The repast was joyous. Henri seemed no longer to have any weight either on his heart or his mind, and he was an excellent companion. As for Chicot, he dissembled the uneasiness he had felt since the coming of the Spanish ambassador and the scene with the mendicants. He endeavored to drink little and keep cool, to observe everything; but this Henri would not allow. However, Chicot had a head of iron, and as for Henri, he said he could drink these wines of the country like milk.
"I envy you," said Chicot to the king; "your court is delightful, and your life pleasant."
"If my wife were here, Chicot, I would not say what I am about to say, but in her absence I will tell you that the best part of my life is that which you do not see."
"Ah! sire, they tell, indeed, fine tales of you."
Henri leaned back in his chair to laugh. "They say I reign more over my female than my male subjects, do they not?" said he.
"Yes, sire, and it astonishes me."
"Why so?"
"Because, sire, you have much of that restless spirit which makes great kings."
"Ah, Chicot! you are wrong; I am lazy, and the proof of it is in my life. If I have a love to choose, I take the nearest; if a wine, the bottle close to my hand. To your health, Chicot."
"Sire, you do me honor," said Chicot, emptying his glass.
"Thus," continued the king, "what quarrels in my household!"
"Yes, I understand; all the ladies-in-waiting adore you, sire."
"They are my neighbors, Chicot."
"Then, sire, it might result from this, that if you lived at St. Denis instead of Nerac, the king might not live very tranquilly."
"The king! what do you say, Chicot? Do you think I am a Guise? I wish for Cahors, it is true, because it is near to me."
"Ventre de biche, sire, this ambition for things within the reach of your hand resembles much that of Cæsar Borgia, who gathered together a kingdom, city by city; saying that Italy was an artichoke to be eaten leaf by leaf."
"This Cæsar Borgia was not a bad politician, it seems to me, compere."
"No, but he was a very dangerous neighbor and a bad brother."
"Ah! would you compare me to the son of a pope—I, a Huguenot chief?"
"Sire, I compare you to no one."
"Why not?"
"I believe he would be wrong who should liken you to any other than yourself. You are ambitious, sire."
"Here is a man determined to make me want something," cried Henri.
"God forbid, sire; I desire with all my heart, on the contrary, that your majesty should want nothing."
"Nothing calls you back to Paris, does it, Chicot?"
"No, sire."
"Then you will pass some days with me?"
"If your majesty does me the honor to wish for my company, I ask no better than to give you a week."
"So be it; in a week you will know me like a brother. Drink, Chicot."
"Sire, I am no longer thirsty," said Chicot, who had given up all hopes of seeing the king take too much.
"Then, I will leave you; a man should not stay at table when he does nothing. Drink, I tell you."
"Why, sire?"
"To sleep better. Do you like the chase, Chicot?"
"Not much, sire; and you?"
"Passionately; since I lived at the court of Charles IX."
"Why did your majesty do me the honor to ask me?"
"Because I hunt to-morrow, and thought to take you with me."
"Sire, it would be a great honor, but—"
"Oh! this chase will rejoice all eyes; besides, I am a good hunter, and I wish you to see me to advantage."
"Sire, I am at your orders."
"Good! then it is settled. Ah! here is a page to disturb us."
"Some important business, sire?"
"Business at table! You think you are still at the court of France, my dear Chicot. Learn one thing; at Nerac, when we have supped, we go to bed."
"But this page?"
"Well, cannot he come for anything but business?"
"Ah! I understand: and I will go to bed."
Chicot rose; the king did the same, and took his arm. This haste to send him away appeared suspicious to Chicot, and he determined not to leave the room if he could help it.
"Oh! oh!" said he, tottering, "it is astonishing, sire."
The king smiled. "What is astonishing?"
"Ventre de biche! my head turns; while I sat still, it was all very well, but when I rise—"
"Bah!" said Henri, "we only tasted the wine."
"You call that tasting, sire? You are a drinker, and I do you homage, as to my superior."
"Chicot, my friend," said Henri, endeavoring to make out by one of his keen glances if Chicot were really drunk or pretending, "the best thing you can do is to go to bed."
"Yes, sire; good-night."
"Good-evening, Chicot."
