For success in that enterprise would definitely establish the Duc de Guise in the first rank, and relegate him to the second. The salvation of France would be the ruin of the poor constable, and we must confess that his selfishness had always taken precedence of his patriotism.
So he was very uncourteous to the beautiful favorite who advanced smilingly toward him.
Our readers will remember the inexplicable and depraved passion which the mistress of the most courtly and gallant king in Christendom entertained for this brutal veteran.
"What is the trouble with my old soldier to-day?" she asked in her most winning tones.
"Ah, so you mock me too, do you, Madame?" said Montmorency, sharply.
"I mock you, my friend! You don't realize what you are saying."
"I was thinking of what you said yourself," rejoined the constable, with a muttered curse. "You called me your old soldier. Old? yes, that is true; I am no longer a beau of twenty years. Soldier? no. You can see plainly that I am no longer considered good for anything except to show myself with my parade sword in the halls of the Louvre."
"Do not speak so," said the favorite, with an affectionate smile. "Are you not still the constable?"
"What does a constable amount to, when there is a lieutenant-general of the kingdom?"
"The latter title expires with the circumstances which called it into existence, while yours, being attached, with no power of revocation, to the highest military dignity in the kingdom, will last as long as your life."