f 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.

CHAPTER LII.

HOW THEY HUNTED THE WOLF IN NAVARRE.

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,