Chicot the Jester. Dumas Alexandre

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      St. Luc saw he was wrong. “I said, good evening; adding, that I would have the honor of saying good morning to-morrow.”

      “Ah! I suspected it.”

      “Will your majesty keep my secret?” said St. Luc.

      “Oh! parbleu, if you could get rid of him without injury to yourself – ”

      The minions exchanged a rapid glance, which Henri III. seemed not to notice.

      “For,” continued he, “his insolence is too much.”

      “Yes, yes,” said St. Luc, “but some day he will find his master.”

      “Oh!” said the king, “he manages the sword well. Why does he not get bit by some dog?” And he threw a spiteful glance on Bussy, who was walking about, laughing at all the king’s friends.

      “Corbleu!” cried Chicot, “do not be so rude to my friends, M. Bussy, for I draw the sword, though I am a king, as well as if I was a common man.”

      “If he continue such pleasantries, I will chastise Chicot, sire,” said Maugiron.

      “No, no, Maugiron, Chicot is a gentleman. Besides, it is not he who most deserves punishment, for it is not he who is most insolent.”

      This time there was no mistaking, and Quelus made signs to D’O and D’Epernon, who had been in a different part of the room, and had not heard what was going on. “Gentlemen,” said Quelus, “come to the council; you, St. Luc, go and finish making your peace with the king.”

      St. Luc approached the king, while the others drew back into a window.

      “Well,” said D’Epernon, “what do you want? I was making love, and I warn you, if your recital be not interesting I shall be very angry.”

      “I 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.

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