Александр Дюма
The Forty-Five Guardsmen
CHAPTER XLIX.
THE POOR OF HENRI OF NAVARRE
Chicot remained plunged in profound surprise. Henri lifted the tapestry, and, striking him on the shoulder, said:
"Well, M. Chicot, how do you think I managed?"
"Wonderfully, sire; and really, for a king who is not accustomed to ambassadors – "
"It is my brother Henri who sends me such ambassadors."
"How so, sire?"
"If he did not incessantly persecute his poor sister, others would not dream of it. Do you believe that if the king of Spain had not heard of the public insult offered to the queen, when a captain of the guards searched her litter, that he would have proposed to me to repudiate her?"
"I see with pleasure, sire," replied Chicot, "that all attempts will be useless, and that nothing can interrupt the harmony that exists between the queen and yourself."
"Oh, my friend, the interest they have in making us quarrel is too clear."
"I confess to you, sire, that I am not so penetrating as you are."
"Doubtless Henri would be delighted if I repudiated his sister."
"How so? Pray explain to me."
"You know they forgot to pay me my wife's dowry."
"I guessed as much, sire."
"This dowry was to consist of 300,000 golden crowns and some towns; among others, Cahors."
"A pretty town, mordieu!"
"I have claimed, not the money, but Cahors."
"Ventre de biche! sire, in your place, I should have done the same."
"And that is why – do you understand now?"
"No, indeed, sire."
"Why they wish me to quarrel with my wife and repudiate her. No wife, no dowry, no more 300,000 crowns, no Cahors. It is one way of eluding a promise, and Henri is clever in laying snares."
"You would much like to hold Cahors, sire?"
"Doubtless; for after all, what is my principality of Béarn? A poor little place, clipped by the avarice of my mother-in-law and brother-in-law."
"While Cahors – "
"Cahors would be my rampart, the safeguard of my religion."
"Well, sire, go into mourning for Cahors; for, whether you break with Madame Marguerite or not, the king of France will never give it to you, and unless you take it – "
"Oh, I would soon take it, if it was not so strong, and, above all, if I did not hate war."
"Cahors is impregnable, sire."
"Oh! impregnable! But if I had an army, which I have not – "
"Listen, sire. We are not here to flatter each other. To take Cahors, which is held by M. de Vesin, one must be a Hannibal or a Cæsar; and your majesty – "
"Well?" said Henri, with a smile.
"Has just said, you do not like war."
Henri sighed, and his eyes flashed for a minute; then he said:
"It is true I have never drawn the sword, and perhaps never shall. I am a king of straw, a man of peace; but, by a singular contrast, I love to think of warlike things – that is in my blood. St. Louis, my ancestor, pious by education and gentle by nature, became on occasion a brave soldier and a skillful swordsman. Let us talk, if you please, of M. Vesin, who is a Cæsar and a Hannibal."
"Sire, pardon me if I have wounded or annoyed you. I spoke only of M. de Vesin to extinguish all hope in your heart. Cahors, you see, is so well guarded because it is the key of the south."
"Alas! I know it well. I wished so much to possess Cahors, that I told my poor mother to make it a sine quâ non of our marriage. See, I am speaking Latin now. Cahors, then, was my wife's dowry; they owe it to me – "
"Sire, to owe and pay – "
"Are two different things, I know. So your opinion is, that they will never pay me?"
"I fear not."
"Diable!"
"And frankly – "
"Well?"
"They will be right, sire."
"Why so?"
"Because you did not know your part of king; you should have got it at once."
"Do you not, then, remember the tocsin of St. Germain l'Auxerrois?" said Henri, bitterly. "It seems to me that a husband whom they try to murder on the night of his marriage might think less of his dowry than of his life."
"Yes; but since then, sire, we have had peace; and excuse me, sire, you should have profited by it, and, instead of making love, have negotiated. It is less amusing, I know, but more profitable. I speak, sire, as much for my king as for you. If Henri of France had a strong ally in Henri of Navarre, he would be stronger than any one; and if the Protestants and Catholics of France and Navarre would unite in a common political interest, they would make the rest of the world tremble."
