Since the accession of François I., the old feudal château of Philippe Auguste and Saint Louis had been almost entirely demolished, and had given place to a superb palace, reared in the style of the Renaissance. François I. had not as yet completed his grand designs, but he had done enough to make the Palace of Fontainebleau one of the noblest structures in France. Its splendid apartments were full of objects of art, paintings, and sculpture brought from Italy, and its glorious gallery, just completed, was richly decorated. The old walls and moat of the mediaeval chateau had given place to delicious gardens, with broad terraces, parterres, alleys, fountains, lakes, bosquets, and all that could contribute to enjoyment. As Bourbon drew near the palace, and gazed at its magnificent façade, he could not refuse it the meed of admiration it so well deserved.

The approach of the Constable and his suite was watched by a number of arquebusiers, pages, grooms, and serving-men, collected in the outer court, or grouped upon the great horse-shoe stairs leading to the principal entrance of the palace. Various comments were made by these persons on the number and splendour of the Constable’s retinue, and the general opinion seemed to be that the king would take offence at the display. Among the observers were two magnificently-attired seigneurs, who, being stationed on the summit of the lofty stairs, commanded a complete view of the scene. Evidently, from the respect with which they were treated, these persons were of the highest rank. The most noticeable of the two – though both were noticeable – was a very distinguished-looking man, in age about thirty-five, though he did not look so much, and possessing features of classical regularity, and a figure of incomparable grace. In stature he was a little above the ordinary height, and his deportment was haughty and commanding. His rich brown locks were shorn close, as was then the mode, and he wore a pointed beard à l’Espagnole. Both for his graceful exterior and fascinating manner he seemed formed to captivate, and indeed almost all those whom he had addressed – and he made the highest dames his mark – had found him irresistible. He was accounted the handsomest, as well as the most accomplished cavalier at court, and excelled all his compeers in manly exercises, as he surpassed them in grace.

This preux chevalier was Guillaume Gouffier de Boisy, Seigneur de Bonnivet, Admiral of France. From the favour bestowed upon him by his royal master, he was called “le Grand Mignon du Roi.” Audacious in love as in war, equally at home in the mêlée or at the masked ball, Bonnivet was the most gallant and profligate personage of the most gallant and profligate court in Europe, he had fought by the side of his royal master at the battle of Marignan, and was subsequently sent by François as ambassador-extraordinary to England, where he distinguished himself at the gorgeous court of Henry VIII. by his unparalleled magnificence. Brave to a fault, rash, enterprising, spiritual, lively, a boon companion, inordinately addicted to gallantry, Bonnivet exactly suited the king. A perfect courtier, he maintained his influence over François, while he strengthened his position by ingratiating himself with the king’s mother. His prodigality was excessive, and his audacity in love affairs unparalleled. If we are to believe Brantôme, he resorted to the most extraordinary stratagems in the prosecution of his amours, and had trap-doors contrived in the chambers of his château. He was the secret lover of the king’s mistress, the beautiful Comtesse de Châteaubriand, and he even dared to raise his eyes to the Duchess d’Alençon, the king’s sister. To Louise de Savoie he was so subservient, that he became little better than her tool, but she requited him by showering favours on his head. It was by her desire that the command of the army of Guienne was bestowed upon him; and he had but recently returned to court, flushed with the successes he had gained over the Spaniards in Fontarabia.

Vain and presumptuous, Bonnivet had offended most of the old commanders, but, being supported by the king and the duchess, he was unassailable.

The person who stood next to Bonnivet, and who watched Bourbon’s approach with as much surprise and as much curiosity as the Admiral, was very different in appearance and manner from the royal favourite, though equally richly attired. Though not handsome, he had a striking countenance, and his deportment was proud and martial. He was no other than the renowned Anne de Montmoreney, one of the haughtiest and wealthiest nobles of France, and one of the bravest of her captains. Though he did not envy Bonnivet the king’s favour, nor seek to supplant him, he held him in contempt, and would probably have rejoiced in his downfall. Montmorency belonged to a ruder and hardier school than that represented by the Admiral, and had distinguished himself by many feats of arms and personal courage. On account of his valour and military skill he had just been named a marshal of France by the king.

“By Heaven! it is the Constable de Bourbon!” cried Bonnivet. “What brings him to Fontainebleau?”

“I know not,” replied Montmorency, “but I trust he may be restored to the king’s favour, and this abominable process abandoned.”

“That is not likely to be the case,” remarked Bonnivet. “If Bourbon humbles himself, the king may overlook his faults – not otherwise.”

