"Nothing, I thank you."
Then the young men set off toward Paris, and Chicot in the opposite direction. When he was out of sight —
"Now, monsieur," said Ernanton to St. Maline, "dismount, if you please."
"And why so?"
"Our task is accomplished; we have now to converse, and this place appears excellent for an explanation of this sort."
"As you please, monsieur;" and they got off their horses.
Then Ernanton said, "You know, monsieur, that without any cause on my part, you have during the whole journey insulted me grievously. You wished to make me fight at an inopportune time, and I refused; but now the time is good and I am your man."
But St. Maline was angry no longer, and did not wish to fight.
"Monsieur," replied he, "when I insulted you, you responded by rendering me a service. I can no longer hold the language I did just now."
"No; but you think the same."
"How do you know?"
"Because your words were dictated by hatred and envy, and they cannot already be extinct in your heart."
St. Maline colored, but did not reply.
Ernanton continued, "If the king preferred me to you, it was because I pleased him best. If I was not thrown into the Bievre like you, it was because I ride better; if I did not accept your challenge before, it was because I was wiser than you; if I was not bitten by the dog, it was because I had more sagacity; if I now summon you to draw your sword, it is because I have more honor; and if you hesitate, I shall say more courage."
St. Maline looked like a demon, and drew his sword furiously.
"I have fought eleven times," said he, "and two of my adversaries are dead. Are you aware of that, monsieur?"
"And I, monsieur, have never fought, for I have never had occasion, and I did not seek it now. I wait your pleasure, monsieur."
"Oh!" said St. Maline, "we are compatriots, and we are both in the king's service; do not let us quarrel. You are a brave man, and I would give you my hand if I could. What would you have? I am envious – it is my nature. M. de Chalabre, or M. de Montcrabeau, would not have made me angry; it was your superior merit. Console yourself, therefore, for I can do nothing against you, and unluckily your merit remains. I should not like any one to know the cause of our quarrel."
"No one will know it, monsieur."
"No one?"
"No; for if we fight I should kill you, or you would kill me. I do not despise life; on the contrary, I cling to it, for I am only twenty-three years of age, have a good name and am not poor, and I shall defend myself like a lion."
"Well, I, on the contrary, am thirty, and am disgusted with life; but still I would rather not fight with you."
"Then you will apologize?"
"No, I have said enough. If you are not content, so much the better, for you are not superior to me."
"But, monsieur, one cannot end a quarrel thus, without the risk of being laughed at." – "I know it."
"Then you refuse to fight?"
"With you."
"After having provoked me?"
"I confess it."
"But if my patience fail, and I attack you?"
"I will throw my sword away; but I shall then have reason to hate you, and the first time I find you in the wrong, I will kill you."
Ernanton sheathed his sword. "You are a strange man," said he, "and I pity you."
"You pity me!"
"Yes, for you must suffer."
"Horribly."
"Do you never love?"
"Never."
"Have you no passions?"
"One alone, jealousy; but that includes all others to a frightful degree. I adore a woman, as soon as she loves another; I love gold, when another possesses it; – yes, you are right, I am unhappy."
"Have you never tried to become good?"
"Yes, and failed. What does the venomous plant? What do the bear and bird of prey? They destroy, but certain people use them for the chase. So shall I be in the hands of MM. d'Epernon and Loignac, till the day when they shall say, 'This plant is hurtful, let us tear it up; this beast is furious, let us kill him.'"
Ernanton was calmed; St. Maline was no longer an object of anger but of pity.
"Good fortune should cure you," said he; "when you succeed, you should hate less."
"However high I should rise, others would be higher."
They rode on silently for some time. At last Ernanton held out his hand to St. Maline, and said, "Shall I try to cure you?"
"No, do not try that; you would fail. Hate me, on the contrary, and I shall admire you."
An hour after they entered the Louvre; the king had gone out, and would not return until evening.
CHAPTER XXX.
DE LOIGNAC'S INTERVIEW WITH THE FORTY-FIVE
Each of the young men placed himself at a window to watch for the return of the king. Ernanton, however, soon forgot his present situation, and became abstracted in thinking who the woman could be who had entered Paris as his page, and whom he had since seen in such a splendid litter; and with a heart more disposed to love adventure than to make ambitious calculations, he forgot why he was sitting there, till, suddenly raising his head, he saw that St. Maline was no longer there. He understood at once that he had seen the king arrive, and had gone to him. He rose quickly, traversed the gallery, and arrived at the king's room just as St. Maline was coming out.
"Look!" cried he joyfully, "what the king has given me," and he showed a gold chain.
"I congratulate you, monsieur," said Ernanton, quietly, and he entered in his turn.
St. Maline waited impatiently until he came out again, which he did in about ten minutes, although it appeared an hour to St. Maline.
When Ernanton came out, he looked all over him, and seeing nothing, he cried joyfully, "And you, monsieur, what has he given to you?"
"His hand to kiss," replied Ernanton.
St. Maline crushed his chain impatiently in his hands, and they both returned in silence. As they entered the hall, the trumpet sounded, and at this signal all the Forty-five came out of their rooms, wondering what was the matter; while they profited by this reunion to examine each other. Most of them were richly dressed, though generally in bad taste. They all had a military tournour, and long swords, boots and gloves of buckskin or buffalo, all well gilded or well greased, were almost universal.
The most discreet might be known by their quiet colors, the most economical by the substantial character of their equipments, and the most gay by their white or rose-colored satins. Perducas de Pincornay had bought from some Jew a gold chain as thick as a cable; Pertinax de Montcrabeau was all bows and embroidery: he had bought his costume from a merchant who had purchased it of a gentleman who had been wounded by robbers. It was rather stained with blood and dirt, it was true, but he had managed to clean it tolerably. There remained two holes made by the daggers of the robbers, but Pertinax had had them embroidered in gold.
Eustache de Miradoux did not shine; he had had to clothe Lardille, Militor, and the two children. All the gentlemen were there admiring each other, when M. de Loignac entered frowning, and placed himself in front of them, with a countenance anything but agreeable.
"Gentlemen," said he, "are you all here?"
"All!" they replied.
"Gentlemen, you have been summoned to Paris as a special guard to the king; it is an honorable title, but it engages you to much. Some of you seem not to have understood your duties; I will, therefore,