"Yes, sire, you are right; the best thing Chicot can do is to go to bed." And he lay down on the floor.
Henri glanced toward the door, and then, approaching him, said, "You are so drunk, my poor Chicot, that you have taken my floor for your bed."
"Chicot does not mind little things."
"But I expect some one."
"For supper; yes, let us sup—" And Chicot made a fruitless effort to rise.
"Ventre St. Gris! how quickly you get drunk. But go along, mordieu! she is getting impatient."
"She, who?"
"The lady I expect."
"A lady; why did you not say, Henriquet? Ah! pardon, I thought I was speaking—to the king of France. He has spoiled me, that good Henriquet. Ah! I will go."
"You are a gentleman, Chicot. Now go quickly."
"Adieu, sire; a good night to you."
"Adieu! and sleep well. You will find the page in the gallery, who will show you your room."
Chicot went out; but, after taking a few steps, returned just in time to see Henri let in—not a woman, but a man. Chicot put his eye to the large keyhole.
The man took off his hat, and Chicot saw the noble but severe face of Duplessis-Mornay, the rigid and vigilant counselor of Henri of Navarre.
"Ah!" thought Chicot, "this will annoy our lover more than I did."
But Henri's face showed only joy; and after locking the door, he sat down eagerly to examine some maps, plans, and letters, which his minister had brought him. The king then began to write and to mark the maps.
"Oh! this is the way Henri of Navarre makes love," thought Chicot.
At this moment he heard steps behind him, and fearful of being surprised, he turned hastily away, and, seeing the page, asked for his room.
"Come with me, if you please, monsieur," said D'Aubiac, "and I will conduct you."
Chicot began to understand the king of Navarre. Therefore, instead of going to sleep, he sat somber and thoughtful on his bed, while the moon shed its silver light over stream and meadows.
"Henri is a real king, and he conspires," thought Chicot. "All this palace, park, town—the whole province—is a focus of conspiracy. All the women make love, but it is political love; and all the men live in the hope of a future. Henri is clever, his talent borders on genius, and he is in communication with Spain, the land of deceit. Who knows if even his noble answer to the ambassador was not a farce, and if he did not warn the ambassador of it by some sign unknown to me? Henri has spies; those beggars were nothing more nor less than gentlemen in disguise. Those pieces of gold, so artistically cut, were pledges of recognition—rallying signs.
"Henri feigns to care for nothing but love and pleasure, and then passes his time working with Mornay, who never seems to sleep, and does not know what love means. Queen Marguerite has lovers, and the king knows it, and tolerates them, because he has need of them, or of her—perhaps of both. Happily, God, in giving him the genius for intrigue, did not add to it that of war; for they say he is afraid of the noise of musketry, and that when he was taken, when quite young, to battle, he could not stay more than a quarter of an hour in the saddle. It is lucky, for if he had the arm, as well as the head, this man might do anything.
"There is certainly the Duc de Guise, who has both, but he has the disadvantage of being known as brave and skillful, so that every one is on their guard against him, while no one fears the Béarnais. I alone have seen through him. Well, having seen through him, I have no more to do here; so while he works or sleeps, I will go quietly out of the city. There are not many ambassadors, I think, who can boast of having fulfilled their mission in one day, as I have. So I will leave Nerac, and gallop till I am in France." And he began to put on his spurs.
Chicot, having taken his resolution, began to prepare his little packet. "How much time will it take me," thought he, as he did so, "to carry to the king the news of what I have seen and fear? Two days to arrive at a city whence the governor can send couriers; Cahors, for example, of which Henri of Navarre thinks so much. Once there, I can rest, for after all a man must rest some time. Come, then, Chicot, speed and sang froid. You thought you had accomplished your mission, and you are but half-way through it."
Chicot now extinguished the light, opened his door softly, and began to creep downstairs on tip-toe.
He went into an antechamber, but he had hardly gone four steps before he kicked against something. This something was D'Aubiac lying on a mat.
"Ah! good-evening, M. d'Aubiac," said Chicot, "but get out of the way a little, I beg; I want to go for a walk."
"Ah! but it is forbidden to walk by night near this castle."
"Why so?"
"Because the king fears robbers, and the queen lovers."
"Diable!"
