The Constable De Bourbon. William Harrison Ainsworth

him with dealing in the black art, they nevertheless stood in great awe of him.

      “Why dost charge me with ingratitude, thou ribald knave?” said Montmorency to the jester.

      “Because you turn upon your benefactress,” replied Triboulet.

      “Bah! I have got no more than my due,” said Montmorency. “Thou shouldst talk of my ingratitude to the duchess—à propos of the Constable de Bourbon.”

      “Her highness has no reason to be grateful to the Constable,” said Triboulet, with a strange grin.

      “But the king has,” rejoined Montmorency. “Without him, Marignan would scarce have been won. I would rather lose my marshal's bâton than Bourbon should be deprived of his possessions.”

      “The king shall hear of this,” muttered Bonnivet. “Did the stars tell you that Bourbon would come here to-day, learned sir?” he added to Cornelius Agrippa.

      “I expected him,” replied the philosopher.

      “Then possibly you know his errand?” continued Bonnivet, with an incredulous smile.

      “I know it,” replied Agrippa, gravely. “I could tell you why he comes, and what will befal him, but I care not to read the future to those who mock my lore. The star of Bourbon is temporarily obscured. But it will break out with added splendour. This day is the turning-point of his destiny. If he stays here he will be great—but if he departs he will be greater.”

      “How are we to interpret that, compère?” inquired Triboulet,

      “As you will,” rejoined Agrippa, contemptuously. “The words of wisdom are unintelligible to fools. But mark me, messeigneurs,” he added to Bonnivet and Montmoreney. “The destinies of the king, the duchess, and the Constable, are this day linked together—but the influencing power resides in Bourbon.”

      “Why in him? Explain your meaning, doctor!” demanded Bonnivet.

      “I have said all I care to say,” replied Agrippa. “But here comes the Constable. Will you stay and bid him welcome?”

      “No, I will in, and inform the king of his arrival,” said Bonnivet.

      “You will find his majesty in the grand gallery,” said Agrippa. “I left him there, not many minutes since, with the Comtesse de Chateaubriand.”

      “I will go thither,” replied Bonnivet, hastening across the vestibule.

      “Methinks the Constable is like a wild beast about to fall into a trap,” remarked Triboulet to the astrologer. “Were I the king, if I once caught him, I would not let him go.”

      “Neither would I,” replied Agrippa, significantly. “But his majesty cannot read the future.”

      By this time Bourbon had dismounted from his charger, and was received with the ceremony due to his exalted rank by the chamberlain, who descended the stairs to meet him. Pages, esquires and gentlemen bowed as the haughty Constable mounted the steps, and when he readied the summit the Marshal de Montmoreney advanced to meet him, and a very cordial greeting passed between them.

      “I am right glad to see you here again, prince,” said the marshal. “I hope we shall soon gather fresh laurels together in the Milanese.”

      “I should rejoice to fight by your side,” replied Bourbon. “But I know not why I have been sent for by the king.”

      “Have you been sent for?” said Montmoreney, surprised. “I thought you came of your own accord. So much the better. You will be well received. The king is in a very gracious humour—and so is the duchess.”

      “Ah! the duchess!” exclaimed Bourbon, with an expression of deep disgust.

      “You do not speak of her highness as she speaks of you, prince,” observed Triboulet. “I have heard her sigh and seen her change colour at the mention of your name.”

      Bourbon made no reply to this remark, but graciously returned the salutation addressed to him by Cornelius Agrippa. A slight sign from the astrologer, who was standing within the vestibule, drew him towards him.

      “I would fain have a word with your highness,” said Agrippa, as the Constable approached him. “I have been consulting your horoscope.”

      “Ha! what have you found therein, good doctor?” asked Bourbon, who was by no means free from superstition.

      “Much,” replied Agrippa, gravely. “This is a critical hour with you, prince—the most critical hour of your existence, since it forms the turning-point of your career. According as you now act, so will your future destiny be influenced. Comply with certain propositions which will be made you, and which will in no respect affect your honour, and your position will be assured, and you will be elevated to almost supreme power. Decline them—”

      “What then?” demanded Bourbon, fixing his dark eyes searchingly upon the astrologer.

      “Decline them, I repeat,” pursued Agrippa, “and you will incur great perils—very great perils—but you will baffle the schemes of your enemies, and obtain brilliant successes.”

      “You promise this, doctor?” cried Bourbon, eagerly.

      “The stars promise it you, prince, not I,” returned Agrippa. “But I have more to tell, if you have courage to hear it,” he added, gravely.

      “Say on!—let me know all,” cried Bourbon.

      “You will not long enjoy your triumph. You will meet a warrior's death before the walls of a great city.”

      “The very death I covet,” said the Constable. “Take this, doctor,” he added, detaching a gem from his doublet, and giving it him. “Your prognostication decides me.”

      “A word more and I have done,” said Agrippa, lowering his tone. “You will gain friends as powerful as those you will lose. There are other monarchs who can better appreciate your noble qualities than the King of France.”

      Bourbon looked at the astrologer, as if he would fain question him further, but the latter signified by a glance that he had nothing more to impart, and the Constable left him and followed the chamberlain, who led him across the vestibule towards the doors of the grand gallery, before which ushers and a guard of halberdiers were stationed.

II. FRANÇOIS I.

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      The magnificent gallery which we are now about to enter had only just been completed, and formed the principal ornament of the palace, though it was subsequently eclipsed by another and yet more magnificent gallery reared by Henri II. The gallery of François I., which still exists, though reft of some of its ancient splendour, was of great length, admirably proportioned, and possessed a superb plafond, painted by the best Italian masters, and supported by a grand gilt cornice. The walls were adorned with colossal figures of goddesses and nymphs carved in oak, and between these statues were introduced admirable paintings. On either side were lofty windows with deep embrasures, embellished like the walls with carvings and paintings. The windows on the left looked on an exquisite orange-garden, while those on the right commanded a spacious court, with a fountain, a chef-d'ouvre of art, in the midst of it.

      At the upper end of the grand gallery a brilliant party was now assembled. Chief among them, not merely in point of rank, but for his lofty stature, majestic and graceful deportment, and splendid habiliments, was François I. At this period, the king, who was still under thirty, was in the full éclat of his manly beauty. So lofty was his stature, that he towered above the tallest of his courtiers, and his person was strongly but admirably proportioned. With his remarkable physiognomy, rendered familiar by the breathing portrait of Titian, all are acquainted. All can conjure up that