The anger of the duke was excessive. He spoke loud and sharply, reproached his young secretary for presuming upon his kindness and condescension, and reproved him in no very measured terms for daring to intermeddle with his affairs; and Jean Charost, feeling at his heart that he had most assuredly exceeded, perhaps, the bounds of due respect, had come to conclusions for which there was no apparent foundation, and had suffered his suspicions to display themselves offensively, stood completely cowed before the prince. When the duke at length stopped, he answered, in a tone of sincere grief, "I feel that I have erred, sir, greatly erred, and that I should have obeyed your commands without even presuming to judge of them. Pray remember, however, that I am very young, perhaps too young for the important post I fill. If your highness dismisses me from your service, I can not be surprised; but believe me, sir, wherever I go, I shall carry with me the same feelings of gratitude and affection which had no small share in prompting the very conduct which has given you just offense."
"Affection and gratitude!" said the duke, still in an angry tone. "What can affection and gratitude have to do with disobedience to my commands, and impertinent intrusion into my affairs?"
"They might, sir," answered Jean Charost; "for your highness communicated to me at a former time some regrets, and I witnessed the happiness and calm of mind which followed the noble impulses that prompted them. Gratitude and affection, then, made me grieve to think that this very letter which I hold in my hand might give cause to fresh regrets, or perhaps to serious perils; for I am bound to say that I doubt this lady; that I doubt her affection or friendship for your highness; that I am sure she is linked most closely to your enemies."
"You should not have judged of my acts at all," replied the Duke of Orleans. "What I do not communicate to you, you have no business to investigate. Your judgment of the lady may be right or wrong; but in your judgment of my conduct you are altogether wrong. There is nothing in that note which I ever can regret, and, could you see its contents, you would learn at once the danger and presumption of intruding into what does not concern you. To give you the lesson, I must not sacrifice my dignity; and though, in consideration of your youth, your inexperience, and your good intentions, I will overlook your error in the present instance, remember it must not be repeated."
Jean Charost moved toward the door, while the duke remained in thought; but, before he reached it, the prince's voice was heard, exclaiming, in a more placable tone, "De Brecy, De Brecy, do you know the way?"
"As little in this case as in the last," replied Jean Charost, with a faint smile.
"Come hither, come hither, poor youth," cried the duke, holding out his hand to him good-humoredly. "There; think no more of it. All young men will be fools now and then. Now go and get a horse. You will find my mule saddled in the court. Wait there till I come. I am going to visit my fair sister, the queen, who is ill at the Hôtel Barbette, and we pass not far from the place to which you are going. I will direct you, so that you can not mistake."
Jean Charost hurried away, and was ready in a few minutes. In the court he found a cream-colored mule richly caparisoned, and two horses saddled, with a few attendants on foot around; but the duke had not yet appeared. When he did come, four of the party mounted, and rode slowly on through the moonlight streets of Paris, which were now silent, and almost deserted. After going about half a mile, the duke reined in his mule, and pointing down another street which branched off on the right, directed Jean Charost to follow it, and take the second turning on the left. "The first hotel," he added, "on the right is the house you want. Then return to this street, follow it out to the end, and you will see the Hôtel Barbette before you. Bring me thither an account of your reception."
His tone was grave, and even melancholy; and Jean Charost merely bowed his head in silence. He gave one glance at the duke's face, from which all trace of anger had passed away, and then they parted--never to meet again.