"Sire, si vous laissez, comme Charles desire,
Comme Diane fait, par trop vous gouverner,
Fondre, pétrir, mollir, refondre et retourner,
Sire, vous n'êtes plus, vous n'êtes plus que cire.'"[3]
Diane did not lose her self-possession in the least.
"A pretty piece of foolery," said she; "but it credits me with much more influence over his Majesty's mind than I possess, alas!"
"Ah, Madame," rejoined the king, "you ought not to make a bad use of that influence just because you know that you possess it."
"But do I really possess it, Sire?" said Diane, in her most winning tones. "If it be so, your Majesty will grant what I ask in behalf of the constable."
"Very well," said the king, impatiently; "now I trust you will leave me to my gloomy forebodings and my anxiety."
The cardinal, in the face of such weakness, could only raise his eyes imploringly to heaven. Diane darted a triumphant glance at him.
"Thanks, your Majesty," she said to the king. "I obey you and withdraw; but pray dismiss your anxiety and dread, Sire, for victory loves the generous-hearted, and I firmly believe that you will be victorious."
"Ah, I accept the augury, Diane," replied Henri. "With what transports of joy would I receive information to that effect! For a long time I have not slept; I have hardly existed. Mon Dieu, how slight after all is the power of kings! To think that I have at this moment no means of knowing what is transpiring at Calais! You may well say, Monsieur le Cardinal, that your brother's silence is most alarming. Ah, for news from Calais! Who will bring it to me? In God's name, who?"
An usher entered, and bowing low before the king as the last word fell from his lips, announced in a loud voice,—