"None but robbers or lovers want to walk at night, when they ought to be sleeping."
"However, dear M. d'Aubiac," said Chicot, with his most charming smile, "I am neither the one nor the other, but an ambassador, very tired from having talked Latin with the queen and supped with the king; let me go out then, my friend, for I want a walk."
"In the city, M. Chicot?"
"Oh no! in the gardens."
"Peste! that is still more forbidden than in the city."
"My little friend, you are very vigilant for your age. Have you nothing to occupy yourself with?"
"No."
"You neither gamble nor fall in love."
"To gamble one must have money, M. Chicot, and to be in love, one must find a lady."
"Assuredly," said Chicot, and feeling in his pocket he drew out ten pistoles and slipped them into the page's hand, saying, "Seek well in your memory, and I bet you will find some charming woman, to whom I beg you to make some presents with this."
"Oh, M. Chicot!" said the page, "it is easy to see that you come from the court of France; you have manners to which one can refuse nothing: go then, but make no noise."
Chicot went on; glided like a shadow into the corridor, and down the staircase, but at the bottom he found an officer sleeping on a chair, placed right against the door, so that it was impossible to pass.
"Ah! little wretch of a page," murmured Chicot, "you knew this."
Chicot looked round him to see if he could find no other way by which he could escape with the assistance of his long legs. At last he saw what he wanted: it was an arched window, of which the glass was broken. Chicot climbed up the wall with his accustomed skill, and without making more noise than a dry leaf in the autumn wind; but unluckily, the opening was not big enough, so when he had got his head and one shoulder through, and had taken away his foot from its resting place on the wall, he found himself hanging between heaven and earth, without being able either to advance or retreat.
He began then a series of efforts, of which the first result was to tear his doublet and scratch his skin. What rendered his position more difficult was his sword, of which the handle would not pass, making a hook by which Chicot hung on to the sash. He exerted all his strength, patience and industry, to unfasten the clasp of his shoulder-belt; but it was just on this clasp that his body leaned, therefore he was obliged to change his maneuver, and at last he succeeded in drawing his sword from its sheath and pushing it through one of the interstices; the sword therefore fell first on the flagstones, and Chicot now managed to get through after it. All this, however, was not done without noise, therefore Chicot, on rising, found himself face to face with a soldier.
CHICOT, ON RISING, FOUND HIMSELF FACE TO FACE WITH A SOLDIER.
CHICOT, ON RISING, FOUND HIMSELF FACE TO FACE WITH A SOLDIER.
"Ah! mon Dieu! have you hurt yourself, M. Chicot?" said he.
Chicot was surprised, but said, "No, my friend, not at all."
"That is very lucky; there are not many people who could do such a thing."
"But how the devil did you know my name?"
"I saw you to-day at the palace, and asked who was the gentleman that was talking with the king."
"Well! I am in a hurry; allow me to pass."
"But no one goes out of the palace by night; those are my orders."
"But you see they do come out, since I am here."
"Yes, but—"
"But what?"
"You must go back, M. Chicot."
"Oh! no."—"How! no?"
"Not by that way, at all events; it is too troublesome."
"If I were an officer instead of a soldier, I would ask you why you come out so; but that is not my business, which is only that you should go back again. Go in, therefore, M. Chicot, I beg you."
And the soldier said this in such a persuasive tone, that Chicot was touched. Consequently he put his hand in his pocket and drew out another ten pistoles.
"You must understand, my friend," said he, "that as I have torn my clothes in passing through once, I should make them still worse by going back again, and should have to go naked, which would be very indecent in a court where there are so many young and pretty women; let me go then to my tailor." And he put the money in his hand.
"Go quickly then, M. Chicot," said the man.
Chicot was in the street at last. The night was not favorable for flight, being bright and cloudless, and he regretted the foggy nights of Paris, where people might pass close to each other unseen. The unfortunate fugitive had no sooner turned the corner of the street than he met a patrol. He stopped of himself, thinking it would look suspicious to try and pass unseen.
"Oh, good-evening, M. Chicot!" said the chief; "shall we reconduct you to the palace? You seem as though you had lost your way."
"It is very strange," murmured Chicot, "every one knows me here." Then aloud, and as carelessly as he could, "No, cornet, I am not going to the palace."
