"Oh ho! Martin," cried Caboche, in a gruff and almost savage tone, "so your gay duke has got his brains knocked out at last for his fine doings."
"For which of his doings has he been so shamefully murdered?" asked Martin Grille, with as much anger in his tone as he dared to evince.
"What, don't you know?" exclaimed Caboche. "Why, it is in every body's mouth that he has been killed by Albert de Chauny, whose wife he carried off and made a harlot of. I say, well done, Albert de Chauny; and I would have done the same if I had been in his place."
"Then Monsieur De Brecy is proved innocent," said Martin Grille, eagerly.
"I know nothing about that," answered Caboche. "He may have been an accomplice, you know; but that's no business of mine. I went up to see the duke lie at the Celestins. There was a mighty crowd there of men and women; but they all made way for Caboche. He makes a handsome corpse, though his head is so knocked about; but he'll not take any more men's wives away, and now we shall have quiet days, I suppose, though I don't see what good quiet does: for whether the town is peaceful or not, men don't buy or sell nowadays half as much as they used to do."
There was a certain degree of vanity in his tone as he uttered the words, "All made way for Caboche," which was very significant; and his description of the appearance of the Duke of Orleans made Martin Grille shudder. He remained not long with his rough uncle, however; but, after having asked and answered some questions, he took advantage of a moment when Caboche himself was busy in rearranging his cutlery and counting his money, to whisper a few words to Petit Jean regarding a meeting in the evening, and then parted from him, saying simply, "Remember!"
CHAPTER XXVIII.
There was a great crowd in the court of the Hôtel d'Anjou--lackeys, and pages, and men-at-arms; but the court was a very large one, with covered galleries on either hand, and the number of retainers present was hardly seen. From time to time some great lord of the court arrived, and proceeded at once into the palace, leaving his followers to swell some of the little groups into which the whole body of the people assembled had arranged themselves. To one particular point the eyes of all present were most frequently directed, and it was only when one of the princes of the blood royal, the Dukes of Berri or Bourbon, or the King of Navarre arrived, that the mere spectators of the scene could divert their eyes from a spot where a young and handsome lad, who had not yet seen twenty years, stood in the midst of a group of the prévôt's; guard with fetters on his limbs.
By half past three o'clock, several of the princes and the Royal Council had entered the building, and were conducted at once to a large hall on the ground floor, where every thing was dark and sombre as the occasion of the meeting. The ceiling was much lower than might have been expected in a chamber of such great size; but the decorations which it displayed were rich and costly, showing the rose, an ancient emblem of the house of Anjou, in red, and green, and gold, at the corner of every panel; for the ceiling, like the rest of the room, was covered with dark oak. The walls were richly embellished; but the want of light hid the greater part of the delicate carving, and scarcely allowed a secretary, seated at the table, to see the letters on the paper on which he was writing.
Most of the members of the council had arrived; the Duke of Berri himself was present; but two very important personages had not yet appeared, namely, the Duke of Anjou (titular king of Sicily), and the Duke of Burgundy. The Duke of Berri, nevertheless, gave orders that the business of the day should proceed, while he sent a lackey to summon the Duke of Anjou; and very shortly after, that prince entered the room, inquiring, as he advanced to the table, if the prévôt; had yet arrived.