“Why did she not ask you for the moon, sire, as you are such a complaisant husband?”

“I would have tried for it, Chicot, I love my dear Margot so much!”

“You will have quite enough to do with Cahors, and we shall see how you will get out of it.”

“Ah! yes, the moment is critical and very disagreeable.  Ah!  I am not brave, and my nature revolts at every cannonade.  Chicot, my friend, do not laugh too much at the poor Bearnais, your compatriot and friend.  If I am afraid and you find it out, tell no one.”

“If you are afraid?”

“Yes.”

“Are you, then, afraid of being afraid?”

“I am.”

“But then, ventre de biche, why the devil do you undertake such a thing?”

“I must.”

“M. de Vezin is a terrible person.”

“I know it well.”

“Who gives quarter to no one.”

“You think so, Chicot?”

“I am sure of it; red plume or white, he will not care, but cry, Fire!”

“You say that for my white feather, Chicot.”

“Yes, sire, and as you are the only one who wears that color—­”

“Well!”

“I would take it off.”

“But I put it on that I might be recognized.”

“Then you will keep it?”

“Yes, decidedly.”  And Henri trembled again as he said it.

“Come, sire,” said Chicot, who did not understand this difference between words and gestures, “there is still time; do not commit a folly; you cannot mount on horseback in that state.”

“Am I, then, very pale, Chicot?”

“As pale as death, sire.”

“Good.”

“How good?”

At this moment the noise of cannon and a furious fire of musketry was heard; it was M. de Vezin’s reply to the summons to surrender given by Mornay.

“Hem!” said Chicot, “what do you think of this music, sire?”

“It makes me cold in the marrow of my bones,” replied Henri.  “Here, my horse! my horse!” cried he.

Chicot looked and listened, unable to understand him.  Henry mounted, and then said—­

“Come, Chicot, get on horseback too; you are not a warrior, either, are you?”

“No, sire.”

“Well, come, we will be afraid together; come and see, my friend.  A good horse here, for M. Chicot.”

Henri set off at full gallop, and Chicot followed him.  On arriving in front of his little army, Henri raised his visor, and cried: 

“Out with the banner! out with the new banner!”

They drew forth the banner, which had the double scutcheon of Navarre and Bourbon; it was white, and had chains of gold on one side, and fleur-de-lis on the other.

Again the cannon from Cahors were fired, and the balls tore through a file of infantry near the king.

“Ventre St. Gris! did you see, Chicot?” said the king, whose teeth chattered.

“He will be ill,” thought Chicot.