The Reception of the Chiefs of the League.

The time for the great reception drew near. Paris, nearly as tumultuous as the evening before, had sent towards the Louvre its deputation of leaguers, its bodies of workmen, its sheriffs, its militia, and its constantly-increasing masses of spectators.

The king, on his throne in the great hall, was surrounded by his officers, his friends, his courtiers, and his family, waiting for all the corporations to defile before him, when M. de Monsoreau entered abruptly.

“Look, Henriquet,” said Chicot, who was standing near the king.

“At what?”

“At your chief huntsman; pardieu, he is well worth it. See how pale and dirty he is!”

Henri made a sign to M. de Monsoreau, who approached.

“How is it that you are at the Louvre, monsieur? I thought you at Vincennes.”

“Sire, the stag was turned off at seven o’clock this morning, but when noon came, and I had no news, I feared that some misfortune had happened to your majesty, and I returned.”

“Really!”

“Sire, if I have done wrong, attribute it to an excess of devotion.”

“Yes, monsieur, and I appreciate it.”

“Now,” said the count, hesitatingly, “if your majesty wishes me to return to Vincennes, as I am reassured ——”

“No, no, stay; this chase was a fancy which came into our head, and which went as it came; do not go away, I want near me devoted subjects, and you have just classed yourself as such.”

Monsoreau bowed, and said, “Where does your majesty wish me to remain?”

“Will you give him to me for half an hour?” said Chicot to the king, in a low voice.

“What for?”

“To torment him a little. You owe me some compensation for obliging me to be present at this tiresome ceremony.”

“Well, take him.”

“Where does your majesty wish me to stand?” again asked M. de Monsoreau.

“Where you like; go behind my armchair, that is where I put my friends.”

“Come here,” said Chicot, making room for M. de Monsoreau, “come and get the scent of these fellows. Here is game which can be tracked without a hound. Here are the shoemakers who pass, or rather, who have passed; then here are the tanners. Mort de ma vie! if you lose their scent, I will take away your place.”

M. de Monsoreau listened mechanically; he seemed preoccupied, and looked around him anxiously.

“Do you know what your chief huntsman is hunting for now?” said Chicot, in an undertone, to the king.

“No.”

“Your brother.”

“The game is not in sight.”

“Just ask him where his countess is.”

“What for?”

“Just ask.”

“M. le Comte,” said Henri, “what have you done with Madame de Monsoreau? I do not see her here.”

The count started, but replied, “Sire, she is ill, the air of Paris did not agree with her; so having obtained leave from the queen, she set out last night, with her father, for Méridor.”

“Paris is not good for women in her situation,” said Chicot.

Monsoreau grew pale and looked furiously at him.

“This poor countess!” continued Chicot, “she will die of ennui by the way.”

“I said that she traveled with her father.”

“A father is very respectable, I ............