“Well.”
“Tell us what you know about him – ”
“Willingly. Firstly, I am afraid of him.”
“Good, that is what you think; now tell us what you know.”
“Listen. I was going home one night – ”
“It begins in a terrible manner.”
“Pray let me finish. It was about six months ago, I was returning from my uncle D’Entragues, through the wood of Méridor, when all at once I heard a frightful cry, and I saw pass, with an empty saddle, a white horse, rushing through the wood. I rode on, and at the end of a long avenue, darkened by the approaching shades of night, I saw a man on a black horse; he seemed to fly. Then I heard again the same cry, and I distinguished before him on the saddle a woman, on whose mouth he had his hand. I had a gun in my hand – you know I aim well, and I should have killed him, but my gun missed fire.”
“Well?”
“I asked a woodcutter who this gentleman on the black horse was, and he said, ‘M. de Monsoreau.’”
“Well,” said Antragues, “it is not so uncommon to carry away a woman, is it, Bussy?”
“No; but, at least, one might let them cry out.”
“And who was the woman?”
“That I do not know; but he has a bad reputation,”
“Do you know anything else about him?”
“No; but he is much feared by his tenantry. However, he is a good hunter, and will fill his post better than St. Luc would have done, for whom it was first destined.”
“Do you know where St. Luc is?”
“No; is he still the king’s prisoner?”
“Not at all; he set off at one o’clock this morning to visit his country house with his wife.”
“Banished?”
“It looks like it.”
“Impossible!”
“True as the gospel; Marshal de Brissac told me so this morning.”
“Well! it has served M. de Monsoreau – ”
“Ah! I know now.”
“Know what?”
“The service that he rendered to the duke.”
“Who? St. Luc?”
“No; Monsoreau.”
“Really.”
“Yes, you shall see; come with me,” and Bussy, followed by Livarot and Antragues, galloped after the Duc d’Anjou.
“Ah, monseigneur,” said he, “what a precious man M. de Monsoreau is.”
“Ah! really; then you spoke to him?”
“Certainly.”
“And asked him what he had done for me?”
“Certainly; that was all I spoke to him for.”
“And what did he say?”
“He courteously confessed that he was your purveyor.”
“Of game?”
“No; of women.”
“What do you mean, Bussy?” cried the duke angrily.
“I mean, monseigneur, that he carries away women for you on his great black horse, and that as they are ignorant of the honor reserved for them, he puts his hand on their mouths to prevent their crying out.”
The duke frowned, and ground his teeth with anger, grew pale, and galloped on so fast, that Bussy and his, companions were left in the rear.
“Ah! ah! it seems that the joke is a good one,” said Antragues.
“And so much the better, that everyone does not seem to find it a joke,” said Bussy.
A moment after, they heard the duke’s voice calling Bussy. He went, and found the duke laughing.
“Oh!” said he, “it appears that what I said was droll.”
“I am not laughing at what you said.”
“So much the worse; I should have liked to have made a prince laugh, who hardly ever does so.”
“I laugh at your inventing a false story to find out the true one.”
“No, I told you the truth.”
“Well, then, as we are alone, tell me your little history. Where did it happen?”
“In the wood of Méridor.”
The duke grew pale again, but did not speak.
“Decidedly,” thought Bussy, “the duke is mixed up with that story. Pardieu! monseigneur,” said he, “as M. de Monsoreau seems to have found the method of pleasing you so well, teach it to me.”
“Pardieu! yes, Bussy, I will tell you how. Listen; I met, by chance, at church, a charming woman, and as some features of her face, which I only saw through a veil, recalled to me a lady whom I had much loved, I followed her, and found out where she lived. I have gained over her servant, and have a key of the house.”
“Well, monseigneur, all seems to go well for you.”
“But they say she is a great prude, although free, young, and beautiful.”
“Ah! you are romancing.”
“Well, you are brave, and love me?”
“I have my days.”
“For being brave?”
“No, for loving you.”
“Well, is this one of the days?”
“I will try and make it one, if I can serve your highness.”
“Well, I want you to do for me what most people do for themselves.”
“Make love to her, to find out if she be a prude?”
“No, find out if she has a lover. I want you to lay in wait and discover who the man is that visits her.”
“There is a man then?”
“I fear so.”
“Lover, or husband?”
“That is what I want to know.”
“And you want me to find out?”
“If you will do me that great favor – ”
“You will make me the next chief huntsman.”
“I have never yet done anything for you.”
“Oh! you have discovered that at last.”
“Well, do you consent?”
“To watch the lady?”
“Yes.”
“Monseigneur, I confess I do not like the commission.”
“You offered to do me a service, and you draw back already!”
“Because you want me to be a spy.”
“I ask you as a friend.”
“Monseigneur, this is a sort of thing that every man must do for himself, even if he be a prince.”
“Then you refuse?”
“Ma foi! yes.”
The duke frowned. “Well, I will go myself,” said he, “and if I am killed or wounded, I shall say that I begged my friend Bussy to. undertake the task, and that for the first time he was prudent.”
“Monseigneur, you said to me the other night, ‘Bussy, I hate