"Oh, I do not pretend to make others tremble, so long as I do not tremble myself. But if I cannot get Cahors, then, and you think I cannot – "
"I think so, sire, for three reasons."
"Tell them to me, Chicot."
"Willingly. The first is that Cahors is a town of good produce, which Henri III. will like to keep for himself."
"That is not very honest."
"It is very royal, sire."
"Ah! it is royal to take what you like."
"Yes; that is called taking the lion's share, and the lion is the king of animals."
"I shall remember your lesson, Chicot. Now, your second reason."
"Madame Catherine – "
"Oh! does my good mother still mix in politics?"
"Always; and she would rather see her daughter at Paris than at Nerac – near her than near you."
"You think so? Yet she does not love her daughter to distraction."
"No; but Madame Marguerite serves you as a hostage, sire."
"You are cunning, Chicot. Devil take me, if I thought of that! But you may be right; a daughter of France would be a hostage in case of need. Well, the third?"
"Between the Duc d'Anjou, who seeks to make a throne for himself in Flanders, between MM. de Guise, who wish for a crown, and shake that of France, and his majesty the king of Spain, who wishes for universal monarchy, you hold the balance and maintain a certain equilibrium."
"I, without weight?"
"Just so. If you became powerful, that is to say, heavy, you would turn the scale, and would be no longer a counterpoise, but a weight."
"Ah! I like that reason, and it is admirably argued. This is the explanation of my situation?"
"Complete."
"And I, who did not see all this, and went on hoping."
"Well, sire, I counsel you to cease to hope."
"Then I must do for this debt what I do for those of my farmers who cannot pay their rent; I put a P against their names."
"Which means paid."
"Just so."
"Put two P's, sire, and give a sigh."
"So be it, Chicot; you see I can live in Béarn, even without Cahors."
"I see that, and also that you are a wise and philosophical king. But what is that noise?"
"Noise, where?"
"In the courtyard, I think."
"Look out of the window."
"Sire, there are below a dozen of poorly-clothed people."
"Ah! they are my poor," said the king, rising.
"Your majesty has poor?"
"Doubtless; does not God recommend charity? If I am not a Catholic, Chicot, I am a Christian."
"Bravo, sire!"
"Come, Chicot, we will give alms together, and then go to supper."
"Sire, I follow you."
"Take that purse lying on the table, near my sword – do you see?"
They went down, but Henri seemed thoughtful and preoccupied. Chicot looked at him, and thought, "What the devil made me talk politics to this brave prince, and make him sad? Fool that I was!"
Once in the court, Henri approached the group of mendicants. There were a dozen men in different costumes. Henri took the purse from the hands of Chicot and made a sign, and then each man came forward and saluted Henri with an air of humility, which did not preclude a glance full of intelligence at the king. Henri replied by a motion of the head; then, putting his fingers into the purse, which Chicot held open, he took out a piece.
"Do you know that it is gold, sire?" said Chicot.
"Yes, my friend, I know."
"Peste! you are rich."
"Do you not see that each of these pieces serves for two? On the contrary, I am so poor that I am forced to cut my gold in two."
"It is true," said Chicot, with surprise: "they are half-pieces, with fantastic designs."
"Oh, I am like my brother Henri, who amuses himself in cutting out images: I amuse myself with clipping my ducats."
"Nevertheless, sire, it is an odd method of giving charity," said Chicot, who divined some hidden mystery.
"What would you do?"
"Instead of cutting the gold, I would give one piece between two."
"They would fight, and I should do harm instead of good."'
Henry then took one of the pieces, and, placing himself before the first beggar, looked at him inquiringly.
"Agen," said the man.
"How many?" asked Henri.
"Five hundred."
"Cahors;" and he gave him the piece and took a second.
The man bowed and withdrew.
The next advanced and said, "Auch."
"How many?"
"Three hundred and fifty."
"Cahors;" and he gave him his piece.
"Narbonne," said the third.
