“The poor Henri de Navarre,” as Dumas called him, “was to receive as his wife’s dowry three hundred thousand golden crowns and some towns, among them Cahors.
“‘A pretty town, mordieu!’
“‘I have claimed not the money, but Cahors.’
“‘You would much like to hold Cahors, Sire?’
“‘Doubtless; for, after all, what is my principality of Béarn? A poor little place, clipped by the avarice of my mother-in-law and brother-in-law.’
“‘While Cahors—’
“‘Cahors would be my rampart, the safeguard of my religion.’
“‘Well, Sire, go into mourning for Cahors; for, whether you break with Madame Marguerite or not, the King of France will never give it to you, and unless you take it—’
“‘Oh, I would soon take it, if it was not so strong, and, above all, if I did not hate war.’
“‘Cahors is impregnable, Sire.’