bourgeois spoken?"

"Yes, and he is now speaking again."

"Hold your tongue up there and go in," cried Joyeuse, out of humor.
"Diable! you have had your serenade, so keep quiet."

"My serenade! that is just what I want to know the meaning of; to whom
is it addressed?"

"To your daughter."

"I have none."--"To your wife, then."

"Thank God, I am not married."

"Then to yourself, and if you do not go in--" cried Joyeuse, advancing
with a menacing air.

"Ventre de biche! but if the music be for me--"

"Old fool!" growled Joyeuse. "If you do not go in and hide your ugly
face they shall break their instruments over your head."

"Let the man alone, brother," said Henri, "the fact is, he must be very
much astonished."

"Oh! but if we get up a quarrel, perhaps she will look to see what is
the matter; we will burn his house down, if necessary."

"No, for pity's sake, brother, do not let us force her attention; we are
beaten, and must submit."

Chicot, who heard all, was mentally preparing the means of defense, but
Joyeuse yielded to his brother's request, and dismissed the pages and
musicians.

Then he said to his brother, "I am in despair; all conspires against
us."

"What do you mean?"

"I have no longer time to aid you."

"I see now that you are in traveling dress; I did not remark it before."

"I set off to-night for Antwerp, by desire of the king."

"When did he give you the order?"

"This evening."

"Mon Dieu!"

"Come with me, I entreat."

"Do you order me, brother?" said Henri, turning pale at the thought.

"No; I only beg you."

"Thank you, brother. If I were forced to give up passing my nights under
this window."

"Well?"

"I should die."

"You are mad."

"My heart is here, brother; my life is here."

Joyeuse crossed his arms with a mixture of anger and pity. "If our
father," he said, "begged you to let yourself be attended by Miron, who
is at once a philosopher and a doctor?"

"I should reply to my father that I am well and that my brain is sound,
and that Miron cannot cure love sickness."

"Well, then, Henri, I must make the best of it. She is but a woman, and
at my return I hope to see you more joyous than myself."

"Yes, yes, my good brother, I shall be cured--I shall be happy, thanks
to your friendship, which is my most precious possession."

"After your love."

"Before my life."

Joyeuse, much touched, interrupted him.

"Let us go, brother," said he.

"Yes, b