The constable, pale with anger and jealousy, thought that he might at least hope to find some comfort from Diane de Poitiers. But the favorite also received him very coldly; and when Montmorency complained of such a reception, and gave voice to his fear that his absence had been a very bad thing for him, and that some more fortunate man than he had succeeded him in the good graces of the duchess, Madame de Poitiers rejoined impertinently,—
"Dame! of course you know the new by-word of the Parisian populace?"
"I arrived but now, Madame; and I do not know," the constable began hesitatingly.
"Oh, well! they say now, this scandal-loving populace, 'This is the motto of St. Laurent: he who forsakes his post, loses it.'"
The constable, with a blanched face, saluted the duchess, and left the Louvre with death at his heart.
When he reached his hotel and was alone in his own room, he cast his hat violently on the floor.
"Oh, these kings and these women!" he cried. "An ungrateful lot they are! They care for nothing but success."
"Monseigneur," said his valet, "there is a man asking leave to speak to you."
"Let him go to the devil!" retorted the constable. "I am in fine condition to receive visitors! Send him to Monsieur de Guise."
"Monseigneur, this man begged me to tell you his name, which he says is Arnauld du Thill."