"Tavannes!"

"Sire."

Tavannes, we know, had been slow to obey the summons. Emerging from the

crowd, he found that the King, with Retz and Rambouillet, his Marshal des

Logis, had retired to the farther end of the Chamber; apparently Charles

had forgotten that he had called. His head a little bent--he was tall

and had a natural stoop--the King seemed to be listening to a low but

continuous murmur of voices which proceeded from the door of his closet.

One voice frequently raised was beyond doubt a woman's; a foreign accent,

smooth and silky, marked another; a third, that from time to time broke

in, wilful and impetuous, was the voice of Monsieur, the King's brother,

Catherine de Medicis' favourite son. Tavannes, waiting respectfully two

paces behind the King, could catch little that was said; but Charles,

something more, it seemed, for on a sudden he laughed, a violent,

mirthless laugh. And he clapped Rambouillet on the shoulder.

"There!" he said, with one of his horrible oaths, "'tis settled! 'Tis

settled! Go, man, and take your orders! And you, M. de Retz," he

continued, in a tone of savage mockery, "go, my lord, and give them!"

"I, sire?" the Italian Marshal answered, in accents of deprecation. There

were times when the young King would show his impatience of the Italian

ring, the Retzs and Biragues, the Strozzis and Gondys, with whom his

mother surrounded him.

"Yes, you!" Charles answered. "You and my lady mother! And in God's

name answer for it at the day!" he continued vehemently. "You will have

it! You will not let me rest till you have it! Then have it, only see

to it, it be done thoroughly! There shall not be one left to cast it in

the King's teeth and cry, 'Et tu, Carole!' Swim, swim in blood if you

will," he continued, with growing wildness. "Oh, 'twill be a merry

night! And it's true so far, you may kill fleas all day, but burn the

coat, and there's an end. So burn it, burn it, and--" He broke off with

a start as he discovered Tavannes at his elbow. "God's death, man!" he

cried roughly, "who sent for you?"

"Your Majesty called me," Tavannes answered; while, partly urged by the

King's hand, and partly anxious to escape, the others slipped into the

closet and left them together.

"I sent for you? I called your brother, the Marshal!"

"He is within, sire," Tavannes answered, indicating the closet. "A

moment ago I heard his voice."

Charles passed his shaking hand across his eyes. "Is he?" he muttered.

"So he is! I heard it too. And--and a man cannot be in two places at

once!" Then, while his haggard gaze, passing by Tavannes, roved round

the Chamber, he laid his hand on Count Hannibal's breast. "They give me

no peace, Madame and the Guises," he whispered, his face hectic with

excitement. "They will have it. They say that Coligny--they say that he

beards me in my own palace. And--and, mordieu," with sudden violence,

"it's true. It's true enough! It was but to-day he was for making terms

with me! With me, the King! Making terms! So it shall be, by God and

Devil, it shall! But not six or seven! No, no. All! All! There shall

not be one left to say to me, 'You did it!'"




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