"How many?"
"Eight hundred."
"Cahors;" and he gave him his piece.
"Montauban," said the fourth.
"How many?"
"Six hundred." – "Cahors."
Each one in this way pronounced a name and a number, and received a piece of gold, and to each Henri replied, "Cahors."
This over, there were no pieces left in the purse.
"That is all, sire," said Chicot.
"Yes; I have finished."
"Sire, am I permitted to be curious?"
"Why not? Curiosity is natural."
"What did these beggars say, and what did you reply?"
Henri smiled.
"Indeed," continued Chicot, "all is mysterious here."
"Do you think so?"
"Yes; I have never seen alms given in that way."
"It is the custom at Nerac."
"A singular one, sire."
"No, nothing is more simple; each of those men came from a different city."
"Well, sire?"
"Well, that I may not always give to the same, they each tell me the name of their town, so that I can distribute my benefits equally among all the unfortunates in my kingdom."
"Yes, sire; but why did you answer 'Cahors'?"
"Ah!" cried Henri, with a most natural air of surprise, "did I say 'Cahors'?"
"Yes, sire."
"You think so?"
"I am sure of it."
"It must have been because we had been talking so much about it. I wish for it so much that I must have spoken of it without meaning to do so."
"Hum!" said Chicot, suspiciously, "and then there was something else."
"What! something else?"
"A number that each one pronounced, and which, added together, made more than eight thousand."
"Ah! as to that, Chicot, I did not understand it myself; unless, as the beggars are divided into corporations, they each named the number of members, which seems to me probable."
"Sire, sire!"
"Come and sup, my friend, nothing enlightens the mind like eating and drinking. Let us go to table, and you shall see that if my pistoles are cut, my bottles are full."
Then, passing his arm familiarly through Chicot's, the king went back to his room, where supper was served. Passing by the queen's room, he glanced at it, and saw no light.
"Page," said he, "is not her majesty at home?"
"Her majesty is gone to see Mademoiselle de Montmorency, who is ill."
"Ah! poor Fosseuse!" said Henri: "it is true, the queen has such a good heart. Come to supper, Chicot."
CHAPTER L.
THE TRUE MISTRESS OF THE KING OF NAVARRE
The repast was joyous. Henri seemed no longer to have any weight either on his heart or his mind, and he was an excellent companion. As for Chicot, he dissembled the uneasiness he had felt since the coming of the Spanish ambassador and the scene with the mendicants. He endeavored to drink little and keep cool, to observe everything; but this Henri would not allow. However, Chicot had a head of iron, and as for Henri, he said he could drink these wines of the country like milk.
"I envy you," said Chicot to the king; "your court is delightful, and your life pleasant."
"If my wife were here, Chicot, I would not say what I am about to say, but in her absence I will tell you that the best part of my life is that which you do not see."
"Ah! sire, they tell, indeed, fine tales of you."
Henri leaned back in his chair to laugh. "They say I reign more over my female than my male subjects, do they not?" said he.
"Yes, sire, and it astonishes me."
"Why so?"
"Because, sire, you have much of that restless spirit which makes great kings."
"Ah, Chicot! you are wrong; I am lazy, and the proof of it is in my life. If I have a love to choose, I take the nearest; if a wine, the bottle close to my hand. To your health, Chicot."
"Sire, you do me honor," said Chicot, emptying his glass.
"Thus," continued the king, "what quarrels in my household!"
"Yes, I understand; all the ladies-in-waiting adore you, sire."
"They are my neighbors, Chicot."
"Then, sire, it might result from this, that if you lived at St. Denis instead of Nerac, the king might not live very tranquilly."
"The king! what do you say, Chicot? Do you think I am a Guise? I wish for Cahors, it is true, because it is near to me."
"Ventre de biche, sire, this ambition for things within the reach of your hand resembles much that of Cæsar Borgia, who gathered together a kingdom, city by city; saying that Italy was an artichoke to be eaten leaf by leaf."
"This Cæsar Borgia was not a bad politician, it seems to me, compere."
