"Yes, or they were holding out two days ago, at all events," said Charles; "but the fortifications were in a pitiable condition, and the starving inhabitants were talking of capitulation; and with St. Quentin in the hands of the Spaniard to-day, Paris will be his in a week. Never mind, Sire! I will write to my brother, and you need not to be told that whatever man can do, Monsieur de Guise will do."
And the cardinal, saluting the king and Madame Diane, entered the closet to write the letter which Henri desired.
Gabriel had remained apart, thinking deeply and unnoticed. His generous young heart was deeply moved by contemplation of the terrible extremity to which France was reduced. He forgot that it was Monsieur de Montmorency, his bitterest enemy, who had been beaten, wounded, and captured. For the moment he saw in him only the commander of the French forces. In fact, he thought almost as much of his country's danger as of his father's suffering. The noble youth had a sympathetic heart, which was easily aroused by deep feeling, and he pitied all who were in distress; and when the king, after the cardinal had left the room, sank back despairingly upon his couch, with his head in his hands, crying aloud,—
"Oh, St. Quentin! on thee now hangs the destiny of France! St. Quentin, my noble city! If thou canst still resist but for one short week, Monsieur de Guise will have time to return, and the defence of thy faithful walls be organized anew! Whereas if they fall, the foe will march upon Paris, and all will be lost. St. Quentin, oh, I would give thee a new privilege for each hour of resistance, and a diamond for each of thy crumbling stones, if thou couldst hold out only one week more!"
"Sire, it shall hold out, and more than a week!" said Gabriel, coming forward.
He had made his resolution; and a sublime resolution it was!
"Monsieur d'Exmès!" cried Henri and Diane, in the same breath,—the king in wonder, and Diane with contempt.
"How did you come here, Monsieur?" asked the king, sternly.
"Sire, I entered with his Eminence."
"That's a different matter," said Henri; "but what were you saying, pray, Monsieur d'Exmès?—that St. Quentin might hold out, I think."