Part 133 (1/2)
CHAPTER XLVIII.
TWO HEADS FOR ONE CROWN.
”Ask Monsieur d'Alencon to come to me,” said Charles as he dismissed his mother.
Monsieur de Nancey, in accordance with the remark of the King that henceforth he was to obey him alone, hastened to the duke's apartments and delivered word for word the order he had just received.
The Duc d'Alencon gave a start. He had always feared Charles, and now more than ever since by conspiring he had reason to be afraid.
Nevertheless, he went to his brother in all haste.
Charles was standing up, whistling a hunting-song.
As he entered, the Duc d'Alencon caught from the gla.s.sy eye of the King one of those bitter looks of hatred which he knew so well.
”Your Majesty has sent for me,” said he. ”Here I am; what does your Majesty desire?”
”I desire to tell you, my good brother, that as a reward for the great friends.h.i.+p you bear me I have decided to-day to do for you the thing you most want.”
”For me?”
”Yes, for you. Think what for some time you have been dreaming of, without daring to ask it of me, and I will give it to you.”
”Sire,” said Francois, ”I swear to you that I desire nothing but the continued good health of the King.”
”In that case you will be glad to know, D'Alencon, that the indisposition I experienced at the time the Poles arrived has pa.s.sed by.
Thanks to Henriot, I escaped a furious wild boar, which would have ripped me open, and I am so well that I do not envy the most healthy man in my kingdom. Without being an unkind brother you can, therefore, ask for something besides the continuation of my health, which is excellent.”
”I want nothing, sire.”
”Yes, yes, Francois,” said Charles, impatiently, ”you desire the crown of Navarre, since you have had an understanding with Henriot and De Mouy,--with the first, that he would abdicate; with the second, that he would give it to you. Well! Henriot renounces it! De Mouy has told me of your wish, and this crown for which you are ambitious”--
”Well?” asked D'Alencon in a trembling voice.
”Well, the devil! it is yours.”
D'Alencon turned frightfully pale; then suddenly the blood rushed from his heart, which almost burst, flowed to his face, and his cheeks became suffused with a burning flush. The favor the King granted him at that moment threw him into despair.
”But, sire,” said he, trembling with emotion and trying in vain to recover his self-possession, ”I never desired and certainly never asked for such a thing.”
”That is possible,” said the King, ”for you are very discreet, brother; but it has been desired and asked for you.”
”Sire, I swear to you that never”--
”Do not swear.”
”But, sire, are you going to exile me, then?”
”Do you call this exile, Francois? Plague it, you are hard to please!