“You remember it still.”
“But you, monseigneur, whose friend and tool he was——”
“Well, well, get my horse saddled, Bussy.”
“What for?”
“To go to Méridor; I wish to pay a visit to Madame Monsoreau. I have been projecting one for some time, and I do not know why it has not taken place sooner.”
“Now Monsoreau is dead,” thought Bussy, “I do not care; I will protect Diana. I will go with him, and see her.”
A quarter of an hour after, the prince, Bussy, and ten gentlemen rode to Méridor, with that pleasure which fine weather, turf, and youth always inspire in men on horseback.
The porter at the château came to ask the names of the visitors.
“The Duc d’Anjou,” replied the prince.
The porter blew his horn, and soon windows were opened, and they heard the noise of bolts and bars as the door was unfastened, and the old baron appeared on the threshold, holding in his hand a bunch of keys. Immediately behind him stood a lady.