beautiful chateau of Chenonceaux.  If it hadn’t been for the Connetable, the duchess might have been strangled.  Back, back, my son; don’t put yourself in the hands of that Italian, who has no passion except in her brain; and that’s a bad kind of woman!  Yes, what they are sending you to do at court may give you a very bad headache,” cried the father, seeing that Christophe was about to reply.  “My son, I have plans for your future which you will not upset by making yourself useful to Queen Catherine; but, heavens and earth! don’t risk your head.  Messieurs de Guise would cut it off as easily as the Burgundian cuts a turnip, and then those persons who are now employing you will disown you utterly.”

“I know that, father,” said Christophe.

“What! are you really so strong, my son?  You know it, and are willing to risk all?”

“Yes, father.”

“By the powers above us!” cried the father, pressing his son in his arms, “we can understand each other; you are worthy of your father.  My child, you’ll be the honor of the family, and I see that your old father can speak plainly with you.  But do not be more Huguenot than Messieurs de Coligny.  Never draw your sword; be a pen man; keep to your future role of lawyer.  Now, then, tell me nothing until after you have succeeded.  If I do not hear from you by the fourth day after you reach Blois, that silence will tell me that you are in some danger.  The old man will go to save the young one.  I have not sold furs for thirty-two years without a good knowledge of the wrong side of court robes.  I have the means of making my way through many doors.”

Christophe opened his eyes very wide as he heard his father talking thus; but he thought there might be some parental trap in it, and he made no reply further than to say:—­

“Well, make out the bill, and write a letter to the queen; I must start at once, or the greatest misfortunes may happen.”

“Start?  How?”

“I shall buy a horse.  Write at once, in God’s name.”

“Hey! mother! give your son some money,” cried the furrier to his wife.

The mother returned, went to her chest, took out a purse of gold, and gave it to Christophe, who kissed her with emotion.

“The bill was all ready,” said his father; “here it is.  I will write the letter at once.”

Christophe took the bill and put it in his pocket.

“But you will sup with us, at any rate,” said the old man.  “In such a crisis you ought to exchange rings with Lallier’s daughter.”

“Very well, I will go and fetch her,” said Christophe.

The young man was distrustful of his father’s stability in the matter.  The old man’s character was not yet fully known to him.  He ran up to his room, dressed himself, took a valise, came downstairs softly and laid it on a counter in the shop, together with his rapier and cloak.

“What the devil are you doing?” asked his father, hearing him.