How M. De St. Luc Acquitted Himself of the Commission Given to Him by Bussy.

Let us leave St. Luc a little while in Schomberg’s room, and see what had passed between him and Bussy.

Once out of the hall, St. Luc had stopped, and looked anxiously at his friend.

“Are you ill?” said he, “you are so pale; you look as though you were about to faint.”

“No, I am only choking with anger.”

“You do not surely mind those fellows?”

“You shall see.”

“Come, Bussy, be calm.”

“You are charming, really; be calm, indeed! if you had had half said to you that I have had, some one would have been dead before this.”

“Well, what do you want?”

“You are my friend; you have already given me a terrible proof of it.”

“Ah! my dear friend,” said St. Luc, who believed Monsoreau dead and buried, “do not thank me, it is not worth while; certainly the thrust was a good one, and succeeded admirably, but it was the king who showed it me, when he kept me here a prisoner at the Louvre.”

“Dear friend.”

“Never mind Monsoreau; tell me about Diana. Was she pleased at last? Does she pardon me? When will the wedding take place?”

“Oh! my dear friend, we must wait till Monsoreau is dead.”

“What!” cried St. Luc, starting back as though he had put his foot on a pointed nail.

“Yes; poppies are not such dangerous plants as you thought; he did not die from his fall on them, but is alive and more furious than ever.”

“Really?”

“Yes, and he talks of nothing but vengeance, and of killing you on the first occasion.”

“And I have announced his death to everyone; he will find his heirs in mourning. But he shall not give me the lie; I shall meet him again, and if he escapes me a second time ——”

“Calm yourself, my dear St. Luc; really, I am better off than you would think; it is the duke whom he suspects, and of whom he is jealous. I am his dear Bussy — his precious friend. That is only natural, for it was that fool of a Rémy who cured him.

“What an idiot he must have been!”

“He has an idea that, as an honest man and a doctor, it is his duty to cure people. However, Monsoreau says he owes his life to me, and confides his wife to my care.”

“Ah! I understand that this makes you wait more patiently for his death. However, I am quite thunderstruck at the news.”

“But, now, my friend, let us leave Monsoreau.”

“Yes, let us enjoy life while he is still ill; but once he is well, I shall order myself a suit of mail, have new locks put on my doors, and you must ask the Duc d’Anjou if his mother has not given him some antidote against poison. Meanwhile, let us amuse ourselves.”

“Well, my dear friend, you see you have only rendered me half a service.”

“Do you wish me to finish it?”

“Yes, in another way.”

“Speak.”

“Are you great friends with those four gentlemen?”

“Ma foi! we are something like cats and dogs in the sun; as long as we an get the heat, we agree, but if one of us took the warmth from another, then I do not answer for the consequences.”

“Well, will you go for me to M. Quelus, first?”

“Ah!”

“And ask him what day it will please him that I should cut his throat, or he mine?”

“I will.”

“You do not mind it?”

“Not the least in the world. I will go at once if you wish it.”

“One moment; as you go, just call on M. Schomberg and make him the same proposal.”

“Schomberg too? Diable, how you go on! Well, as you wish.”

“Then, my dear St. Luc, as you are so amiable, go also to M. Maugiron, and as............