Meanwhile the brother and sister had been conversing together, and had settled that the king had no suspicions, and was therefore easy to attack.  They also agreed that the first thing to be done was to organize the League more generally in the provinces, while the king abandoned his brother, who was the only enemy they had to fear, so long as Henri of Navarre occupied himself only with love affairs.

“Paris is all ready, but must wait,” said Mayenne.

At this moment M. de Mayneville entered, and announced Borromee.

“Borromee! who is he?” cried the duke.

“The man whom you sent me from Nancy, when I asked for a man of action and mind.”

“I remember; I told you he was both.  But he was called Borroville.”

“Yes, monseigneur; but now he is a monk, and Borromee.”

“Borroville a monk! and why so?”

“That is our secret, monseigneur; you shall know hereafter, but now let us see him, for his visit disquiets me.”

“Why, Borroville,” cried the duke, laughing, as he entered; “what a disguise!”

“Yes, monseigneur, I am not much at my ease in this devil of a dress, I confess; but, as it is worn in the service of her highness, I do not complain.”

“And what do you want so late?”

“I could not come sooner; I have all the priory on my hands.”

“Well! now speak.”

“M. le Duc, the king is sending succors to the Duc d’Anjou.”

“Bah! we have heard that the last three years.”

“Yes; but this time it is certain.  At two o’clock this morning, M. de Joyeuse set out for Rouen; he is to take ship to Dieppe, and convey three thousand men to Antwerp.”

“Oh! who told you that, Borroville?”

“I heard it from a man who is going to Navarre.”

“To Navarre! to Henri?”

“Yes, monseigneur.”

“And who sends him?”

“The king, with a letter.”

“What is his name?”

“Robert Briquet; he is a great friend of Gorenflot’s.”

“And an ambassador of the king’s?”

“Yes; I am sure of it; for he sent one of our monks to the Louvre to fetch the letter.”

“And he did not show you the letter?”

“The king did not give it to him; he sent it by his own messenger.”

“We must have this letter.”

“Certainly,” said the duchess.

“How was it that this did not occur to you?” said Mayneville.

“I did think of it, and wished to send one of my men, who is a perfect
Hercules, with M. Briquet, but he suspected, and dismissed him.”

“You must go yourself.”

“Impossible!”

“And why?”

“Because he knows me.”

“As a monk, but not as captain, I hope.”

“Ma foi!  I do not know; he seems to know everything.”

“What is he like?”

“He is tall—­all nerves, muscles and bones; silent, but mocking.”