"You are wrong, M. Chicot," replied the officer, gravely.
"Why so, monsieur?"
"Because a very severe edict forbids the inhabitants of Nerac to go out at night without permission and without a lantern."
"Excuse me, monsieur, but this edict cannot apply to me, who do not belong to Nerac."
"But you are at Nerac. Inhabitant means living at; now you cannot deny that you live at Nerac, since I see you here."
"You are logical, monsieur. Unluckily, I am in a hurry; make an exception to your rule, and let me pass, I beg."
"You will lose yourself, M. Chicot; Nerac is a strange town. Allow three of my men to conduct you to the palace."
"But I am not going there, I tell you."
"Where are you going, then?"
"I cannot sleep well at night, and then I always walk. Nerac is a charming city, and I wish to see it."
"My men shall conduct you where you please."
"Oh, monsieur, I would rather go alone."
"You will be assassinated."
"I have my sword."
"Ah, true; then you will be arrested for bearing arms."
Chicot, driven to despair, drew the officer aside, and said:
"Come, monsieur, you are young; you know what love is—an imperious tyrant."
"Doubtless, M. Chicot."
"Well, cornet, I have a certain lady to visit."
"Where?"
"In a certain place."
"Young?"
"Twenty-three years old."
"Beautiful?"
"As the graces."
"I felicitate you, M. Chicot."
"Then you will let me pass?"
"It seems I must."
"And alone; I cannot compromise—"
"Of course not; pass on, M. Chicot."
"You are a gallant man, cornet. But how did you know me?"
"I saw you at the palace with the king. Apropos, which way are you going?"
"Toward the Porte of Agen. Am I not in the right road?"
"Yes, go straight on; I wish you success."
"Thank you;" and Chicot went on. But before he had taken a hundred steps he met the watch.
"Peste! this town is well guarded," thought Chicot.
"You cannot pass!" cried the provost, in a voice of thunder.
"But, monsieur, I want—"
"Ah, M. Chicot, is it you? In the streets in this cold?" asked the officer.
"Ah, decidedly! It must be a bet," thought Chicot; and, bowing, he tried to pass on.
"M. Chicot, take care!" said the provost.
"Take care of what?"
"You are going wrong; you are going toward the gates."
"Just so."
"Then I arrest you!"
"Not so, monsieur; you would be very wrong."
"However—"
"Approach, monsieur, that your soldiers may not hear."
The man approached.
"The king has given me a commission for the lieutenant of the Porte of Agen."
"Ah!"
"That astonishes you?"
"Yes."
"It ought not, since you know me."
"I know you from having seen you at the palace with the king."
Chicot stamped his foot impatiently. "That should prove to you that I possess the king's confidence."
"Doubtless; go on, M. Chicot, and execute your commission."
"Come," thought Chicot, "I advance slowly, but I do advance. Ventre de biche! here is a gate; it must be that of Agen; in five minutes I shall be out."
He arrived at the gate, which was guarded by a sentinel walking up and down, his musket on his shoulder.
"My friend, will you open the gate for me?" said Chicot.
"I cannot, M. Chicot," replied the man, "being only a private soldier."
"You also know me?" cried Chicot in a rage.
"I have that honor; I was on guard at the palace this morning, and saw you talking with the king."
"Well! my friend, the king has given me a very urgent message to convey to Agen; open the postern for me."
"I would with pleasure, but I have not the keys."
"And who has them?"
"The officer for the night."
Chicot sighed.
"And where is he?"
The soldier rang a bell to wake his officer.
"What is it?" said he, passing his head through a window.
"Lieutenant, it is a gentleman who wants the gate opened."
"Ah! M. Chicot," cried the officer, "I will be down in a moment."
"What! does every one know me?" cried Chicot. "Nerac seems a lantern, and I the candle."
"Excuse me, monsieur," said the officer, approaching, "but I was asleep."
"Oh! monsieur, that is what night is made for; will you be good enough to open the door. Unluckily, I cannot sleep, for the king, whom you doubtless also saw me talking to—"
"Yes, I did, monsieur."
"Of course!" growled Chicot. "Well! the king has sent me on a commission to Agen; this is the right gate, is it not?"
