ver his
cheeks as he stooped to pick up the letter he had let fall. But Henri
saw nothing, he opened his own letter and read, while the messenger
watched him closely.

"Ah! M. Borromee," thought Chicot, "so you are a captain, are you?"

"Good," said the king, after reading the duke's letter with evident
satisfaction. "Go, captain, and tell M. de Guise that I am grateful for
his offer."

"Your majesty will not honor me with a written answer?"

"No, I shall see the duke in a month or six weeks, and can thank him
myself."

The captain bowed and went out.

"You see, Chicot," then said the king, "that M. de Guise is free from
all machinations. This brave duke has learned the Navarre business, and
he fears that the Huguenots will raise up their heads, for he has also
ascertained that the Germans are about to send re-enforcements to Henri.
Now, guess what he is about to do."

As Chicot did not reply, Henri went on.

"Well! he offers me the army that he has just raised in Lorraine to
watch Flanders, and says that in six weeks it will be at my command,
with its general. What do you say to that, Chicot?"

No answer.

"Really, my dear Chicot," continued the king, "you are as absurdly
obstinate as a Spanish mule; and if I happen to convince you of some
error, you sulk; yes, sulk."

Not a sound came to contradict Henri in this frank opinion of his
friend. Now silence displeased Henri more than contradiction.

"I believe," said he, "that the fellow has had the impertinence to go to
sleep. Chicot!" continued he, advancing to the armchair; "reply when
your king speaks."

But Chicot did not reply, for he was not there; and Henri found the
armchair empty.

He looked all round the room, but Chicot was not to be seen. The king
gave a superstitious shudder; it sometimes came into his mind that
Chicot was a supernatural being--a diabolic incarnation, of a good kind,
it was true, but still diabolical.

He called Nambu the usher, and questioned him, and he assured his
majesty that he had seen Chicot go out five minutes before the duke's
messenger left.

"Decidedly," thought Henri, "Chicot was vexed at being in the wrong. How
ill-natured men are, even the best of them."

Nambu was right; Chicot had traversed the antechambers silently, but
still he was not able to keep his spurs from sounding, which made
several people turn, and bow when they saw who it was.

The captain came out five minutes after Chicot, went down the