“Well! my dear friend, if it is my destiny to be killed by M. de Monsoreau.”
“Well!”
“Well! he will kill me.”
“And then, a week after, Madame de Monsoreau will be reconciled to her husband, which will dreadfully enrage your poor soul, which will see it from above or below, without being able to prevent it.”
“You are right, Rémy; I will live.”
“Quite right; but that is not all, you must be charmingly polite to him; he is frightfully jealous of the Duc d’Anjou, who, while you were ill in bed, promenaded before the house with his Aurilly. Make advances, then, to this charming husband, and do not even ask him what has become of his wife, since you know quite well.”
“You are right, Rémy, I believe. Now I am no longer jealous of the bear, I will be civil to him.”
At this moment some one knocked at the door.
“Who is there?” cried Bussy.
“Monsieur,” replied a page, “there is a gentleman below who wishes to speak to you.”