"Confess, Henry, that at heart you are not sorry. Margot will cry out like a thousand Niobes; but, faith! so much the worse. I do not want you to be made a fool of. If Condé is deceived by the Duc d'Anjou, I will wink; Condé is my enemy. But you are my brother; more than this, you are my friend."
"But, sire"—
"And I do not want you to be annoyed, and made a fool of. You have been a quintain long enough for all these popinjays who come from the provinces to gather our crumbs, and court our women. Let them come, or rather let them come again. By Heaven! you have been deceived, Henriot,—that might happen to any one,—but I swear, you shall have shining satisfaction, and to-morrow they shall say: In the name of a thousand devils! it seems that King Charles loves his brother Henriot, for last night he had Monsieur de la Mole's tongue pulled out in a most amusing manner."
"Is this really decided on, sire?" asked Henry.
"Decided on, determined on, arranged. The coxcomb will have no time to plead his cause. The expedition will consist of myself, D'Anjou, D'Alençon, and De Guise—a king, two sons of France, and a sovereign prince, without counting you."
"How without counting me?"
"Why, you are to be one of us."
"I!"
"Yes, you! you shall stab the fellow in a royal manner, while the rest of us strangle him."
"Sire," said Henry, "your kindness overpowers me; but how do you know"—