“Ah! it is you, D’Alençon, is it?” said the King. “Well, famous marksman that you are, what became of your ball?”
“It must have flattened itself against the boar,” said the duke.
“Well! my God!” exclaimed Henry, with admirably assumed surprise; “you see, François, your bullet has broken the leg of his Majesty’s horse. That is strange!”
“What!” said the King; “is that true?”
“It is possible,” said the duke terrified; “my hand shook so!”
“The fact is that for a clever marksman that was a strange thing to do, François!” said Charles frowning. “A second time, Henriot, I thank you!”
“Gentlemen,” continued the King, “let us return to Paris; I have had enough of this.”
Marguerite came up to congratulate Henry.
“Yes, indeed, Margot,” said Charles, “congratulate him, and sincerely too, for without him the King of France would be Henry III.”
“Alas, madame,” said the Béarnais, “Monsieur le Duc d’Anjou, who is already my enemy, will be angrier than ever at me. But what can you expect? One does what one can. Ask Monsieur d’Alençon.”
And bowing, he drew his knife from the wild boar’s body and dug it two or three times into the earth to wipe off the blood.
Chapter 32.
Fraternity.
In saving the life of Charles, Henry had done more than save the life of a man — he had prevented three kingdoms from changing sovereigns.
Had Charles IX. been killed, the Duc d’Anjou would have become King of France, and the Duc d’Alençon in all probability would have been King of Poland. As to Navarre, as Monsieur le Duc d’Anjou was the lover of Madame de Condé, its crown would probably have paid to the husband the complacency of his wife. Now in all this no good would have come to Henry. He would have changed masters, that would have been all. Instead of Charles IX. who tolerated him, he would have seen the Duc d’Anjou on the throne of France, and being of one heart and mind with his mother Catharine, the latter had sworn that he should die, and he would not have failed to keep his oath. All these thoughts entered his mind when the wild boar sprang at Charles IX., and we know that the result of his rapid thinking was that his own life was attached to that of Charles IX.
Charles IX. had been saved by an act of devotion, the motive of which the King could not fathom. But Marguerite had understood, and she had admired that strange courage of Henry which, like flashes of lightning, shone only in a storm.
Unfortunately it was not all to have escaped the kingdom of the Duc d’Anjou. Henry had to make himself king. He had to dispute Navarre with the Duc d’Alençon and with the Prince of Condé; above all he had to leave the court where one walked only between two precipices, and go away protected by a son of France.
As he returned from Bondy Henry pondered deeply on the situation. On arriving at the Louvre his plan was formed. Without removing his riding-boots, just as he was, covered with dust and blood, he betook himself to the apartments of the Duc d’Alençon, whom he found striding up and down in great agitation.
On perceiving him the prince gave a start of surprise.
“Yes,” said Henry, taking him by both hands; “yes, I understand, my good brother, you are angry because I was the first to call the King’s attention to the fact that your ball struck the leg of his horse instead of the boar, as you intended it should. But what can you expect? I could not prevent an exclamation of surprise. Besides, the King would have noticed it, would he not?”
“No doubt, no doubt,” murmured D’Alençon. “And yet I can think of it only as an evil intention on your part to denounce me as you did, and which, as you yourself saw, had no result except to make my brother Charles suspect me, and to make hard feeling between us.”
“We will return to this in a few moments. As to my good or evil intentions regarding you, I have come to you on purpose that you may judge them.”
“Very good!” said D’Alençon with his customary reserve. “Speak, Henry, I am listening.”
“When I have spoken, François, you will readily see what my intentions are, for the confidence I am going to place in you does away with all reserve and prudence. And when I have told you, you will be able to ruin me by a single word!”
“What is it?” said François, beginning to be anxious.
“And yet,” continued Henry, “I have hesitated a long time to speak to you of the thing which brings me here, especially after the way in which you turned a deaf ear today.”
“Really,” said François, growing pale, “I do not know what you mean, Henry.”
“Brother, your interests are too dear to me not to tell you that the Huguenots have made advances to me.”
“Advances!” said D’Alençon. “What advances?”
“One of them, Monsieur de Mouy of Saint Phal, the son of the brave De Mouy, assassinated by Maurevel, you know”—
“Yes.”
“Well, he came at the risk of his life to show me that I was in captivity.”
“Ah! indeed! and what did you say to him?”
“Brother, you know that I love Charles dearly. He has saved my life, and the queen mother has been like a real mother to me. So I refused all the offers he made me.”
“What were these offers?”
“The Huguenots want to reconstruct the throne of Navarre, and as in reality this throne belongs to me by inheritance, they offered it to me.”
“Yes; and Monsieur de Mouy, instead of the consent he expected to ask for, has received your relinquishment?”
“My formal relinquishment — even in writing. But since,” continued Henry.
“You have repented, brother?” interrupted D’Alençon.
“No, I merely thought I noticed that Monsieur de Mouy had become discontented with me, and was paying his visits elsewhere.”
“Where?” asked François quickly.
“I do not know. At the Prince of Condé‘s perhaps.”
“Yes, that might be,” said the duke.
“Besides,” went on Henry, “I have positive knowledge as to the leader he has chosen.”
François grew pale.
“But,” continued Henry, “the Huguenots are divided among themselves, and De Mouy, brave and loyal as
