i to him.

"Sire, that you are a real king."

"And I, sire, that you are too imprudent," said Mornay, "to put up your
vizor when they are firing at you from all sides."

As he spoke a dozen arquebuses were fired at them; one ball struck off a
plume from Henri's helmet, his horse was killed by another, and Mornay's
had his leg broken. The king fell, and there might have finished his
career; but Chicot, whirling his sword round to keep off the nearest,
helped Henri up and gave him his own horse, saying, "Sire, you will
testify to the king of France that, if I drew the sword against him, I
killed no one."--"Ventre St. Gris! you must be mine, Chicot!" cried
Henri. "You shall live and die with me."

"Sire, I have but one service to follow--that of my king. His star
diminishes, but I shall be faithful to his adverse fortunes. Let me
serve and love him as long as I live, sire. I shall soon be alone with
him; do not envy him his last servant."

"Chicot, you will be always dear to me, and, after Henri of France, you
will have Henri of Navarre for a friend."

"Yes, sire," said Chicot simple, kissing his hand.

The siege was soon over after this. M. de Vezin was taken, and the
garrison surrendered.

Then Henri dictated to Mornay a letter, which Chicot was to carry to
the king of France. It was written in bad Latin, and finished with these
words:

"Quod mihi dixisti profuit multum. Cognosco meos devotos; nosce tuos.
Chicotos caetera expedit."

Which means, "What you told me was very useful. I know my faithful
followers; know yours. Chicot will tell you the rest."

"And now, friend Chicot," said Henri, "embrace me; but take care not to
soil yourself, for, mordieu, I am as bloody as a butcher. Take my ring,
and adieu, Chicot; I keep you no longer, gallop to France, and tell all
you have seen."

CHAPTER LIV.

WHAT WAS PASSING AT THE LOUVRE ABOUT THE TIME CHICOT ENTERED NERAC.

The necessity of following Chicot to the end of his mission has kept us
a long time away from the Louvre. The king, after having passed so
bravely through his adventurous return from Vincennes, experienced that
retrospective emotion which sometimes is felt by the bravest heart after
the danger is over. He entered the Louvre without saying anything, made
his prayers longer than usual, forgetting to thank the officers and
guards who had served him so well. Then he went to bed, astonishing his
valets by the rapidity of his toilet; and D'Ep