“Let us, then,” said M. de Mayenne, “leave the heretics to the vulgar leaguers; let us think of those who annoy and insult us, and who often fail in respect to the prince whom we honor, and who is our chief.”
The Duc d’Anjou grew red.
“Let us destroy,” continued Mayenne, “to the last man, that cursed race whom the king enriches, and let each of us charge ourselves with the life of one. We are thirty here; let us count.”
“I,” said D’Antragues, “charge myself with Quelus.”
“I with Maugiron,” said Livarot.
“And I with Schomberg,” said Ribeirac.
“Good!” said the duke; “and there is Bussy, my brave Bussy, who will undertake some of them.”
“And us!” cried the rest.
M. de Monsoreau now advanced. “Gentlemen,” said he, “I claim an instant’s silence. We are resolute men, and yet we fear to speak freely to each other; we are intelligent men, and yet we are deterred by foolish scruples. Come, gentlemen, a little courage, a little hardihood, a little frankness. It is not of the king’s minions that we think; there does not lie our difficulty. What we really complain of is the royalty which we are under, and which is not acceptable to a French nobility; prayers and despotism, weakness and orgies, prodigality for fêtes which make all Europe laugh, and parsimony for everything that regards the state and the arts. Such conduct is not weakness or ignorance—it is madness.”
A dead silence followed this speech. Everyone trembled at the words which echoed his own thoughts. M. de Monsoreau went on.