“Am I to believe that Bourbon has not merely rebelled against me, but that the traitor has fled into Spain and made terms with Charles?”
“Your Majesty’s information is precise.”
“What was the manner of his flight?”
“The Duke, Sire, waited at his fortress of Chantelle until the arrival of Monsieur de Pompérant from your Majesty’s Court at Chambord, feigning sickness and remaining shut up within his apartments. After Monsieur de Pompérant’s arrival, a litter was ordered to await his pleasure, and De Pompérant, dressed in the clothes of the Duke and with his face concealed by a hood, was carried into the litter, which started for Moulins, travelling slowly. Meanwhile Bourbon, accompanied by a band of gentlemen, was galloping on the road to the frontier. He was last seen at Saint-Jean de Luz, in the Pyrenees.”
“By our Lady!” exclaims Francis, “such treason is a blot upon knighthood. Bourbon, a man whom we had made as great as ourselves!”
“The Duke, Sire, left a message for your Majesty.”
“A message! Where? and who bore it?”
“De Pompérant, Sire, who has already been arrested at Moulins. The Duke begged your Majesty to take back the sword which you had given him, and prayed you to send for the badge which he left hanging at the head of his bed at Chantelle.”
“Diable! does the villain dare to point his jests at his sovereign?” and Francis flushes to the roots of his hair with passion. “I wish I had him face to face in a fair field”—and he lays his hand on the hilt of his sword;—“but no,” he adds in a calmer voice, “a traitor’s blood would but soil my weapon. Let him carry his perfidy into Spain—’twill suit the Emperor; I am well rid of him. Are there many accomplices, Bonnivet?”
“About two hundred, Sire.”