"Yes, M. Chicot."
"Will you please to have it opened?"
"Of course. Anthenas, open the gate quickly for M. Chicot."
Chicot began to breathe; the door creaked on its hinges, and opened, and Chicot saw liberty through it.
"Adieu! monsieur," said he, advancing.
"Adieu! M. Chicot, a pleasant journey.—But stay, one moment; I have forgotten to ask for your pass," cried he, seizing Chicot by the sleeve to stop him.
"How! my pass?"
"Certainly, M. Chicot; you know what a pass is? You understand that no one can leave a town like Nerac without a pass, particularly when the king is in it."
"And who must sign this pass?"
"The king himself; so if he sent you he cannot have forgotten to give you a pass."
"Ah! you doubt that the king sent me?" cried Chicot, with flashing eyes, for he saw himself on the point of failing, and had a great mind to kill the officer and sentinel, and rush through the gate.
"I doubt nothing you tell me, but reflect that if the king gave you this commission—"
"In person, monsieur."
"All the more reason, then: if he knows you are going out, I shall have to give up your pass to-morrow morning to the governor."—"And who is he?"
"M. de Mornay, who does not jest with disobedience, M. Chicot."
Chicot put his hand to his sword, but another look showed him that the outside of the gate was defended by a guard who would have prevented his passing if he had killed the officer and sentinel.
"Well!" said Chicot to himself, with a sigh; "I have lost my game," and he turned back.
"Shall I give you an escort, M. Chicot?" said the officer.
"No, thank you."
Chicot retraced his steps, but he was not at the end of his griefs. He met the chief of the watch, who said, "What! have you finished your commission already, M. Chicot? Peste! how quick you are!"
A little further on the cornet cried to him, "Well, M. Chicot, what of the lady; are you content with Nerac?"
Finally, the soldier in the courtyard said, "Cordieu! M. Chicot, the tailor has not done his work well; you seem more torn than when you went out."
Chicot did not feel inclined to climb back through the window: but by chance, or rather by charity, the door was opened, and he returned into the palace. Here he saw the page, who said, "Dear M. Chicot, shall I give you the key to all this?"
"Yes, serpent," murmured Chicot.
"Well! the king loves you so much, he did not wish to lose you."
"And you knew, and never told me?"
"Oh! M. Chicot, impossible! It was a state secret."
"But I paid you, knave."
"Oh! dear M. Chicot, the secret was worth more than ten pistoles."
Chicot returned to his room in a rage.
When Marguerite left the king, she went at once to the apartments of the maids of honor, and performed her promise with regard to Fosseuse. When she returned, the king thanked her warmly, and then went up to Chicot's room, where he found him still asleep. Henri shook him to wake him. "Come, compere," said he, "get up, it is two in the morning."
"Ah! you make me a prisoner," cried Chicot; "I, an ambassador. Sire, you violate the rights of nations."
Henri began to laugh, and Chicot could not help joining him.
"You are mad," said Henri. "Why the devil did you want to go away from here, have you not been well treated?"
"Too well, ventre de biche! too well. It seems to me as if I were like a goose being fattened. Every one says to me, 'Pretty little Chicot, how gentle he is!' but they clip my wings, and shut the doors on me."
"Oh! reassure yourself, Chicot; you are not fat enough for my table."
"Sire, you seem very gay this morning; what is it?"
"I am always gay when I am setting off for the chase. Come, out of bed, compere."
"You want me, sire?"
"Yes; you shall be my historian."
"To count the shots?"
"Just so."
Chicot dressed murmuringly, while the king remained in the antechamber.
"My horse," cried Henri; "and tell M. de Mornay that I am ready."
"What! is M. de Mornay chief huntsman?" asked Chicot.
"M. de Mornay is everything here," replied Henri. "I am so poor, than I can afford but one man."
"Yes; but he is a good one."
Chicot found the preparations much less sumptuous than those of Henri III. A dozen or fifteen gentlemen only, among whom he recognized the Vicomte de Turenne, formed the whole suite. And as they were none of them rich, they all wore, instead of the usual hunting dress, their helmets and cuirasses, which made Chicot ask if the wolves in Gascony used muskets and artillery.
