“Do you know who is at Paris, and who is not? No, you are all deaf and blind.”
“Can it have been he?”
“My son, at every disappointment you meet with, at every misfortune that happens to you of which the author is unknown, do not seek or conjecture; it is useless. Cry out, it is Henri of Navarre, and you will be sure to be right. Strike on the side where he is, and you will be sure to strike right. Oh! that man, that man; he is the sword suspended over the head of the Valois.”
“Then you think I should countermand my orders about the Angevins?”
“At once, without losing an instant. Hasten; perhaps you are already too late.”
Henry flew out of the Louvre to find his friends, but found only Chicot drawing figures in the sand with a stone.
CHAPTER LXII.
HOW, AS CHICOT AND THE QUEEN MOTHER WERE AGREED, THE KING BEGAN TO AGREE WITH THEM.
“Is this how you defend your king?” cried Henri.