Monsoreau had told the duke the night before that he might reckon on Bussy; this change, therefore, must have been occasioned by Diana’s note.
“Then,” said the duke, “you abandon your chief and master?”
“Monseigneur, he who is about to risk his life in a bloody duel, as ours will be, has but one master, and it is to Him my last devotions will be paid.”
“You know that I am playing for a throne, and you leave me.”
“Monseigneur, I have worked enough for you; I will work again to-morrow, do not ask me for more than my life.”
“It is well!” said the duke, in a hollow voice, “you are free; go, M. de Bussy.”
Bussy, without caring for the prince’s evident anger, ran down the staircase of the Louvre, and went rapidly to his own house.
The duke called Aurilly. “Well! he has condemned himself,” said he.
“Does he not follow you?”
“No.”