"How many did you say?" demanded the Duke.
"Only two at present, your Highness," replied the surgeon; "but three more sinking, I think."
"All in the same house?" said the Duke.
"No, my Lord, in different houses," replied the man; "but near the same spot."
"The only thing to be done," replied the Duke, "is to draw a barrier across the end of that street, and mark the houses with a white cross."
"What is the matter, your Highness?" said Laval, from the other end of the table.
"Oh, nothing," replied the Duke of Guise, "only a few cases of the plague; and because it was very bad last autumn at Morfontaine, the people here have got into a fright."
The Duke of Guise concluded his supper as lightly and gaily as if nothing had happened, for his mind had become so accustomed to deal with and to contemplate things of great moment, that they made not that impression upon him which they do upon those whose course is laid in a smoother and evener path.
Charles of Montsoreau, however, could not feel in the same way. "War and pestilence!" he thought, "bloodshed and death! These are the common every-day ideas of men in this unhappy country, now. Perhaps famine may be added some day soon, and yet there will be light laughter, and merriment, and jest. Well, let it be so. Why should we cast away enjoyment because it can but be small? Life is at best but made up of chequered visions: let us enjoy the bright ones while we may, and make the dark ones short if we can."
While he thus thought, the Duke of Guise whispered a word or two to the Count of Brissac, and that gentleman nodded to Laval. Shortly after, both rose; and, with an air of affected unwillingness, the Chevalier d'Aumale followed their example. The two or three other gentlemen who had partaken of the meal, but who either from inferior situation or natural taciturnity had mingled but little in the conversation, left the table at the same time, and accompanied the others out of the room, so that the Duke of Guise and the young Count were left alone.