we are all thinking of playing truant and running away to the forest of Vincennes or Monceaux. That last is better, for it is nearer Paris——" But here her breathless chatter was cut short by a "Hush!" from the salon, and then we heard the strings of a harp being touched.

"'Tis belle Marie, the little Queen of Scotland!" And moving forward a couple of steps we were able to see into the next room. I looked round in vain for mademoiselle, and then my glance was arrested by a tall, fair-haired girl who was before a harp; and even I, who should have had no eyes but for one face, stood as if spellbound. As her fingers ran over the harp strings a low, wailing melody filled the room, and then with a voice of strange sweetness she sang a sad little song—a bergerelle of my own country. Harp and voice together died away in inexpressible sorrow at the last words, and a strange stillness filled the room, but was broken at last by a half-suppressed sob. Then in a moment all was changed. There came a bright little flourish, and she sang, joyous and blithe as a lark:

"Si le roi m'avait honnÉ
Paris sa grand'ville,
Et qu'il m'eut fallu quitter
L'Amour de m'amie;
J'aurais dit au Roi Henri
Reprenez votre Paris,
J'aime mieux m'amie
O gai!
J'aime mieux m'amie
O gai!"

"O gai!" burst the chorus, almost unconsciously, from those around her, and with a flush on her face and a smile on her lips Mary of Scotland moved from the harp, and was immediately lost to view in the circle of those who crowded around her. I looked for my companions. Mademoiselle Davila had found a lanky page to flirt with; Le Brusquet seemed to have vanished; but De Lorgnac was at hand.

"Come now!" he said, and I followed him across the crowded room to where the Queen sat, amidst a group of her ladies, with the Dauphin—a small, ill-formed boy of thirteen or fourteen—at her knees. She received me graciously; and on my delivering my packet she broke the seals, glanced at the contents with apparent carelessness, and then handed it—all open as it was—to a lady who stood behind her.

"La Beauce, put this on my table." And then turning to me, said, with a laugh:

"Your ears should be tingling, monsieur, for the last hour or so there has been nothing but you talked of by my maids-of-honour. It seems that the cock of Orrain has not forgotten the use of his spurs."

My tongue had long since forgotten such courtier tricks as it had learned. In truth, it was never good at these; and whilst I was casting about for something to say, and wishing myself well away from the ring of faces that circled me in, a gay, laughing voice broke in:

"But where is the heroine, madame? Where is Diane of the Forest? She should thank her preserver before your Majesty." And Mary of Scotland, heedless and blithe of heart, made me a mock little courtesy as she moved to the Queen's side.

"Here she is," cried twenty voices; "she has been hiding here." And, before I knew how it was, I found myself face to face with mademoiselle.

"Thank him! thank him!" the reckless voices around us began to shout; and, as I stood fumbling about, mademoiselle, with a face like fire, made me a stiff bow, and was about to step back, when our chief tormentor called out:

"Oh, how poor a thanksgiving! Surely this is a fit case for a Court of Love!—how and in what way a fair lady should greet her knight after a parlous quest?"

"Madame"—and Mary of Scotland knelt before the Queen—"you will hold a
Court now, will you not?"

"O gai! O gai!" And there was a chorus of laughter and cheers.

Where all this foolery might have ended Heaven knows. The Queen herself seemed to be enjoying it, and was about to make some reply to Mary, when there was a bustle at the door, and an usher called out:

"The King! His Majesty the King!"

Holding the Dauphin by the hand the Queen rose and advanced to meet the King, who entered, followed by half a dozen of his gentlemen. Henri was tall, strongly built, and carried himself royally; but there was a strange mixture of courage and weakness in his countenance. He was brave—no man could be found to deny that; but there was never a sparkle of intelligence in his dull eyes, though at times they shone with cunning, and his mouth was weak and sensual. That night he had supped in the apartments of Diane de Poitiers, and had evidently primed himself for this visit to the Queen, for his face was flushed and his voice thick.

"Your Majesty is unexpected, but all the more welcome for that," said the Queen as Henri touched her fingers with his lips. The King made some answer I did not hear, and led the Queen to a seat; then, patting the Dauphin's head much in the manner of one patting a spaniel's back, he looked around.

"Birge!" he said. "You are gay here. It was dull this evening at supper; she had the megrims."

A slight flush came into Catherine de Medicis' cheeks at this mention of the mistress, and her voice trembled a little.

"I trust madame will soon be better; but you, sire, will always find us gay here."

"It seems so. What was the particular jest? It might bring a smile to
Diane's face when I tell her of it."