"No," said Henri; "but they are fierce beasts, who have claws and teeth, and draw hunters into places where they are likely to tear their clothes on the thorns, if they wear silk and velvet, or even cloth and buff, but not if they wear cuirasses."
"That is a reason, but not a good one, sire."
"What would you have? I have no other."
"Then I must be content with this."
"You had better."
"So be it."
"You are angry at being disturbed for this chase."
"Ma foi! yes."
"So you find fault?"
"Is it forbidden?"
"Oh no."
"You understand, sire, I am no hunter, and have nothing to do, so I must amuse myself, while you are thinking of all the wolves that a dozen men are going to kill."
"Ah, yes, laugh away, Chicot; first it was the clothes, now the number of wolves."
"Oh, sire!"
"But I must say you are not indulgent, for Béarn is not as large as France; so the king goes there with two hundred huntsmen, I with a dozen, as you see."
"Yes, sire."
"But," said Henri, "sometimes the country gentlemen, hearing I am going, quit their chateaux and join me, which sometimes makes up a good escort for me."
When they had ridden about half an hour—
"Look," said Henri to Chicot, "are not those cavaliers that I see there?"
Chicot looked and said, "Yes, sire, cavaliers, but not huntsmen."
"Why not?"
"Because they are armed like Amadis or Rolando," replied Chicot.
"Ah! what matters the dress, my dear Chicot? you see we are not particular as to that."
"But I see at least two hundred men there."
"Ah! that is a good number."
Chicot began to feel very curious. He had really named too low a number, for the group before them consisted of two hundred men, who came silently and joined their party; each man was well armed and mounted, and they were led by a gentleman who came and kissed Henri's hand with much devotion.
They passed the river Gers, and then came on a second troop of one hundred men; the chief approached, and seemed to be making excuses for not bringing more men. Henri gave him his hand. They went on till they came to the Garonne; this they also passed, and about half a league on the other side, three hundred cavaliers, hidden in a pine forest, suddenly came in sight.
"Oh! monseigneur," said Chicot, "are not these enemies who have heard of your chase, and wish to oppose it?"
"No, my son, you are wrong; they are friends from Puzmirol."
"Mordieu! sire, you will have more men in your escort than trees in your forest."
"Chicot, I really believe the news of your arrival must have spread through the country, and all these people have come to welcome the ambassador from France."
Chicot saw he was being laughed at, and felt rather offended.
The day finished at Muroy, where the gentlemen of the country gave a grand supper to the king, of which Chicot took his part enthusiastically, as it had not been deemed necessary to stop on the road for anything so unimportant as dinner, and he had eaten nothing since he had left Nerac.
Henri had the best house in the town, half the troop slept within doors, the other half in the street where the king was.
"When are we to begin the hunt?" asked Chicot of Henri, as he was undressing.
"We are not yet in the territory of the wolves, my dear Chicot."
"And when shall we be?"
"Curious!"
"Not so, sire; but you understand, one likes to know where one is going."
"You will know to-morrow; meanwhile, lie down there on those cushions on my left; here is Mornay snoring already at my right."
"Peste!" said Chicot, "he makes more noise asleep than awake."
"It is true he is not very talkative; but see him at the chase."
Day had partly appeared, when a great noise of horses awoke Chicot. They dressed, drank some spiced wine, and took other refreshment, and then Henri cried:
"To horse! gentlemen, we have a long day's work before us."
Chicot saw with astonishment that five hundred cavaliers had swelled the train during the night.
"Sire!" cried he, "you have an army."
"Wait!" replied Henri.
At Lauzerte, six hundred more men came and ranged themselves behind the cavaliers.
"Foot soldiers!" cried Chicot.
"Nothing but beaters," said the king.
Chicot frowned and spoke no more.
Twenty times his eyes turned toward the country, and the idea of flight presented itself to him. But Chicot had his guard of honor, doubtless as ambassador of the king of France, and so well was he recommended to this guard, that he could not make a movement that was not repeated by ten men.
This annoyed him, and he said so to the king.
"Diable!" said Henri, "it is your own fault; you tried to run away from Nerac, and I am afraid you will try it again."
"Sire, if I give my word as a gentleman not to do so?"
