the means.  She sent for one of her secretaries, an adept in all arts necessary for the perfect government of a kingdom, and ordered him to give her secretly a false message during the supper.  Then came the repast, which the lady did not touch, since her heart had swollen like a sponge, and so diminished her stomach, for she kept thinking of this handsome and desirable man, having no appetite save for him.  Jacques did not fail to make a good meal for many reasons.  The messenger came, madame began to storm, and to knit her brows after the manner of the late king, and to say, “Is there never to be peace in this land?  Pasques Dieu! can we not have one quiet evening?” Then she rose and strode about the room.  “Ho there!  My horse!  Where is Monsieur de Vieilleville, my squire?  Ah, he is in Picardy.  D’Estouteville, you will rejoin me with my household at the Chateau d’Amboise....”  And looking at Jacques, she said, “You shall be my squire, Sieur de Beaune.  You wish to serve the state.  The occasion is a good one.  Pasques Dieu! come!  There are rebels to subdue, and faithful knights are needed.”

In less time than an old beggar would have taken to say thank you, the horses were bridled, saddled, and ready.  Madame was on her mare, and the Tourainian at her side, galloping at full speed to her castle at Amboise, followed by the men-at-arms.  To be brief and come to the facts without further commentary, the De Beaune was lodged not twenty yards from Madame, far from prying eyes.  The courtiers and the household, much astonished, ran about inquiring from what quarter the danger might be expected; but our hero, taken at his word, knew well enough where to find it.  The virtue of the Regent, well known in the kingdom, saved her from suspicion, since she was supposed to be as impregnable as the Chateau de Peronne.  At curfew, when everything was shut, both ears and eyes, and the castle silent, Madame de Beaujeu sent away her handmaid, and called for her squire.  The squire came.  Then the lady and the adventurer sat side by side upon a velvet couch, in the shadow of a lofty fireplace, and the curious Regent, with a tender voice, asked of Jacques “Are you bruised?  It was very wrong of me to make a knight, wounded by one on my servants, ride twelve miles.  I was so anxious about it that I would not go to bed without having seen you.  Do you suffer?”

“I suffer with impatience,” said he of the dozen, thinking it would not do to appear reluctant.  “I see well,” continued he, “my noble and beautiful mistress, that your servant has found favour in your sight.”

“There, there!” replied she; “did you not tell a story when you said—­”

“What?” said he.

“Why, that you had followed me dozens of times to churches, and other places to which I went.”

“Certainly,” said he.

“I am astonished,” replied the Regent, “never to have seen until today a noble youth whose courage is so apparent in his countenance.  I am not ashamed of that which you heard me say when I believed you dead.  You are agreeable to me, you please me, and you wish to do well.”