ar. Then my mother and myself will be accused not only of being
visionary but of being calumniators."

"What do you want, then?"

"In the name of our brotherly love I ask your Majesty to listen to me,
in the name of my devotion, which you will realize, I want you to do
nothing hastily. Act so that the real culprit, who for two years has
been betraying your Majesty in will as well as in deed, may at last be
recognized as guilty by an infallible proof, and punished as he
deserves."

Charles did not answer, but going to a window raised it. The blood was
rushing to his head.

Then turning round quickly:

"Well!" said he, "what would you do? Speak, Francois."

"Sire," said D'Alencon, "I would surround the forest of Saint Germain
with three detachments of light horse, who at a given hour, eleven
o'clock, for instance, should start out and drive every one in the
forest to the Pavilion of Francis I., which I would, as if by chance,
have indicated as the meeting-place. Then I would spur on, as if
following my falcon, to the meeting-place, where Henry should be
captured with his companions."

"The idea is good," said the King; "summon the captain of the guards."

D'Alencon drew from his doublet a silver whistle, suspended from a gold
chain, and raised it to his lips.

De Nancey appeared.

Charles gave him some orders in a low tone.

Meanwhile Acteon, the great greyhound, had dragged a book from the
table, and was tossing it about the room, making great bounds after it.

Charles turned round and uttered a terrible oath. The book was the
precious treatise on hunting, of which there existed only three copies
in the world.

The punishment was proportionate to the offence.

Charles seized a whip and gave the dog three whistling blows.

Acteon uttered a howl, and fled under a table covered with a large cloth
which served him as a hiding-place.

Charles picked up the book and saw with joy that only one leaf was gone,
and that was not a page of the text, but an engraving. He placed the
volume carefully away on a shelf where Acteon could not reach it.
D'Alencon looked anxiously at him. Now that the book had fulfilled its
dread mission he would have liked to see it out of Charles's hands.

Six o'clock struck. It was time for the King to descend to the
court-yard, already filled with horses richly caparisoned, and elegantly
dressed ladies and gentlemen. The hunters held on their wrists their
hooded falcons; some outrid