The cardinal and the duke withdrew, leaving the two queens and the king alone together.  As they crossed the salle des gardes to enter the council-chamber, the grand-master told the usher to bring the queen’s furrier to him.  When Christophe saw the usher approaching from the farther end of the great hall, he took him, on account of his uniform, for some great personage, and his heart sank within him.  But that sensation, natural as it was at the approach of the critical moment, grew terrible when the usher, whose movement had attracted the eyes of all that brilliant assembly upon Christophe, his homely face and his bundles, said to him:—­

“Messeigneurs the Cardinal de Lorraine and the Grand-master wish to speak to you in the council chamber.”

“Can I have been betrayed?” thought the helpless ambassador of the Reformers.

Christophe followed the usher with lowered eyes, which he did not raise till he stood in the great council-chamber, the size of which is almost equal to that of the salle des gardes.  The two Lorrain princes were there alone, standing before the magnificent fireplace, which backs against that in the salle des gardes around which the ladies of the two queens were grouped.

“You have come from Paris; which route did you take?” said the cardinal.

“I came by water, monseigneur,” replied the reformer.

“How did you enter Blois?” asked the grand-master.

“By the docks, monseigneur.”

“Did no one question you?” exclaimed the duke, who was watching the young man closely.

“No, monseigneur.  To the first soldier who looked as if he meant to stop me I said I came on duty to the two queens, to whom my father was furrier.”

“What is happening in Paris?” asked the cardinal.

“They are still looking for the murderer of the President Minard.”

“Are you not the son of my surgeon’s greatest friend?” said the Duc de Guise, misled by the candor of Christophe’s expression after his first alarm had passed away.

“Yes, monseigneur.”

The Grand-master turned aside, abruptly raised the portiere which concealed the double door of the council-chamber, and showed his face to the whole assembly, among whom he was searching for the king’s surgeon.  Ambroise Pare, standing in a corner, caught a glance which the duke cast upon him, and immediately advanced.  Ambroise, who at this time was inclined to the reformed religion, eventually adopted it; but the friendship of the Guises and that of the kings of France guaranteed him against the evils which overtook his co-religionists.  The duke, who considered himself under obligations for life to Ambroise Pare, had lately caused him to be appointed chief-surgeon to the king.

“What is it, monseigneur?” said Ambroise.  “Is the king ill?  I think it likely.”

“Likely?  Why?”

“The queen is too pretty,” replied the surgeon.