"No, but he was a very dangerous neighbor and a bad brother."
"Ah! would you compare me to the son of a pope – I, a Huguenot chief?"
"Sire, I compare you to no one."
"Why not?"
"I believe he would be wrong who should liken you to any other than yourself. You are ambitious, sire."
"Here is a man determined to make me want something," cried Henri.
"God forbid, sire; I desire with all my heart, on the contrary, that your majesty should want nothing."
"Nothing calls you back to Paris, does it, Chicot?"
"No, sire."
"Then you will pass some days with me?"
"If your majesty does me the honor to wish for my company, I ask no better than to give you a week."
"So be it; in a week you will know me like a brother. Drink, Chicot."
"Sire, I am no longer thirsty," said Chicot, who had given up all hopes of seeing the king take too much.
"Then, I will leave you; a man should not stay at table when he does nothing. Drink, I tell you."
"Why, sire?"
"To sleep better. Do you like the chase, Chicot?"
"Not much, sire; and you?"
"Passionately; since I lived at the court of Charles IX."
"Why did your majesty do me the honor to ask me?"
"Because I hunt to-morrow, and thought to take you with me."
"Sire, it would be a great honor, but – "
"Oh! this chase will rejoice all eyes; besides, I am a good hunter, and I wish you to see me to advantage."
"Sire, I am at your orders."
"Good! then it is settled. Ah! here is a page to disturb us."
"Some important business, sire?"
"Business at table! You think you are still at the court of France, my dear Chicot. Learn one thing; at Nerac, when we have supped, we go to bed."
"But this page?"
"Well, cannot he come for anything but business?"
"Ah! I understand: and I will go to bed."
Chicot rose; the king did the same, and took his arm. This haste to send him away appeared suspicious to Chicot, and he determined not to leave the room if he could help it.
"Oh! oh!" said he, tottering, "it is astonishing, sire."
The king smiled. "What is astonishing?"
"Ventre de biche! my head turns; while I sat still, it was all very well, but when I rise – "
"Bah!" said Henri, "we only tasted the wine."
"You call that tasting, sire? You are a drinker, and I do you homage, as to my superior."
"Chicot, my friend," said Henri, endeavoring to make out by one of his keen glances if Chicot were really drunk or pretending, "the best thing you can do is to go to bed."
"Yes, sire; good-night."
"Good-evening, Chicot."
"Yes, sire, you are right; the best thing Chicot can do is to go to bed." And he lay down on the floor.
Henri glanced toward the door, and then, approaching him, said, "You are so drunk, my poor Chicot, that you have taken my floor for your bed."
"Chicot does not mind little things."
"But I expect some one."
"For supper; yes, let us sup – " And Chicot made a fruitless effort to rise.
"Ventre St. Gris! how quickly you get drunk. But go along, mordieu! she is getting impatient."
"She, who?"
"The lady I expect."
"A lady; why did you not say, Henriquet? Ah! pardon, I thought I was speaking – to the king of France. He has spoiled me, that good Henriquet. Ah! I will go."
"You are a gentleman, Chicot. Now go quickly."
"Adieu, sire; a good night to you."
"Adieu! and sleep well. You will find the page in the gallery, who will show you your room."
Chicot went out; but, after taking a few steps, returned just in time to see Henri let in – not a woman, but a man. Chicot put his eye to the large keyhole.
The man took off his hat, and Chicot saw the noble but severe face of Duplessis-Mornay, the rigid and vigilant counselor of Henri of Navarre.
"Ah!" thought Chicot, "this will annoy our lover more than I did."
But Henri's face showed only joy; and after locking the door, he sat down eagerly to examine some maps, plans, and letters, which his minister had brought him. The king then began to write and to mark the maps.
"Oh! this is the way Henri of Navarre makes love," thought Chicot.
At this moment he heard steps behind him, and fearful of being surprised, he turned hastily away, and, seeing the page, asked for his room.
"Come with me, if you please, monsieur," said D'Aubiac, "and I will conduct you."