"That will do."
"Besides, I should be wrong to do so."
"How so?"
"Yes; for if I stay, I believe I shall see curious things."
"I am of your opinion, my dear Chicot."
At this moment they were going through the town of Montcuq, and four field-pieces took their place in the army.
"I return to my first idea," said Chicot, "that the wolves in this country are different from others, and are differently treated; with artillery, for instance."
"Ah!" said Henri, "it is a mania of the people of Montcuq. Since I gave them these four pieces they take them about everywhere."
"Well, sire, shall we arrive to-day?"
"No, to-morrow."
"To-morrow morning or evening?"
"Morning."
"Then," said Chicot, "it is at Cahors we are to hunt, is it not, sire?"
"On that side," replied Henri.
"But, sire, you who have infantry, cavalry, and artillery to hunt wolves with, should also have taken the royal standard, and then the honor to the wolves would have been complete."
"We have not forgotten it, Chicot, ventre St. Gris! only it is left in the case for fear of dirtying it. But if you wish to see it, and know under whose banner you march, you shall see it."
"No, no, it is useless; leave it where it is."
"Well, be easy, you will see it before long."
They passed the second night at Catus. Troops kept arriving all night.
"It is lucky we are not going on to Paris," said Chicot, "we should arrive with 100,000 men."
The next morning, by eight o'clock, they were before Cahors, with 1,000 foot soldiers and 2,000 horse.
They found the city in a state of defense, M. de Vezin having heard rumors of the advance.
"Ah!" said the king, "he is warned; that is very annoying."
"We must lay siege in due form, sire," said Mornay; "we expect still about 2,000 men, and that is enough."
"Let us assemble the council and begin the trenches."
Chicot listened to all this in amazement. The pensive air of Henri alone reassured him, for it confirmed his suspicions that he was no warrior. He let every one speak, and said nothing. All at once he raised his head, and said in a commanding tone:
"Gentlemen, this is what we must do. We have 3,000 men, and you say you expect 2,000 more, Mornay?"
"Yes, sire."
"That will make 5,000. In a regular siege we should lose 1,000 or 1,500 men in two months, their death would discourage the others, and we should lose 1,000 more in retreating. Let us sacrifice 500 men at once, and take Cahors by assault."
"What do you mean, sire?" asked Mornay.
"My dear friend, we will go straight to the nearest gate. We shall find a fosse in our way, which we will cover with fascines; we may leave two hundred men on the road, but we shall reach the gate."
"After, sire?"
"Then we will break it down with petards and go in. It will not be difficult."
Chicot looked at Henri, astonished.
"Oh!" growled he, "perhaps he is a coward and a boaster."
"Let us not lose time, gentlemen," cried Henri. "Forward, and let all who love me follow."
Chicot approached Mornay.
"Well! M. le Comte," said he, "do you all want to be cut to pieces?"
"Oh! we take our chance."
"But the king will get killed."
"Bah! he has a good cuirass."
"But he will not be foolish enough to fight himself, I suppose?"
Mornay shrugged his shoulders and turned on his heel.
"After all, I like him better asleep than awake; he is more polite snoring than speaking," said Chicot.
The little army advanced near the town, then they breakfasted. The repast over, two hours were given for the officers and men to rest. Henri was very pale, and his hands trembled visibly, when at three o'clock in the afternoon the officers appeared under his tent.
"Gentlemen," said he, "we are here to take Cahors; therefore we must take it—by force. Do you understand? M. de Biron, who has sworn to hang every Huguenot, is only forty-five leagues from here, and doubtless a messenger is already dispatched to him by M. de Vezin. In four or five days he will be on us, and as he has 10,000 men with him, we should be taken between the city and him. Let us, then, take Cahors before he comes, that we may receive him well. Come, gentlemen, I will put myself at your head, and let the blows fall as thick as hail."
The men replied to this speech by enthusiastic cries.
"Well said," said Chicot to himself. "It was lucky he had not to speak with his hands, though, or he would have stammered finely. Let us see him at the work."
As they were setting off, the king said to Chicot:
"Pardon me, friend Chicot, I deceived you by talking of wolves, hunting, and such things, but you see Henri will not pay me his sister's dowry, and Margot cries out for her dear Cahors. One must do what one's wife wants, for peace' sake; therefore I am going to try and take Cahors."
