“Just so, indeed I will ask your advice, M. de Quelus.”
“Do so, although I am not a lawyer, I give very good advice.”
“They say the streets of Paris are unsafe, and that is a lonely place. Which way do you counsel me to take?”
“Why, I advise you to take the ferry-boat at the Pré-aux-Clercs, get out at the corner, and follow the quay until you arrive at the great Châtelet, and then go through the Rue de la Tixanderie, until you reach the faubourg. Once at the corner of the Rue St. Antoine, if you pass the Hôtel des Tournelles without accident, it is probable you will arrive safe and sound at your mysterious house.”
“Thanks for your route, M. de Quelus, I shall be sure to follow it.” And saluting the five friends, he went away.
As Bussy was crossing the last saloon where Madame de St. Luc was, her husband made a sign to her. She understood at once, and going up, stopped him.
“Oh! M. de Bussy,” said she, “everyone is talking of a sonnet you have made.”
“Against the king, madame?”
“No, in honor of the queen; do tell it to me.”
“Willingly, madame,” and, offering his arm to her, he went off, repeating it.