Chicot began to understand the king of Navarre. Therefore, instead of going to sleep, he sat somber and thoughtful on his bed, while the moon shed its silver light over stream and meadows.
"Henri is a real king, and he conspires," thought Chicot. "All this palace, park, town – the whole province – is a focus of conspiracy. All the women make love, but it is political love; and all the men live in the hope of a future. Henri is clever, his talent borders on genius, and he is in communication with Spain, the land of deceit. Who knows if even his noble answer to the ambassador was not a farce, and if he did not warn the ambassador of it by some sign unknown to me? Henri has spies; those beggars were nothing more nor less than gentlemen in disguise. Those pieces of gold, so artistically cut, were pledges of recognition – rallying signs.
"Henri feigns to care for nothing but love and pleasure, and then passes his time working with Mornay, who never seems to sleep, and does not know what love means. Queen Marguerite has lovers, and the king knows it, and tolerates them, because he has need of them, or of her – perhaps of both. Happily, God, in giving him the genius for intrigue, did not add to it that of war; for they say he is afraid of the noise of musketry, and that when he was taken, when quite young, to battle, he could not stay more than a quarter of an hour in the saddle. It is lucky, for if he had the arm, as well as the head, this man might do anything.
"There is certainly the Duc de Guise, who has both, but he has the disadvantage of being known as brave and skillful, so that every one is on their guard against him, while no one fears the Béarnais. I alone have seen through him. Well, having seen through him, I have no more to do here; so while he works or sleeps, I will go quietly out of the city. There are not many ambassadors, I think, who can boast of having fulfilled their mission in one day, as I have. So I will leave Nerac, and gallop till I am in France." And he began to put on his spurs.
CHAPTER LI.
CHICOT'S ASTONISHMENT AT FINDING HIMSELF SO POPULAR IN NERAC
Chicot, having taken his resolution, began to prepare his little packet. "How much time will it take me," thought he, as he did so, "to carry to the king the news of what I have seen and fear? Two days to arrive at a city whence the governor can send couriers; Cahors, for example, of which Henri of Navarre thinks so much. Once there, I can rest, for after all a man must rest some time. Come, then, Chicot, speed and sang froid. You thought you had accomplished your mission, and you are but half-way through it."
Chicot now extinguished the light, opened his door softly, and began to creep downstairs on tip-toe.
He went into an antechamber, but he had hardly gone four steps before he kicked against something. This something was D'Aubiac lying on a mat.
"Ah! good-evening, M. d'Aubiac," said Chicot, "but get out of the way a little, I beg; I want to go for a walk."
"Ah! but it is forbidden to walk by night near this castle."
"Why so?"
"Because the king fears robbers, and the queen lovers."
"Diable!"
"None but robbers or lovers want to walk at night, when they ought to be sleeping."
"However, dear M. d'Aubiac," said Chicot, with his most charming smile, "I am neither the one nor the other, but an ambassador, very tired from having talked Latin with the queen and supped with the king; let me go out then, my friend, for I want a walk."
"In the city, M. Chicot?"
"Oh no! in the gardens."
"Peste! that is still more forbidden than in the city."
"My little friend, you are very vigilant for your age. Have you nothing to occupy yourself with?"
"No."
"You neither gamble nor fall in love."
"To gamble one must have money, M. Chicot, and to be in love, one must find a lady."
"Assuredly," said Chicot, and feeling in his pocket he drew out ten pistoles and slipped them into the page's hand, saying, "Seek well in your memory, and I bet you will find some charming woman, to whom I beg you to make some presents with this."
"Oh, M. Chicot!" said the page, "it is easy to see that you come from the court of France; you have manners to which one can refuse nothing: go then, but make no noise."
Chicot went on; glided like a shadow into the corridor, and down the staircase, but at the bottom he found an officer sleeping on a chair, placed right against the door, so that it was impossible to pass.
"Ah! little wretch of a page," murmured Chicot, "you knew this."
