THE VALOIS SAGA: Queen Margot, Chicot de Jester & The Forty-Five Guardsmen (Historical Novels). Alexandre Dumas

remarked La Mole; “and you were right when you said that we were born under the same star. I have also an appointment at the Louvre to-night, but not with the Duc de Guise; mine is with the King of Navarre.”

      “Have you a pass-word?”

      “Yes.”

      “A rallying sign?”

      “No.”

      “Well, I have one, and my pass-word is”—

      As the Piedmontese was saying these words, La Hurière made such an expressive gesture that the indiscreet gentleman, who happened at that instant to raise his head, paused petrified more by the action than by the turn of the cards which had just caused him to lose three crowns.

      La Mole looked around, but saw only his landlord standing behind him with folded arms and wearing on his head the sallet which he had seen him polishing the moment before.

      “What is the matter, pray?” inquired La Mole of Coconnas.

      Coconnas looked at the landlord and at his companion without answering, for he could make nothing out of Maître La Hurière’s redoubled gestures.

      La Hurière saw that he must go to his aid:

      “It is only that I am very fond of cards myself,” said he, speaking rapidly, “and I came closer to see the trick which made you gain, and the gentleman saw me with my war helmet on, and as I am only a poor bourgeois, it surprised him.”

      “You make a fine figure, indeed you do!” cried La Mole, with a burst of laughter.

      “Oh, sir,” replied La Hurière with admirably pretended good nature and a shrug of the shoulders expressive of his inferiority, “we poor fellows are not very valiant and our appearance is not elegant. It is all right for you fine gentlemen to wear glittering helmets and carry keen rapiers, and provided we mount guard strictly”—

      “Aha!” said La Mole, taking his turn at shuffling the cards. “So you mount guard, do you?”

      “Eh, mon Dieu, oui, Monsieur le Comte! I am sergeant in a company of citizen militia.”

      After having said this while La Mole was engaged in dealing the cards, La Hurière withdrew, putting his finger on his lips as a sign of discretion for Coconnas, who was more amazed than ever.

      This signal for caution was doubtless the reason that he lost almost as rapidly the second time as the first.

      “Well,” observed La Mole, “this makes exactly your six crowns. Will you have your revenge on your future fortune?”

      “Willingly,” replied Coconnas.

      “But before you begin, did you not say you had an appointment with the Duc de Guise?”

      Coconnas looked toward the kitchen, and saw the great eyes of La Hurière, who was repeating his warning.

      “Yes,” he replied, “but it is not yet time. But now let us talk a little about yourself, Monsieur de la Mole.”

      “We should do better, I think, by talking of the game, my dear Monsieur de Coconnas; for unless I am very much mistaken, I am in a fair way of gaining six more crowns.”

      “By Heaven! that is true! I always heard that the Huguenots had good luck at cards. Devil take me if I haven’t a good mind to turn Huguenot!”

      La Hurière’s eyes sparkled like two coals; but Coconnas, absorbed in his game, did not notice them. “Do so, count, do so,” said La Mole, “and though the way in which the change came about is odd, you will be well received among us.”

      Coconnas scratched his ear.

      “If I were sure that your good luck came from that,” he said, “I would; for I really do not stickle so overwhelmingly for the mass, and as the King does not think so much of it either”—

      “Then it is such a beautiful religion,” said La Mole; “so simple, so pure”—

      “And, moreover, it is in fashion,” said Coconnas; “and, moreover, it brings good luck at cards; for the devil take me if you do not hold all the aces, and yet I have watched you closely, and you play very fairly; you do not cheat; it must be the religion”—

      “You owe me six crowns more,” said La Mole, quietly.

      “Ah, how you tempt me!” said Coconnas; “and if I am not satisfied with Monsieur de Guise to-night”—

      “Well?”

      “Well, tomorrow I will ask you to present me to the King of Navarre and, be assured, if once I become a Huguenot, I will out-Huguenot Luther, Calvin, Melanchthon, and all the reformers on earth!”

      “Hush!” said La Mole, “you will get into a quarrel with our host.”

      “Ah, that is true,” said Coconnas, looking toward the kitchen; “but — no, he is not listening; he is too much occupied at this moment.”

      “What is he doing, pray?” inquired La Mole, who could not see him from where he was.

      “He is talking with — devil take me! it is he!”

      “Who?”

      “Why, that night-bird with whom he was discoursing when we arrived. The man in the yellow doublet and drab-colored cloak. By Heaven! how earnestly he talks. Say, Maître La Hurière, are you engaged in politics?”

      But this time Maître La Hurière’s answer was a gesture so energetic and imperious that in spite of his love for the picture card Coconnas got up and went to him.

      “What is the matter with you?” asked La Mole.

      “You wish wine, sir?” said La Hurière, seizing Coconnas’ hand eagerly. “You shall have it. Grégoire, wine for these gentlemen!”

      Then he whispered in his ear:

      “Silence, if you value your life, silence! And get rid of your companion.”

      La Hurière was so pale, the sallow man so lugubrious, that Coconnas felt a shiver run over him, and turning to La Mole said:

      “My dear sir, I must beg you to excuse me. I have lost fifty crowns in the turn of a hand. I am in bad luck to-night, and I fear I may get into difficulties.”

      “Well, sir, as you please,” replied La Mole; “besides, I shall not be sorry to lie down for a time. Maître la Hurière!”

      “Monsieur le Comte?”

      “If any one comes for me from the King of Navarre, wake me; I shall be dressed, and consequently ready.”

      “So shall I,” said Coconnas; “and that I may not keep his highness waiting, I will prepare the sign. Maître la Hurière, some white paper and scissors!”

      “Grégoire!” cried La Hurière, “white paper to write a letter on and scissors to cut the envelope with.”

      “Ah!” said the Piedmontese to himself. “Something extraordinary is going on here!”

      “Good-night, Monsieur de Coconnas,” said La Mole; “and you, landlord, be so good as to light me to my room. Good luck, my friend!” and La Mole disappeared up the winding staircase, followed by La Hurière.

      Then the mysterious man, taking Coconnas by the arm, said to him, speaking very rapidly:

      “Sir, you have very nearly betrayed a secret on which depends the fate of a kingdom. God saw fit to have you close your mouth in time. One word more, and I should have brought you down with my arquebuse. Now we are alone, fortunately; listen!”

      “But who are you that you address me with this tone of authority?”

      “Did you ever hear talk of the Sire de Maurevel?”

      “The assassin of the admiral?”

      “And of