How M. Le Duc d’Anjou Signed, and After Having Signed, Spoke.

There was a moment’s silence. Then the duke said: “Well, M. le Comte, what have you to say to me from the Duc de Guise?”

“Much, monseigneur.”

“They have written to you?”

“No; the duke writes no more since that strange disappearance of Nicholas David. They have come to Paris.”

“MM. de Guise are at Paris?”

“Yes, monseigneur.”

“I have not seen them.”

“They are too prudent to expose themselves or your highness to any risk.”

“And I was not told!”

“I tell you now.”

“What have they come for?”

“They come, monseigneur, to the rendezvous you gave them.”

“That I gave them!”

“Doubtless; on the day when your highness was arrested you received a letter from M. de Guise, and replied to it verbally, through me, that they were to come to Paris from the thirty-first of May to the second of June. It is now the thirty-first of May, and if your highness has forgotten them, they have not forgotten you.”

Fran?ois grew pale. So many events had passed since, that he had forgotten the rendezvous. “It is true,” said he, at length, “but the relations which then existed between us exist no longer.”

“If that be so, monseigneur, you would do well to tell them, for I believe they think differently.”

“How so?”

“You, perhaps, think yourself free as regards them, but they feel bound to you.”

“A snare, my dear comte, in which a man does not let himself be taken twice.”

“And where was monseigneur taken in a snare?”

“Where? at the Louvre, mordieu.”

“Was it the fault of MM. de Guise?”

“I do not say so, but they never assisted me to escape.”

“It would have been difficult; they were flying themselves.”

“It is true.”

“But when you were in Anjou, did they not charge me to tell you that you could always count on them, as they on you, and that the day you marched on Paris, they would do the same?”

“It is true, but I did not march on Paris.”

“You are here.”

“Yes; but as my brother’s ally.”

“Monseigneur will permit me to observe that he is more than the ally of the Guises.”

“What then?”

“Their accomplice.”

The duke bit his lips.

“And you say they charged you to announce their arrival to me?”

“They did me that honour.”

“But they did not tell you the motive of their return?”

“They told me all, knowing me to be the confidant of your highness.”

“Then they have projects. What are they?”

“The same always.”

“And they think them practicable?”

“They look upon them as certain.”

“And these projects have for an aim ——”

The duke stopped, not daring to finish.

“To make you King of France; yes, monseigneur.”

The duke felt the flush of joy mount to his face.

“But,” said he “is the moment favorable?”

“Your wisdom must decide.”

“My wisdom?”

“Yes, the facts cannot be contradicted. The nomination of the king as head of the League was only a comedy, quickly seen through and appreciated. Now the reaction has commenced, and the entire state is rising against the tyranny of the king and his creatures. Sermons are a call to arms, and churches are places where they curse the king, instead of praying to God. The army trembles with impatience; the bourgeois league together; our emissaries bring in nothing but signatures and new adherents to the League. In a word, the king’s reign touches on its close. Now, do you renounce your former projects?”

The duke did not reply.

“Monseigneur knows that he may speak frankly to me.”

“I think,” said the duke, “that considering my brother has no children, that his health is uncertain, and that after him the crown will come naturally to me, there is no reason why I should compromise my name and my dignity, in a useless struggle, and try to take, with danger, what will come to me in due course.”

“Your highness is in error; your brother’s throne will only come to you if you take it. MM. de Guise cannot be kings themselves, but they will only allow to reign a king of their own making, a king whom they substitute for the reigning one. They count on your highness, but if you refuse, they will seek another.”

“And who will dare to seat himself on the throne of Charlemagne?”

“A Bourbon instead of a Valois, monseigneur; a son of St, Louis, instead of a son of St. Louis.”

“The king of Navarre?”

“Why not? He is young, and brave,”

“He is a Huguenot.”

“Was he not converted at the St. Bartholomew?”

“Yes, and he abjured afterwards.”

“Oh, monseigneur, what he did for his wife, he will do again for the crown.”

“They think, then, that I will yield my rights without a struggle.”

“The case is provided for.”

“I will fight.”

“They are men of war.”

“I will put myself at the head of the League.”

“They are the soul of it.”

“I will join my brother.”

“Your brother will be dead.”

“I will call the kings of Europe to my aid.”

“They will think twice before making war on a people.”

“My party will stand by me.”

“Your party, I believe, consists of M. de Bussy and myself.”

“Then I am tied.”

“Nearly so. You can do nothing without the Guises; with them, everything. Say the word, and you are king.”

The duke walked about for a few minutes, in great agitation, then stopped, and said, “Go on, count.”

“This, then, is the plan. In eight days the Fête Dieu will take place, and the king meditates on that day a great procession to the convents of Paris. There, the guards will remain at the door, the king will stop before each altar, kneel down, and say five paters and five aves.”

“I know all that.”

“He will go to St. Geneviève ——”

“Yes.”

“He will enter with a suite of five or six persons, and behind them, the doors will be closed.”

“And then ——”

“Your hi............