Chicot looked round him to see if he could find no other way by which he could escape with the assistance of his long legs. At last he saw what he wanted: it was an arched window, of which the glass was broken. Chicot climbed up the wall with his accustomed skill, and without making more noise than a dry leaf in the autumn wind; but unluckily, the opening was not big enough, so when he had got his head and one shoulder through, and had taken away his foot from its resting place on the wall, he found himself hanging between heaven and earth, without being able either to advance or retreat.
He began then a series of efforts, of which the first result was to tear his doublet and scratch his skin. What rendered his position more difficult was his sword, of which the handle would not pass, making a hook by which Chicot hung on to the sash. He exerted all his strength, patience and industry, to unfasten the clasp of his shoulder-belt; but it was just on this clasp that his body leaned, therefore he was obliged to change his maneuver, and at last he succeeded in drawing his sword from its sheath and pushing it through one of the interstices; the sword therefore fell first on the flagstones, and Chicot now managed to get through after it. All this, however, was not done without noise, therefore Chicot, on rising, found himself face to face with a soldier.
"Ah! mon Dieu! have you hurt yourself, M. Chicot?" said he.
Chicot was surprised, but said, "No, my friend, not at all."
"That is very lucky; there are not many people who could do such a thing."
"But how the devil did you know my name?"
"I saw you to-day at the palace, and asked who was the gentleman that was talking with the king."
"Well! I am in a hurry; allow me to pass."
"But no one goes out of the palace by night; those are my orders."
"But you see they do come out, since I am here."
"Yes, but – "
"But what?"
"You must go back, M. Chicot."
"Oh! no." – "How! no?"
"Not by that way, at all events; it is too troublesome."
"If I were an officer instead of a soldier, I would ask you why you come out so; but that is not my business, which is only that you should go back again. Go in, therefore, M. Chicot, I beg you."
And the soldier said this in such a persuasive tone, that Chicot was touched. Consequently he put his hand in his pocket and drew out another ten pistoles.
"You must understand, my friend," said he, "that as I have torn my clothes in passing through once, I should make them still worse by going back again, and should have to go naked, which would be very indecent in a court where there are so many young and pretty women; let me go then to my tailor." And he put the money in his hand.
"Go quickly then, M. Chicot," said the man.
Chicot was in the street at last. The night was not favorable for flight, being bright and cloudless, and he regretted the foggy nights of Paris, where people might pass close to each other unseen. The unfortunate fugitive had no sooner turned the corner of the street than he met a patrol. He stopped of himself, thinking it would look suspicious to try and pass unseen.
"Oh, good-evening, M. Chicot!" said the chief; "shall we reconduct you to the palace? You seem as though you had lost your way."
"It is very strange," murmured Chicot, "every one knows me here." Then aloud, and as carelessly as he could, "No, cornet, I am not going to the palace."
"You are wrong, M. Chicot," replied the officer, gravely.
"Why so, monsieur?"
"Because a very severe edict forbids the inhabitants of Nerac to go out at night without permission and without a lantern."
"Excuse me, monsieur, but this edict cannot apply to me, who do not belong to Nerac."
"But you are at Nerac. Inhabitant means living at; now you cannot deny that you live at Nerac, since I see you here."
"You are logical, monsieur. Unluckily, I am in a hurry; make an exception to your rule, and let me pass, I beg."
"You will lose yourself, M. Chicot; Nerac is a strange town. Allow three of my men to conduct you to the palace."
"But I am not going there, I tell you."
"Where are you going, then?"
"I cannot sleep well at night, and then I always walk. Nerac is a charming city, and I wish to see it."
"My men shall conduct you where you please."
"Oh, monsieur, I would rather go alone."
"You will be assassinated."
"I have my sword."
"Ah, true; then you will be arrested for bearing arms."
Chicot, driven to despair, drew the officer aside, and said:
"Come, monsieur, you are young; you know what love is – an imperious tyrant."
"Doubtless, M. Chicot."
"Well, cornet, I have a certain lady to visit."
"Where?"
"In a certain place."
"Young?"
"Twenty-three years old."
"Beautiful?"
