Chicot the Jester. Dumas Alexandre

wish to tell you that after the ball I set off for the chase.”

      “For what chase?”

      “That of the wild boar.”

      “What possesses you to go, in this cold, to be killed in some thicket?”

      “Never mind, I am going.”

      “Alone?”

      “No, with Maugiron and Schomberg. We hunt for the king.”

      “Ah! yes, I understand,” said Maugiron and Schomberg.

      “The king wishes a boar’s head for breakfast to-morrow.”

      “With the neck dressed à l’Italienne,” said Maugiron, alluding to the turn-down collar which Bussy wore in opposition to their ruffs.

      “Ah, ah,” said D’Epernon, “I understand.”

      “What is it?” asked D’O, “for I do not.”

      “Ah! look round you.”

      “Well!”

      “Did any one laugh at us here?”

      “Yes, Bussy.”

      “Well, that is the wild boar the king wants.”

      “You think the king – ”

      “He asks for it.”

      “Well, then, so be it. But how do we hunt?”

      “In ambush; it is the surest.”

      Bussy remarked the conference, and, not doubting that they were talking of him, approached, with his friends.

      “Look, Antragues, look, Ribeirac,” said he, “how they are grouped; it is quite touching; it might be Euryale and Nisus, Damon and Pythias, Castor and – . But where is Pollux?”

      “Pollux is married, so that Castor is left alone.”

      “What can they be doing?”

      “I bet they are inventing some new starch.”

      “No, gentlemen,” said Quelus, “we are talking of the chase.”

      “Really, Signor Cupid,” said Bussy; “it is very cold for that. It will chap your skin.”

      “Monsieur,” replied Maugiron, politely, “we have warm gloves, and doublets lined with fur.”

      “Ah! that reassures me,” said Bussy; “do you go soon?”

      “To-night, perhaps.”

      “In that case I must warn the king; what will he say to-morrow, if he finds his friends have caught cold?”

      “Do not give yourself that trouble, monsieur,” said Quelus, “his majesty knows it.”

      “Do you hunt larks?” asked Bussy, with an impertinent air.

      “No, monsieur, we hunt the boar. We want a head. Will you hunt with us, M. Bussy?”

      “No, really, I cannot. To-morrow I must go to the Duc d’Anjou for the reception of M. de Monsoreau, to whom monseigneur has just given the place of chief huntsman.”

      “But, to-night?”

      “Ah! To-night, I have a rendezvous in a mysterious house of the Faubourg St. Antoine.”

      “Ah! ah!” said D’Epernon, “is the Queen Margot here, incognito, M. de Bussy?”

      “No, it is some one else.”

      “Who expects you in the Faubourg St. Antoine?”

      “Just so, indeed I will ask your advice, M. de Quelus.”

      “Do so, although I am not a lawyer, I give very good advice.”

      “They say the streets of Paris are unsafe, and that is a lonely place. Which way do you counsel me to take?”

      “Why, I advise you to take the ferry-boat at the Pré-aux-Clercs, get out at the corner, and follow the quay until you arrive at the great Châtelet, and then go through the Rue de la Tixanderie, until you reach the faubourg. Once at the corner of the Rue St. Antoine, if you pass the Hôtel des Tournelles without accident, it is probable you will arrive safe and sound at your mysterious house.”

      “Thanks for your route, M. de Quelus, I shall be sure to follow it.” And saluting the five friends, he went away.

      As Bussy was crossing the last saloon where Madame de St. Luc was, her husband made a sign to her. She understood at once, and going up, stopped him.

      “Oh! M. de Bussy,” said she, “everyone is talking of a sonnet you have made.”

      “Against the king, madame?”

      “No, in honor of the queen; do tell it to me.”

      “Willingly, madame,” and, offering his arm to her, he went off, repeating it.

      During this time, St. Luc drew softly near his friends, and heard Quelus say:

      “The animal will not be difficult to follow; thus then, at the corner of the Hôtel des Tournelles, opposite the Hôtel St. Pol.”

      “With each a lackey?” asked D’Epernon.

      “No, no, Nogaret, let us be alone, and keep our own secret, and do our own work. I hate him, but he is too much a gentleman for a lackey to touch.”

      “Shall we go out all six together?”

      “All five if you please,” said St. Luc.

      “Ah! it is true, we forgot your wife.”

      They heard the king’s voice calling St. Luc.

      “Gentlemen,” said he, “the king calls me. Good sport, au revoir.”

      And he left them, but instead of going straight to the king, he ran to where Bussy stood with his wife.

      “Ah! monsieur, how hurried you seem,” said Bussy. “Are you going also to join the chase; it would be a proof of your courage, but not of your gallantry.”

      “Monsieur, I was seeking you.”

      “Really.”

      “And I was afraid you were gone. Dear Jeanne, tell your father to try and stop the king, whilst I say a few words tête-à-tête to M. Bussy.” Jeanne went.

      “I wish to say to you, monsieur,” continued St. Luc, “that if you have any rendezvous to-night, you would do well to put it off, for the streets are not safe, and, above all, to avoid the Hôtel des Tournelles, where there is a place where several men could hide. This is what I wished to say; I know you fear nothing, but reflect.”

      At this moment they heard Chicot’s voice crying, “St. Luc, St. Luc, do not hide yourself, I am waiting for you to return to the Louvre.”

      “Here I am, sire,” cried St. Luc, rushing forward. Near Chicot stood the king, to whom one page was giving his ermine mantle, and another a velvet mask lined with satin.

      “Sire,” said St. Luc, “I will have the honor of lighting your majesties to your litters.”

      “No,” said Henri, “Chicot goes one way, and I another. My friends are good-for-nothings, who have run away and left me to return alone to the Louvre. I had counted on them, and you cannot let me go alone. You are a grave married man, and must take me back to the queen. Come, my friend, my litter is large enough for two.”

      Madame de St. Luc, who had heard this, tried to speak, and to tell her father that the king was carrying away her husband, but he, placing his fingers on his month, motioned her to be silent.

      “I am ready, sire,” said he, “to follow you.”

      When the king took leave, the others followed, and Jeanne was left alone. She entered her room, and knelt down before the image of a saint to pray, then sat down to wait for her husband’s return. M. de Brissac sent six men to the Louvre to attend him back. But two hours after one of them returned, saying, that the Louvre was closed and that before closing, the