‘If your Majesty,’ Rosny answered respectfully, ‘would accept the aid my master proffers, I venture to think that they would vanish the quicker.’
‘You think so,’ Henry rejoined. ‘Well, give me your shoulder. Let us walk a little.’ And, signing to Rambouillet to leave him, he began to walk up and down with M. de Rosny, talking familiarly with him in an undertone.
Only such scraps of the conversation as fell from them when they turned at my end of the gallery now reached me. Patching these together, however, I managed to understand somewhat. At one turn I heard the king say, ‘But then Turenne offers—’ At the next, ‘Trust him? Well, I do not know why I should not. He promises—’ Then ‘A Republic, Rosny? That his plan? Pooh! he dare not. He could not. France is a kingdom by the ordinance of God in my family.’
I gathered from these and other chance words, which I have since forgotten, that M. de Rosny was pressing the king to accept the help of the King of Navarre, and warning him against the insidious offers of the Vicomte de Turenne. The mention of a Republic, however, seemed to excite his Majesty’s wrath rather against Rosny for presuming to refer to such a thing than against Turenne, to whom he refused to credit it. He paused near my end of the promenade.
‘Prove it!’ he said angrily. ‘But can you prove it? Can you prove it? Mind you, I will take no hearsay evidence, sir. Now, there is Turenne’s agent here—you did not know, I dare say, that he had an agent here?’
‘You refer, sire, to M. de Bruhl,’ Rosny answered, without hesitation. ‘I know him, sire.’
‘I think you are the devil,’ Henry answered, looking curiously at him. ‘You seem to know most things. But mind you, my friend, he speaks me fairly, and I will not take this on hearsay even from your master. Though,’ he added after pausing a moment, ‘I love him.’
‘And he, your Majesty. He desires only to prove it.’
‘Yes, I know, I know,’ the king answered fretfully. ‘I believes he does. I believe he does wish me well. But there will be a devil of an outcry among my people. And Turenne gives fair words too. And I do not know,’ he continued, fidgeting with his cup and ball, ‘that it might not suit me better to agree with him, you see.’
I saw M. de Rosny draw himself up. ‘Dare I speak openly to you, sire,’ he said, with less respect and more energy than he had hitherto used. ‘As I should to my master?’