Bellièvre, a grave lawyer, looked astounded at the King’s vehemence.
“Surely, Sire, you cannot apprehend any personal danger to the illustrious lady?” said he, with hesitation. “The Princesse de Condé is with her husband, he will doubtless act as is fitting.”
“Ventre Saint Gris!” cried the King, boiling with passion. “I want no comments—the remedy. What is the remedy? How can we rescue her?”
“Well, Sire, if you have reason to misdoubt the good faith of the Prince de Condé, if her highness be in any danger, you must issue edicts, proclaim fines, and denounce all persons who harbour and abet him; but I would advise your Majesty to pause.”
Henry turned away with a violent gesture.
“Now, Villeroy, speak. If the Princess is out of the kingdom, what is to be done?”
“Your Majesty can do nothing then but through your ambassadors. Representation must be made to the Court of the country whither the Prince has fled. You must demand the Prince’s restitution as a rebel.”
The King shrugged his shoulders with infinite disgust. Such slow measures little suited his impetuous humour.
“Now, President Jeannin,” said Henry, “let us hear your opinion. These other counsels are too lengthy. God knows what mischief may ere this have happened.”
“I advise your Majesty,” replied the President, “to send a trusty officer after the Prince and bring him back along with his wife, if within the realm. He is doubtless on his way to Flanders. If he has passed the frontier, the Archduke, who would not willingly offend your Majesty, will, doubtless, dismiss the Prince at your desire.”