Count Hannibal

Charles turned. "Silence, railer!" he said in a broken voice. "Sow no

more troubles! Already," a shudder shook his tall ungainly form, "I see

blood, blood, blood everywhere! Blood? Ah, God, shall I from this time

see anything else? But there is no turning back. There is no undoing.

So, do you go to Biron. And do you," he went on, sullenly addressing

Marshal Tavannes, "take him and tell him what it is needful he should

know."

"'Tis done, sire!" the Marshal cried, with a hiccough. "Come, brother!"

But when the two, the courtiers making quick way for them, had passed

down the hall to the door, the Marshal tapped Hannibal's sleeve.

"It was touch and go," he muttered; it was plain he had been more sober

than he seemed. "Mind you, it does not do to thwart our little master in

his fits! Remember that another time, or worse will come of it, brother.

As it is, you came out of it finely and tripped that black devil's heels

to a marvel! But you won't be so mad as to go to Biron?"

"Yes," Count Hannibal answered coldly. "I shall go."

"Better not! Better not!" the Marshal answered. "'Twill be easier to go

in than to come out--with a whole throat! Have you taken wild cats in

the hollow of a tree? The young first, and then the she-cat? Well, it

will be that! Take my advice, brother. Have after Montgomery, if you

please, ride with Nancay to Chatillon--he is mounting now--go where you

please out of Paris, but don't go there! Biron hates us, hates me. And

for the King, if he do not see you for a few days, 'twill blow over in a

week."

Count Hannibal shrugged his shoulders. "No," he said, "I shall go."

The Marshal stared a moment. "Morbleu!" he said, "why? 'Tis not to

please the King, I know. What do you think to find there, brother?"

"A minister," Hannibal answered gently. "I want one with life in him,

and they are scarce in the open. So I must to covert after him." And,

twitching his sword-belt a little nearer to his hand, he passed across

the court to the gate, and to his horses.

The Marshal went back laughing, and, slapping his thigh as he entered the

hall, jostled by accident a gentleman who was passing out.

"What is it?" the Gascon cried hotly; for it was Chicot he had jostled.

"Who touches my brother touches Tavannes!" the Marshal hiccoughed. And,

smiting his thigh anew, he went off into another fit of laughter.