'Alencon had disappeared from his
window, and it was evident that he suspected something.

In fact, scarcely had De Mouy disappeared through the gate before the
Duc d'Alencon came in sight. A real Swiss was in De Mouy's place.
D'Alencon looked carefully at the new sentinel; then turning to Henry:

"This is not the man you were talking with just now, is it, brother?"

"The other is a young man who belongs to my household and whom I had
enter the Swiss guards. I have just given him a commission and he has
gone to carry it out."

"Ah!" said the duke, as if this reply sufficed. "And how is Marguerite?"

"I am going to ask her, brother."

"Have you not seen her since yesterday?"

"No. I went to her about eleven o'clock last night, but Gillonne told me
that she was tired and had gone to sleep."

"You will not find her in her room. She has gone out."

"Oh!" said Henry. "Very likely. She was to go to the _Convent de
l'Annonciade_."

There was no way of carrying the conversation further, as Henry had
seemingly made up his mind simply to answer. The two brothers-in-law
therefore departed, the Duc d'Alencon to go for news, he said, the King
of Navarre to return to his room.

Henry had been there scarcely five minutes when he heard a knock at the
door.

"Who is it?" he asked.

"Sire," replied a voice which Henry recognized as that of De Mouy, "it
is the answer from the saddler."

Henry, visibly moved, bade the young man enter and closed the door
behind him.

"Is it you, De Mouy?" said he; "I hoped that you would reflect."

"Sire," replied De Mouy, "I have reflected for three months; that is
long enough. Now it is time to act." Henry made a gesture of impatience.

"Fear nothing, sire, we are alone, and I will make haste, for time is
precious. Your majesty can tell in a word all that the events of the
year have lost to the cause of religion. Let us be clear, brief, and
frank."

"I am listening, my good De Mouy," replied Henry, seeing that it was
impossible for him to elude the explanation.

"Is it true that your majesty has abjured the Protestant religion?"

"It is true," said Henry.

"Yes, but is it with your lips or at heart?"

"One is always grateful to God when he saves our life," replied Henry,
turning the question as he had a habit of doing in such cases, "and God
has evidently saved me from this cruel danger."

"Sire," resumed De Mouy, "let us admit one thing."

"What?"

"That your abjuring is