"Oh, think no more about that: it is not possible."
Then turning to Réné:
"Thanks," said the young man, disguising his voice, "thanks; take this purse."
"Come, count," said Catharine, intentionally giving her son this title to throw Réné off the track.
They left.
"Oh, mother, you see," said Henry, "an accident—and if an accident should happen, I shall not be on hand; I shall be four hundred leagues from you"—
"Four hundred leagues are accomplished in eight days, my son."
"Yes; but how do I know whether those Poles will let me come back? If I could only wait, mother!"
"Who knows?" said Catharine; "might not this accident of which Réné speaks be the one which since yesterday has laid the King on a bed of pain? Listen, return by yourself, my child. I shall go back by the private door of the monastery of the Augustines. My suite is waiting for me in this convent. Go, now, Henry, go, and keep from irritating your brother in case you see him."