“That I will tell you later,” Count Hannibal answered coolly.  “For the King, first.  My message is brief, M. de Biron.  Have you a mind to hold the scales in France?”

“Between?” Biron asked contemptuously.

“Between the Lorrainers and the Huguenots.”

The Grand Master scowled fiercely.  “I have played the go-between once too often,” he growled.

“It is no question of going between, it is a question of holding between,” Tavannes answered coolly.  “It is a question—­but, in a word, have you a mind, M. de Biron, to be Governor of Rochelle?  The King, having dealt the blow that has been struck to-day, looks to follow up severity, as a wise ruler should, with indulgence.  And to quiet the minds of the Rochellois he would set over them a ruler at once acceptable to them—­or war must come of it—­and faithful to his Majesty.  Such a man, M. de Biron, will in such a post be Master of the Kingdom; for he will hold the doors of Janus, and as he bridles his sea-dogs, or unchains them, there will be peace or war in France.”

“Is all that from the King’s mouth?” Biron asked with sarcasm.  But his passion had died down.  He was grown thoughtful, suspicious; he eyed the other intently as if he would read his heart.

“The offer is his, and the reflections are mine,” Tavannes answered dryly.  “Let me add one more.  The Admiral is dead.  The King of Navarre and the Prince of Conde are prisoners.  Who is now to balance the Italians and the Guises?  The Grand Master—­if he be wise and content to give the law to France from the citadel of Rochelle.”

Biron stared at the speaker in astonishment at his frankness.

“You are a bold man,” he cried at last.  “But timeo Danaos et dona ferentes,” he continued bitterly.  “You offer, sir, too much.”

“The offer is the King’s.”

“And the conditions?  The price?”

“That you remain quiet, M. de Biron.”

“In the Arsenal?”

“In the Arsenal.  And do not too openly counteract the King’s will.  That is all.”

The Grand Master looked puzzled.  “I will give up no one,” he said.  “No one!  Let that be understood.”

“The King requires no one.”

A pause.  Then, “Does M. de Guise know of the offer?” Biron inquired; and his eye grew bright.  He hated the Guises and was hated by them.  It was there he was a Huguenot.

“He has gone far to-day,” Count Hannibal answered dryly.  “And if no worse come of it should be content.  Madame Catherine knows of it.”

The Grand Master was aware that Marshal Tavannes depended on the Queen-mother; and he shrugged his shoulders.

“Ay, ’tis like her policy,” he muttered. “’Tis like her!” And pointing his guest to a cushioned chest which stood against the wall, he sat down in a chair beside the table and thought awhile, his brow wrinkled, his eyes dreaming.  By-and-by he laughed sourly.  “You have lighted the fire,” he said, “and would fain I put it out.”