“One month,” echoed the other seigneurs, “that is sufficient.”
“Gentlemen, we are five,” said the king,—“five men of honor. If any betrayal takes place, we shall know on whom to avenge it.”
The three strangers kissed the hand of Charles IX. and took leave of him with every mark of the utmost respect. As the king recrossed the Seine, four o’clock was ringing from the clock-tower of the Louvre. Lights were on in the queen-mother’s room; she had not yet gone to bed.
“My mother is still on the watch,” said Charles to the Comte de Solern.
“She has her forge as you have yours,” remarked the German.
“Dear count, what do you think of a king who is reduced to become a conspirator?” said Charles IX., bitterly, after a pause.
“I think, sire, that if you would allow me to fling that woman into the river, as your young cousin said, France would soon be at peace.”
“What! a parricide in addition to the Saint-Bartholomew, count?” cried the king. “No, no! I will exile her. Once fallen, my mother will no longer have either servants or partisans.”
“Well, then, sire,” replied the Comte de Solern, “give me the order to arrest her at once and take her out of the kingdom; for to-morrow she will have forced you to change your mind.”
“Come to my forge,” said the king, “no one can overhear us there; besides, I don’t want my mother to suspect the capture of the Ruggieri. If she knows I am in my work-shop she’ll suppose nothing, and we can consult about the proper measures for her arrest.”