The Constable De Bourbon. William Harrison Ainsworth

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      The king was ushered into the sick man's chamber. It was large and gloomy, wainscoted with oak as black as ebony, and the panels were adorned with portraits of the Constable's illustrious ancestors, commencing with Robert, Comte de Clermont, sixth son of Saint Louis, and Beatrix de Bourgogne, daughter of John de Bourgogne, and heiress of Bourbon-l'Archambaud, from whom the house of Bourbon derived its name, and concluding with the father of the Constable, Gilbert de Montpensier, slain at Pozzuoli in the war against Naples by Charles VIII., and Clara de Gonzaga, the Constable's mother, a princess remarkable for her beauty.

      On a couch, at the farther end of this sombre apartment, lay the sick man, wrapped in a loose gown of quilted silk, trimmed with sable. He had a black taffeta cap on his head, and a furred velvet mantle was thrown over his knees. Beside him, on a table placed within reach, stood a crystal flagon containing a dark-coloured liquid, and several small phials. The only person with him at the moment was his principal physician, Jean de l'Hôpital.

      On the entrance of the king, who was ceremoniously announced by the chamberlain, Bourbon, aided by his physician, arose, and bowing, thanked his majesty for his gracious visit.

      “I am sorry to find you so unwell, cousin,” replied the king, regarding him as closely as the gloom of the chamber would permit, and coming to the conclusion that his illness was simulated.

      Bourbon bore the scrutiny without embarrassment.

      “The saints be praised that your majesty has come at a time when the fit has just left me,” he said, “and when I am secure from the attack lor a few hours. But I am greatly prostrated,” he added, feebly—“greatly prostrated.”

      The king bade him be seated, adding, that he desired to confer with him in private, whereupon Bourbon signed to his attendants to withdraw.

      Before quitting the chamber, Jean de l'Hôpital observed, in an undertone to the king, “His highness has been dangerously ill, sire, and is not yet out of danger.”

      Then making an obeisance, he retired.

      The chamberlain having placed a chair for the king near Bourbon's couch, likewise bowed and withdrew.

      After glancing round to make sure they were quite alone, François said,

      “I will deal plainly with you, cousin. Some disclosures have been made to me respecting your practices which I would willingly not believe, and before taking any steps to ascertain the truth of the reports, I have resolved to give you an opportunity of explanation.”

      “My enemies have been at work, I perceive, sire,” said Bourbon, without manifesting the slightest uneasiness. “What has been told your majesty?”

      “I have been informed,” replied François, “that, forgetful of your allegiance to me, you have entered into a treasonable league with my enemies the Emperor and Henry VIII. This is what I have been told, cousin, but, as I have said, I am unwilling to believe it.”

      “Sire,” replied Bourbon, “you have not been misinformed. Overtures have been made me by the Emperor and the King of England, who thought, not unnaturally, that the treatment I have experienced from your majesty must have deeply dissatisfied me.”

      “They thought you were prepared to become a traitor,” cried François. “Foi de gentilhomme! I scarcely expected you to make so frank an avowal. They knew you to be ready to revolt—ha!”

      “They knew I had endured wrongs enough to make me a rebel,” rejoined Bourbon. “But they were mistaken, sire—they were mistaken.”

      “Then you rejected the offers?” said the king.

      “I still indulged hopes that your majesty would render me justice.”

      “Justice you shall have, cousin—strict justice,” rejoined the king. “Now listen to me. I suspect—nay, I am certain—that you are engaged in a conspiracy against me, and against the state. The two young Norman seigneurs, Matignon and D'Argouges, have disclosed the treasonable proposition made to them on your part by Lurcy. You look confounded, as well you may. You see I have ample proof of your guilt, but I can obtain plenty more by arresting all your principal adherents who are now assembled in this château. Not one of them can escape me.”

      “Be not too sure of that, sire,” said Bourbon.

      “You fancy you can protect them,” rejoined the king. “Learn that I am master of your castle. Its courts are filled with my archers—its walls are surrounded by my troops—its keys are in my possession. I have only to give the word to cause your arrest.”

      “Your majesty will never give that word,” rejoined Bourbon, calmly.

      “Wherefore not?” cried François, striding towards the door, as if with the design of putting his threat into execution. “What ho, there!—who waits?”

      But the door was shut, and no one answered the summons, though the king repeated it still more lustily.

      “What means this?” he cried, glancing furiously at Bourbon, who had risen from his couch, and thrown off his loose robe, showing that he was armed..

      “It means, sire,” replied the Constable, “that the door will not be opened save at my order. Your majesty may be assured,” he added, with stern significance, “that those who enter this chamber will not arrest me.”

      “Ha, traitor! do you mean me mischief?” exclaimed the king.

      “Your majesty has come hither alone. I did not invite you. But you are perfectly safe, provided you pledge your royal word that no arrests shall be made.”

      François hesitated for a moment, and then returned his half-drawn sword to the scabbard.

      “Let us understand each other, Bourbon,” he said. “I had no design to proceed to extremities with you. Had it been so, I should have ordered your immediate arrest on my arrival at the château. My wish, as you must have perceived, was to confer amicably with you. I do not desire your destruction—on the contrary, I am well disposed towards you—ay, well disposed. Abandon your fatal design—prove to me that you are faithful and loyal as heretofore, and you shall find me forgiving and generous. Be true to your sovereign, and we will be true to you. Whatever may be the decree of the Parliament, you shall keep your possessions. The utmost wish of your soaring ambition shall be gratified. You shall accompany me to Italy, and shall share with me the command of the army. Will this content you?”

      “Sire, it is far more than I could expect,” replied Bourbon. “I thought I had entirely forfeited your favour.”,

      “Ingrate!—how could you think so, when I but lately appointed you lieutenant-general of the kingdom? That appointment ought to have convinced you that, in spite of our misunderstanding, I still had the greatest regard for you. I know your merits as a leader, and am certain you will add to your renown in this campaign. You shall help me to re-conquer the Milanese, as you helped me at Marignan to win it.”

      “I hope to convince your majesty that I am worthy of the distinguished honour you propose to confer upon me,” said Bourbon.

      “The appointment shall be announced at once, and will set at rest all rumours to your disadvantage,” said François. “To-morrow you shall set out with me for Lyons.”

      “Alas! sire, I am utterly unable to travel in my present state. I could not even enter a litter. My physicians will tell you so.”

      “'Tis a strange disorder that afflicts you, cousin,” observed François, with an incredulous look. “You appear strong enough for service in the field.”

      “You must not judge me by my looks, sire. When the fit seizes me, I am utterly prostrated. But I shall be better in a few days.”

      “You think so?” cried the king.