I moved back, so that I did not hear the Queen's answer, but Henri laughed loudly.

"A Court of Love! Bigre! 'Tis a new idea, and a good one. But where is our little ward? Present her."

Mademoiselle had to come forward, and when she had kissed hands the
King said:

"I hear sad tales of you, mademoiselle; but there, never mind! You must not, however, break all our hearts. Faith!" and his feeble intellect wandered off to the one subject it could think of, "we will have a tourney in a fortnight, and the defenders shall wear your colours."

Mademoiselle blushed red, and began to stammer out something, whilst a few looks were exchanged between the courtiers that made my blood run hot. The Queen, however, interposed, and suddenly called for me.

"Monsieur d'Orrain!"

I stepped up, catching the look of astonishment in mademoiselle's eyes as she heard the name by which I was addressed.

"Permit me, your Majesty, to present to you the Chevalier d'Orrain. It is he who arranged the small matter you entrusted me with, and has, besides, shown himself a valiant gentleman. With your Majesty's permission I propose appointing him to my guards; M. de Lorgnac has a vacancy."

There was a little murmur, and as I knelt, the King extended his hand to me carelessly. As I rose to my feet, and was about to withdraw, he said, with a sudden recollection:

"Monsieur d'Orrain—the brother of the Vidame?"

I bowed, and Henri turned to the Queen, his face assuming a severe expression; but Catherine de Medicis anticipated his speech.

"It is so small a favour that I thought your Majesty would have no objection in view of M. d'Orrain's services. I do not, however, press it."

Henri hummed and hawed, and a curious, cunning expression came into his eyes.

"Bigre! It seems to me I have to grant favours from the moment I rise to the moment I lie down to sleep. But to tell the truth, madame, it was I who came here to ask a favour from you." And then he stopped, and his face flushed darker than ever as he went on, with a short laugh: "Come! let it be a bargain! If I grant you your request will you grant me mine?"

"Assuredly, sire!—even if you did not grant me mine."

"Oh! we will make it a bargain. Well, then, let it be as you wish with monsieur there." And turning to me: "And harkee, Chevalier! Keep your sword in your scabbard, and put your Geneva books in the fire, now that you have a new start."

"I thank you, sire!" said the Queen. "And your command——?"

She stopped, awaiting the King's answer; but Henri hesitated, and at last, bending forward, whispered a few words in the Queen's ear. The effect was instant. She became white and red in turns, and began to nervously clasp and unclasp her hands.

"Come!" said the King, with an affectation of gaiety; "it was a bargain, madame."

There was a pause, and then, with a voice as hard as steel, Catherine de Medicis said to her favourite maid-of-honour:

"Mademoiselle La Beauce—my jewel-casket—quick, please."

La Beauce bowed, and slipped away, and we all looked on in wonder at the strange scene. Presently she returned with a small but heavy casket in her hands. Catherine opened it with a key she detached from a chain she wore at her neck, and as the lid fell back the glittering splendour of the Crown diamonds of France was disclosed to view.

"They have been worn by a line of queens, sire," said Catherine as she placed the box in Henri's hands; "they ought well to become Madame Diane de Poitiers, and cure her megrims."

With this she made a profound bow, and withdrew. When she had gone there was an absolute silence; and then the King laughed, an uneasy, foolish laugh.

"And all this because I want to borrow a few stones for the masque!" he exclaimed as he thrust the box into the hands of one of his gentleman. "Take this, Carnavalet!" And swinging round on his heel he went as he had come, his suite clattering behind him.

As he went we heard through the open doors the cries of "Vive le Roi!" from those in the gallery outside, and then all was still once more.

The salon, but a short time before so bright and gay, emptied like magic. I stood where I was, leaning against a pillar, wondering at the scene through which I had passed, and hardly realising that I was alone. No, not alone, for mademoiselle stood before me, her hand outstretched.

"Oh, monsieur, this is a horrible place! Why did I ever come?"

I could say nothing, for she too had seen and heard all that had passed.

"But it is not this I came to talk about. I waited so as to be able to congratulate M. Bertrand Broussel, the worthy citizen of Paris." And she laughed as she added: "I was sure of it from the first; I knew it could never be."

"May I also say that I was sure that Cujus the furrier never had a niece?"

She made a little impatient gesture with her hand. "I do not believe you will ever forget that, monsieur."

"Never."

"And you are not leaving Paris, then?" she asked after a moment's pause.

"I cannot now," I answered.

"Then," she laughed, "the furrier's niece and Monsieur Broussel will meet again. Au revoir, Chevalier!"

And she was gone.