"As the graces."
"I felicitate you, M. Chicot."
"Then you will let me pass?"
"It seems I must."
"And alone; I cannot compromise – "
"Of course not; pass on, M. Chicot."
"You are a gallant man, cornet. But how did you know me?"
"I saw you at the palace with the king. Apropos, which way are you going?"
"Toward the Porte of Agen. Am I not in the right road?"
"Yes, go straight on; I wish you success."
"Thank you;" and Chicot went on. But before he had taken a hundred steps he met the watch.
"Peste! this town is well guarded," thought Chicot.
"You cannot pass!" cried the provost, in a voice of thunder.
"But, monsieur, I want – "
"Ah, M. Chicot, is it you? In the streets in this cold?" asked the officer.
"Ah, decidedly! It must be a bet," thought Chicot; and, bowing, he tried to pass on.
"M. Chicot, take care!" said the provost.
"Take care of what?"
"You are going wrong; you are going toward the gates."
"Just so."
"Then I arrest you!"
"Not so, monsieur; you would be very wrong."
"However – "
"Approach, monsieur, that your soldiers may not hear."
The man approached.
"The king has given me a commission for the lieutenant of the Porte of Agen."
"Ah!"
"That astonishes you?"
"Yes."
"It ought not, since you know me."
"I know you from having seen you at the palace with the king."
Chicot stamped his foot impatiently. "That should prove to you that I possess the king's confidence."
"Doubtless; go on, M. Chicot, and execute your commission."
"Come," thought Chicot, "I advance slowly, but I do advance. Ventre de biche! here is a gate; it must be that of Agen; in five minutes I shall be out."
He arrived at the gate, which was guarded by a sentinel walking up and down, his musket on his shoulder.
"My friend, will you open the gate for me?" said Chicot.
"I cannot, M. Chicot," replied the man, "being only a private soldier."
"You also know me?" cried Chicot in a rage.
"I have that honor; I was on guard at the palace this morning, and saw you talking with the king."
"Well! my friend, the king has given me a very urgent message to convey to Agen; open the postern for me."
"I would with pleasure, but I have not the keys."
"And who has them?"
"The officer for the night."
Chicot sighed.
"And where is he?"
The soldier rang a bell to wake his officer.
"What is it?" said he, passing his head through a window.
"Lieutenant, it is a gentleman who wants the gate opened."
"Ah! M. Chicot," cried the officer, "I will be down in a moment."
"What! does every one know me?" cried Chicot. "Nerac seems a lantern, and I the candle."
"Excuse me, monsieur," said the officer, approaching, "but I was asleep."
"Oh! monsieur, that is what night is made for; will you be good enough to open the door. Unluckily, I cannot sleep, for the king, whom you doubtless also saw me talking to – "
"Yes, I did, monsieur."
"Of course!" growled Chicot. "Well! the king has sent me on a commission to Agen; this is the right gate, is it not?"
"Yes, M. Chicot."
"Will you please to have it opened?"
"Of course. Anthenas, open the gate quickly for M. Chicot."
Chicot began to breathe; the door creaked on its hinges, and opened, and Chicot saw liberty through it.
"Adieu! monsieur," said he, advancing.
"Adieu! M. Chicot, a pleasant journey. – But stay, one moment; I have forgotten to ask for your pass," cried he, seizing Chicot by the sleeve to stop him.
"How! my pass?"
"Certainly, M. Chicot; you know what a pass is? You understand that no one can leave a town like Nerac without a pass, particularly when the king is in it."
"And who must sign this pass?"
"The king himself; so if he sent you he cannot have forgotten to give you a pass."
"Ah! you doubt that the king sent me?" cried Chicot, with flashing eyes, for he saw himself on the point of failing, and had a great mind to kill the officer and sentinel, and rush through the gate.
"I doubt nothing you tell me, but reflect that if the king gave you this commission – "
"In person, monsieur."
"All the more reason, then: if he knows you are going out, I shall have to give up your pass to-morrow morning to the governor." – "And who is he?"
