Part 68 (2/2)
Scarcely was the door closed before, unable any longer to resist the longing to avenge himself on something in defence of some one, De Mouy twisted his hat between his hands, threw it upon the floor, and stamping on it as a bull would stamp on the cloak of the matador:
”By Heaven!” he cried, ”he is a wretched prince, and I have half a mind to kill myself here in order to stain him forever with my blood.”
”Hush, Monsieur de Mouy!” said a voice through a half-open door; ”hus.h.!.+
some one besides myself might hear you.”
De Mouy turned quickly and perceived the Duc d'Alencon enveloped in a cloak, advancing into the corridor with pale face, to make sure that he and De Mouy were entirely alone.
”Monsieur le Duc d'Alencon,” cried De Mouy, ”I am lost!”
”On the contrary,” murmured the prince, ”perhaps you have found what you are looking for, and the proof of this is that I do not want you to kill yourself here as you had an idea of doing just now. Believe me, your blood can in all probability be put to better use than to redden the threshold of the King of Navarre.”
At these words the duke threw back the door which he had been holding half open.
”This chamber belongs to two of my gentlemen,” said the duke. ”No one will interrupt us here. We can, therefore, talk freely. Come in, monsieur.”
”I, here, monseigneur!” cried the conspirator in amazement. He entered the room, the door of which the Duc d'Alencon closed behind him no less quickly than the King of Navarre had done.
De Mouy entered, furious, exasperated, cursing. But by degrees the cold and steady glance of the young Duc Francois had the same effect on the Huguenot captain as does the enchanted lake which dissipates drunkenness.
”Monseigneur,” said he, ”if I understand correctly, your highness wishes to speak to me.”
”Yes, Monsieur de Mouy,” replied Francois. ”In spite of your disguise I thought I recognized you, and when you presented arms to my brother Henry, I recognized you perfectly. Well, De Mouy, so you are not pleased with the King of Navarre?”
”Monseigneur!”
”Come, come! tell me frankly, unless you distrust me; perhaps I am one of your friends.”
”You, monseigneur?”
”Yes, I; so speak.”
”I do not know what to say to your highness, monseigneur. The matter I had to discuss with the King of Navarre concerned interests which your highness would not comprehend. Moreover,” added De Mouy with a manner which he strove to render indifferent, ”they were mere trifles.”
”Trifles?” said the duke.
”Yes, monseigneur.”
”Trifles, for which you felt you would risk your life by coming back to the Louvre, where you know your head is worth its weight in gold. We are not ignorant of the fact that you, as well as the King of Navarre and the Prince de Conde, are one of the leaders of the Huguenots.”
”If you think that, monseigneur, act towards me as the brother of King Charles and the son of Queen Catharine should act.”
”Why should you wish me to act in that way, when I have told you that I am a friend of yours? Tell me the truth.”
”Monseigneur,” said De Mouy, ”I swear to you”--
”Do not swear, monseigneur; the reformed church forbids the taking of oaths, and especially of false oaths.”
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