“If he did not incessantly persecute his poor sister, others would not dream of it.  Do you believe that if the king of Spain had not heard of the public insult offered to the queen, when a captain of the guards searched her litter, that he would have proposed to me to repudiate her?”

“I see with pleasure, sire,” replied Chicot, “that all attempts will be useless, and that nothing can interrupt the harmony that exists between the queen and yourself.”

“Oh, my friend, the interest they have in making us quarrel is too clear.”

“I confess to you, sire, that I am not so penetrating as you are.”

“Doubtless Henri would be delighted if I repudiated his sister.”

“How so?  Pray explain to me.”

“You know they forgot to pay me my wife’s dowry.”

“I guessed as much, sire.”

“This dowry was to consist of 300,000 golden crowns and some towns; among others, Cahors.”

“A pretty town, mordieu!”

“I have claimed, not the money, but Cahors.”

“Ventre de biche! sire, in your place, I should have done the same.”

“And that is why—­do you understand now?”

“No, indeed, sire.”

“Why they wish me to quarrel with my wife and repudiate her.  No wife, no dowry, no more 300,000 crowns, no Cahors.  It is one way of eluding a promise, and Henri is clever in laying snares.”

“You would much like to hold Cahors, sire?”

“Doubtless; for after all, what is my principality of Bearn?  A poor little place, clipped by the avarice of my mother-in-law and brother-in-law.”

“While Cahors—­”

“Cahors would be my rampart, the safeguard of my religion.”

“Well, sire, go into mourning for Cahors; for, whether you break with Madame Marguerite or not, the king of France will never give it to you, and unless you take it—­”

“Oh, I would soon take it, if it was not so strong, and, above all, if I did not hate war.”

“Cahors is impregnable, sire.”

“Oh! impregnable!  But if I had an army, which I have not—­”

“Listen, sire.  We are not here to flatter each other.  To take Cahors, which is held by M. de Vesin, one must be a Hannibal or a Caesar; and your majesty—­”

“Well?” said Henri, with a smile.

“Has just said, you do not like war.”

Henri sighed, and his eyes flashed for a minute; then he said: 

“It is true I have never drawn the sword, and perhaps never shall.  I am a king of straw, a man of peace; but, by a singular contrast, I love to think of warlike things—­that is in my blood.  St. Louis, my ancestor, pious by education and gentle by nature, became on occasion a brave soldier and a skillful swordsman.  Let us talk, if you please, of M. Vesin, who is a Caesar and a Hannibal.”

“Sire, pardon me if I have wounded or annoyed you.  I spoke only of M. de Vesin to extinguish all hope in your heart.  Cahors, you see, is so well guarded because it is the key of the south.”