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A rumor spread that the Spaniards were preparing an expedition against it; some burgesses met to consult, and sent a private message to Alphonse d'Ornano, who was conducting the war for the king in Dauphiny, pressing him to move forward, on a day appointed, to the faubourg de la Guillotiere.
Next day, the 19th, Sieur de Maintenon, brother of Rambouillet, and Alphonso Corso d'Ornano Were added to the party; only one of them was of opinion that the Duke of Guise should at once be arrested and put upon his trial; the four others were for a shorter and a surer process, that of putting the duke to death by a sudden blow.
By this time all in the room had risen save the king, who appeared less moved than any by the incident. At this point he raised his hand to procure silence. "Is he mad?" he asked calmly. "What is it, Crillon?" "I will satisfy your Grace," the courtier answered. But the next moment, with a sudden change of tone, he cried loudly and rapidly, "Stop that man, I beg you, d'Ornano! Stop him!"
It means reproaching him with not having avenged his wrong. Who mentioned the rimbecco to you?" "Yesterday, at Marseilles," replied Miss Lydia hurriedly, "the captain of the schooner used the word." "And whom was he talking about?" inquired Orso eagerly. "Oh, he was telling us some odd story about the time yes, I think it was about Vannina d'Ornano."
They had scarcely had time to obey this bidding when Louis presented himself at the window of a closet adjoining the guard-room, to which, from its height, he was obliged to be lifted by M. d'Ornano; there, by the advice of those about him, the young King appeared with a smile upon his face; and as the members of the cabal raised a cry of "Vive le Roi!" he shouted to his Captain of the Guard, "I thank you, Vitry; now I am really a King."
By listening to the gossip round him, he learned that one dark handsome man among the latter was Alphonso d'Ornano, often called the Corsican Captain. A second was M. d'O, the Governor of Paris; a third, the Count of Soissons.
Crillon remained on his guard facing the table, his eyes keenly vigilant. The Count of Soissons, one of the younger Bourbons, had already stepped to the king's side and taken place by his chair, his hand on his hilt. D'Ornano, who had despatched two guards after Berthaud, openly drew his long sword and placed himself on the other side of the daïs. Nor was suspicion confined to their party.
It was never known, or, at any rate, never told, whose shot it was that hit him; but, "Sir," said Colonel d'Ornano, going up to the young king, "you are this minute King of France: Marshal d'Ancre is dead." And the young king, before the assembled court, repeated with the same tone of satisfaction, "Marshal d'Ancre is dead."
"Enough!" the king said with decision; but the gloom on his brow grew darker. "Enough. Until Berthaud is found, let no more be said. Cousin," he continued to the Count of Soissons, "you will see us home. D'Ornano, we return at once, and you will accompany us.
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