“Pooh! a fool who speaks to me cap in hand!” replied the duke.  “The coquetries of that Florentine woman seem to blind your eyes—­”

“Oh! as for that,” exclaimed the priest, “if I do play the gallant with her it is only that I may read to the bottom of her heart.”

“She has no heart,” said the duke, sharply; “she is even more ambitious than you and I.”

“You are a brave soldier,” said the cardinal; “but, believe me, I distance you in this matter.  I have had Catherine watched by Mary Stuart long before you even suspected her.  She has no more religion than my shoe; if she is not the soul of this plot it is not for want of will.  But we shall now be able to test her on the scene itself, and find out then how she stands by us.  Up to this time, however, I am certain she has held no communication whatever with the heretics.”

“Well, it is time now to reveal the whole plot to the king, and to the queen-mother, who, you say, knows nothing of it,—­that is the sole proof of her innocence; perhaps the conspirators have waited till the last moment, expecting to dazzle her with the probabilities of success.  La Renaudie must soon discover by my arrangements that we are warned.  Last night Nemours was to follow detachments of the Reformers who are pouring in along the cross-roads, and the conspirators will be forced to attack us at Amboise, which place I intend to let them enter.  Here,” added the duke, pointing to three sides of the rock on which the chateau de Blois is built; “we should have an assault without any result; the Huguenots could come and go at will.  Blois is an open hall with four entrances; whereas Amboise is a sack with a single mouth.”

“I shall not leave Catherine’s side,” said the cardinal.

“We have made a blunder,” remarked the duke, who was playing with his dagger, tossing it into the air and catching it by the hilt.  “We ought to have treated her as we did the Reformers,—­given her complete freedom of action and caught her in the act.”

The cardinal looked at his brother for an instant and shook his head.

“What does Pardaillan want?” said the duke, observing the approach of the young nobleman who was later to become celebrated by his encounter with La Renaudie, in which they both lost their lives.

“Monseigneur, a man sent by the queen’s furrier is at the gate, and says he has an ermine suit to convey to her.  Am I to let him enter?”

“Ah! yes,—­the ermine coat she spoke of yesterday,” returned the cardinal; “let the shop-fellow pass; she will want the garment for the voyage down the Loire.”

“How did he get here without being stopped until he reached the gate?” asked the duke.

“I do not know,” replied Pardaillan.

“I’ll ask to see him when he is with the queen,” thought the Balafre.  “Let him wait in the salle des gardes,” he said aloud.  “Is he young, Pardaillan?”

“Yes, monseigneur; he says he is a son of Lecamus the furrier.”