ntaineer, settled himself in an armchair, in which he soon
justified the precaution taken by his brother-in-law in keeping at a
distance.

At dawn he was awakened by Charles. As he had not undressed, it did not
take him long to finish his toilet. The King was more happy and smiling
than he ever was at the Louvre. The hours spent by him in that little
house in the Rue des Barres were his hours of sunshine.

Both men went out through the sleeping-room. The young woman was still
in bed. The child was asleep in its cradle. Both were smiling.

Charles looked at them for a moment with infinite tenderness.

Then turning to the King of Navarre:

"Henriot," said he, "if you ever hear what I did for you last night, or
if misfortune come to me, remember this child asleep in its cradle."

Then kissing both mother and child on the forehead, without giving Henry
time to question him:

"Good-by, my angels," said he, and went out.

Henry followed, deep in thought. The horses were waiting for them at the
Bastille, held by the gentlemen to whom Charles IX. had given the order.

Charles signed to Henry to mount, sprang into his own saddle, and riding
through the garden of the Arbalite, followed the outside highways.

"Where are we going?" asked Henry.

"We are going to see if the Duc d'Anjou returned for Madame de Conde
alone," replied Charles, "and if there is as much ambition as love in
his heart, which I greatly doubt."

Henry did not understand the answer, but followed Charles in silence.

They reached the Marais, and as from the shadow of the palisades they
could see all which at that time was called the Faubourg Saint Laurent,
Charles pointed out to Henry through the grayish mist of the morning
some men wrapped in great cloaks and wearing fur caps. They were on
horseback, and rode ahead of a wagon which was heavily laden. As they
drew near they became outlined more clearly, and one could see another
man in a long brown cloak, his face hidden by a French hat, riding and
talking with them.

"Ah! ah!" said Charles, smiling, "I thought so."

"Well, sire," said Henry, "if I am not mistaken, that rider in the brown
cloak is the Duc d'Anjou."

"Yes," said Charles IX. "Turn out a little, Henriot, I do not want him
to see us."

"But," asked Henry, "who are the men in gray cloaks with fur caps?"

"Those men," said Charles, "are Polish ambassadors, and in that wagon is
a crown. And now," said he, urging his horse to a gall