"Why did she not ask you for the moon, sire, as you are such a complaisant husband?"
"I would have tried for it, Chicot, I love my dear Margot so much!"
"You will have quite enough to do with Cahors, and we shall see how you will get out of it."
"Ah! yes, the moment is critical and very disagreeable. Ah! I am not brave, and my nature revolts at every cannonade. Chicot, my friend, do not laugh too much at the poor Béarnais, your compatriot and friend. If I am afraid and you find it out, tell no one."
"If you are afraid?"
"Yes."
"Are you, then, afraid of being afraid?"
"I am."
"But then, ventre de biche, why the devil do you undertake such a thing?"
"I must."
"M. de Vezin is a terrible person."
"I know it well."
"Who gives quarter to no one."
"You think so, Chicot?"
"I am sure of it; red plume or white, he will not care, but cry, Fire!"
"You say that for my white feather, Chicot."
"Yes, sire, and as you are the only one who wears that color—"
"Well!"
"I would take it off."
"But I put it on that I might be recognized."
"Then you will keep it?"
"Yes, decidedly." And Henri trembled again as he said it.
"Come, sire," said Chicot, who did not understand this difference between words and gestures, "there is still time; do not commit a folly; you cannot mount on horseback in that state."
"Am I, then, very pale, Chicot?"
"As pale as death, sire."
"Good."
"How good?"
At this moment the noise of cannon and a furious fire of musketry was heard; it was M. de Vezin's reply to the summons to surrender given by Mornay.
"Hem!" said Chicot, "what do you think of this music, sire?"
"It makes me cold in the marrow of my bones," replied Henri. "Here, my horse! my horse!" cried he.
Chicot looked and listened, unable to understand him. Henry mounted, and then said—
"Come, Chicot, get on horseback too; you are not a warrior, either, are you?"
"No, sire."
"Well, come, we will be afraid together; come and see, my friend. A good horse here, for M. Chicot."
Henri set off at full gallop, and Chicot followed him. On arriving in front of his little army, Henri raised his visor, and cried:
"Out with the banner! out with the new banner!"
They drew forth the banner, which had the double scutcheon of Navarre and Bourbon; it was white, and had chains of gold on one side, and fleur-de-lis on the other.
Again the cannon from Cahors were fired, and the balls tore through a file of infantry near the king.
"Ventre St. Gris! did you see, Chicot?" said the king, whose teeth chattered.
"He will be ill," thought Chicot.
"Cursed body," murmured Henri, "ah! you fear, you tremble; wait till you have something to tremble for." And striking his spurs into his horse, he rushed onward before cavalry, infantry, and artillery, and arrived at a hundred feet from the place, red with the fire of the batteries which thundered from above. There, he kept his horse immovable for ten minutes, his face turned toward the gate of the city, and crying, "The fascines! ventre St. Gris! the fascines!"
Mornay had followed him, sword in hand, and then came Chicot; behind them the young Huguenot gentlemen, crying, "Vive Navarre!" and each with a fascine, which he threw in, and the fosse was soon filled. Then came the artillery, and with the loss of thirty men succeeded in placing their petards under the gate. The shot whistled like a whirlwind of iron round Henri's head, and twenty men fell in an instant before his eyes. "Forward!" cried he, and rushed on through the midst of the fire, and arrived just as the soldiers had fired the first petard. The gate was broken in two places; the second petard was lighted, and a new opening was made in the wood; but twenty arquebuses immediately passed through, vomiting balls on the soldiers and officers, and the men fell like mowed grass.
"Sire," cried Chicot, "in Heaven's name retire!"
Mornay said nothing; he was proud of his pupil, but from time to time he tried to place himself before him. Once Henri felt the damp on his brow, and a cloud pass over his eyes.
"Ah, cursed nature," cried he, "you shall not conquer me!" Then, jumping off his horse, "An ax!" cried he, and with a vigorous arm he struck down wood and iron. At last a beam gave way, and a part of the gate and a portion of the wall fell, and one hundred men rushed to the breach, crying, "Navarre! Navarre! Cahors is ours!"