'You have never been to the King's Court?' he said presently, following up, as I judged, a train of thought in his own mind. 'At Blois, I mean.'
'No; nor do I feel anxious to visit it,' I answered. 'To tell you the truth, M. le Baron,' I continued with some warmth, 'the sooner we are beyond Blois, the better I shall be pleased. I think we run some risk there, and, besides, I do not fancy a shambles. I do not think I could see the king without thinking of the Bartholomew, nor his chamber without thinking of Guise.'
'Tut, tut!' he said, 'you have killed a man before now.'
'Many,' I answered.
'Do they trouble you?'
'No, but they were killed in fair fight,' I replied. 'That makes a difference.'
'To you,' he said drily. 'But you are not the King of France, you see. Should you ever come across him, he continued, flicking his horse's ears, a faint smile on his lips, 'I will give you a hint. Talk to him of the battles at Jarnac and Moncontour, and praise your Condé's father! As Condé lost the fight and he won it, the compliment comes home to him. The more hopelessly a man has lost his powers, my friend, the more fondly he regards them, and the more highly he prizes the victories he can no longer gain.'
'Ugh!' I muttered.
'Of the two parties at Court,' Rosny continued, calmly overlooking my ill-humour, 'trust D'Aumont and Biron and the French clique. They are true to France at any rate. But whomsoever you see consort with the two Retzs--the King of Spain's jackals as men name them--avoid him for a Spaniard and a traitor.'
'But the Retzs are Italians,' I objected peevishly.