ngs to his lordship, the
Duke of Vallombreuse, who wished to indulge himself in the pleasure of
driving over the body of his enemy in his chariot, in true classical and
imperial style."

"What extraordinary idea have you got into your head now, Sir Herode?"
said de Sigognac, rather indignantly. "Come, that would be too infamous
and villainous a proceeding for any gentleman to be guilty of, and you
must remember that after all the Duke of Vallombreuse is one, and that
he belongs to a very high and noble family. Besides, did not we leave
him in Poitiers, laid up with his wound? How then could he possibly be
in Paris, when we have only just arrived here ourselves?"

"But didn't we stop several days at Tours? and again at Orleans? And
even if his wound were not entirely healed he could easily travel in his
luxurious carriage, by easy stages, from Poitiers to Paris. His hurt was
not of a dangerous character, you know, and he is young and vigorous.
You must be on your guard, my dear captain, unceasingly; never relax
your vigilance for one moment, for I tell you there are those about
who seek your life. You once out of the way, Isabelle would, be in the
duke's power--for what could we, poor players, do against such a
great and powerful nobleman? Even if Vallombreuse himself be not in
Paris--though I am almost positive that he is--his emissaries are, as
you know, and but for your own courage and watchfulness you would have
been assassinated in your bed by them last night."

This de Sigognac could not dispute, and he only nodded in token of
assent, as he grasped the hilt of his sword, so as to be ready to draw
it at the slightest cause for suspicion or alarm. Meantime they had
walked on as far as the Porte de la Conference, and now saw ahead of
them a great cloud of dust, and through it the glitter of bayonets.
They stepped aside to let the cavalcade pass, and saw that the soldiers
preceded the carriage of the king, who was returning from Saint Germain
to the Louvre. The curtains of the royal vehicle were raised, and
the glasses let down, so that the people could distinctly see their
sovereign, Louis XIII, who, pale as a ghost and dressed all in black,
sat as motionless as an effigy in wax. Long, dark brown hair fell about
his mournful, ghastly countenance, upon which was depicted the same
terrible ennui that drove Philip II of Spain, to seclude himself so
much, during the later years of his life, in the silence and solitude o