Henri looked at the duke as if a veil had fallen from his eyes. “Surely you would never consent, brother! It is not you who could teach all these bourgeois their exercise, who could look over the discourses of the preachers, who, in case of battle, would play the butcher in the streets of Paris; for all this, one must be triple, like the duke, and have a right arm called Charles and a left called Louis. What! you would like all this? You, the first gentleman of our court! Mort de ma vie! how people change with the age!”
“Perhaps I would not do it for myself, brother, but I would do it for you.”
“Excellent brother!” said Henri, wiping away a tear which never existed.
“Then,” said the duke, “it would not displease you for me to assume this post?”
“Displease me! On the contrary, it would charm me.”
François trembled with joy. “Oh! if your majesty thinks me worthy of this confidence.”
“Confidence! When you are the chief, what have I to fear? The League itself? That cannot be dangerous can it, François?”
“Oh, sire?”
“No, for then you would not be chief, or at least, when you are chief, there will be no danger. But, François, the duke is doubtless certain of this appointment, and he will not lightly give way.”
“Sire, you grant me the command?”