"A spectacle so divine, in fact, Pierre," said Jean Peuquoy, lowering his voice, "that if, despite the strength of the position, some bold adventurer should try to scale the side of your Octagonal Tower, you would not see him, I'll wager, so deeply absorbed would you be in contemplating it."
Pierre looked wonderingly at his cousin.
"I should not see him, to be sure," he replied after a moment's hesitation, "for I should know that no one but a Frenchman could have any interest in getting into the city; and since I am under constraint, I have no duty toward those who constrain me,—in tact, rather than repulse the assailant, I might perhaps assist him to get in."
"Well said, Pierre!" cried Jean. "You see, Monseigneur, that Pierre is a devoted Frenchman," he added, addressing Gabriel.
"Yes, indeed I do, Master," replied the latter, still paying little heed in spite of himself to an interview which seemed to him of no use. "I see that he is; but alas! what is the good of his devotion?"
"What good? I am going to tell you," was Jean's response; "for I think it is my turn now to speak. Well, then, Monsieur le Vicomte, if you choose, we can take our revenge for St. Quentin here at Calais. The English, relying upon their two centuries of possession, are slumbering in false security; this sleepy confidence will be their ruin. Monseigneur can see that we have auxiliaries within the town always ready. Let us carefully mature plans; let your intervention with the powers that he come to our aid, and my reason, even more surely than my instinct, tells me that a bold stroke will make us masters of the town. You understand me, do you not, Monseigneur?"
"Yes, yes, to be sure!" Gabriel replied, having actually heard nothing, but being aroused by this direct appeal from his revery. "Yes, your cousin wishes to return, does he not, to our fair kingdom of France,—to be transferred to some French town, Amiens, for instance? Very well; I will speak to my Lord Wentworth about it, and to Monsieur de Guise as well. The thing may easily be arranged; and my assistance, which you request, shall not fail you. Go on, my friend; I am quite at your service. Certainly I am listening."
And again he relapsed into his omnipotent distraction. For the voice he was listening to at that moment was not, in truth, Jean Peuquoy's; no, it was the voice of King Henri in his own heart, giving the order, upon hearing the admiral's account of the siege of St. Quentin, to release the Comte de Montgommery on the spot. Again, it was the voice of his father, proving to him (for he was still gloomy and jealous) that Diane was indeed the daughter of his becrowned rival. Finally, it was the voice of Diane herself, which, after so many bitter trials, was able to say to him, and which he could hear give forth those divine words of sweetest meaning, "Truly I love you!"
It is easy to understand that while dreaming such delightful dreams as these, he could hardly listen to the daring and confident schemes of the worthy Jean.
The solemn burgher appeared somewhat hurt that Gabriel had vouchsafed so little attention to a scheme which certainly did not lack grandeur and courage, and it was with some chagrin that he rejoined.