“I have yet to learn what faults he has committed,” said Montmorency. “I know he has been unjustly treated, and so I shall not hesitate to tell the king.”

“You had better not say as much to the duchess,” remarked Bonnivet.

“Wherefore not?” demanded the marshal. “If this suit is pressed to an issue, mischievous consequences are sure to follow, and I therefore hope it may be amicably arranged. From Bourbon’s appearance here, I augur favourably. If I can help to set the matter right, I will.”

“Take my advice, marshal, and do not meddle in the matter,” said Bonnivet. “You will only incur the duchess’s displeasure.”

“I care not for that,” said Montmorency.

“And yet it is to the duchess you owe your bâton. You are ungrateful, monsieur le maréchal.”

These words were not uttered by Bonnivet, but by a singular personage, who had approached them unawares, and listened to their discourse. On turning, Montmorency beheld Triboulet, the king’s jester. The court buffoon wore the parti-coloured garb proper to his office, and carried a bauble in his hand. Misshapen in person, he had high shoulders, long arms, large feet and hands, and an immense head. His brow was low, his eyes lighted up by a malicious flame, and his countenance altogether had a cunning and mischievous expression, which inspired fear while it excited mirth.

Immediately behind Triboulet stood a tall, thin man, whose appearance offered a striking contrast to that of the jester. This personage wore a black taffeta robe with loose sleeves, and a silken skull-cap of the same hue, which set off his sallow features. His eyes were thoughtful in expression, and a long grey beard, descending to his girdle, added materially to the gravity of his aspect. This individual was the renowned Cornelius Agrippa, who after many years of travel and strange adventure in Germany, Switzerland, the Low Countries, and England, now formed part of the royal household of France, and occupied the post of physician and astrologer to the Duchess d’Angoulême, who had great faith in his medical and mystic lore. Though the courtiers affected to deride Agrippa’s predictions, and sometimes charged him with dealing in the black art, they nevertheless stood in great awe of him.

“Why dost charge me with ingratitude, thou ribald knave?” said Montmorency to the jester.

“Because you turn upon your benefactress,” replied Triboulet.

“Bah! I have got no more than my due,” said Montmorency. “Thou shouldst talk of my ingratitude to the duchess – à propos of the Constable de Bourbon.”

“Her highness has no reason to be grateful to the Constable,” said Triboulet, with a strange grin.

“But the king has,” rejoined Montmorency. “Without him, Marignan would scarce have been won. I would rather lose my marshal’s bâton than Bourbon should be deprived of his possessions.”

“The king shall hear of this,” muttered Bonnivet. “Did the stars tell you that Bourbon would come here to-day, learned sir?” he added to Cornelius Agrippa.

“I expected him,” replied the philosopher.

“Then possibly you know his errand?” continued Bonnivet, with an incredulous smile.

“I know it,” replied Agrippa, gravely. “I could tell you why he comes, and what will befal him, but I care not to read the future to those who mock my lore. The star of Bourbon is temporarily obscured. But it will break out with added splendour. This day is the turning-point of his destiny. If he stays here he will be great – but if he departs he will be greater.”

“How are we to interpret that, compère?” inquired Triboulet,

“As you will,” rejoined Agrippa, contemptuously. “The words of wisdom are unintelligible to fools. But mark me, messeigneurs,” he added to Bonnivet and Montmoreney. “The destinies of the king, the duchess, and the Constable, are this day linked together – but the influencing power resides in Bourbon.”

“Why in him? Explain your meaning, doctor!” demanded Bonnivet.

“I have said all I care to say,” replied Agrippa. “But here comes the Constable. Will you stay and bid him welcome?”

“No, I will in, and inform the king of his arrival,” said Bonnivet.

“You will find his majesty in the grand gallery,” said Agrippa. “I left him there, not many minutes since, with the Comtesse de Chateaubriand.”

“I will go thither,” replied Bonnivet, hastening across the vestibule.

“Methinks the Constable is like a wild beast about to fall into a trap,” remarked Triboulet to the astrologer. “Were I the king, if I once caught him, I would not let him go.”

“Neither would I,” replied Agrippa, significantly. “But his majesty cannot read the future.”

By this time Bourbon had dismounted from his charger, and was received with the ceremony due to his exalted rank by the chamberlain, who descended the stairs to meet him. Pages, esquires and gentlemen bowed as the haughty Constable mounted the steps, and when he readied the summit the Marshal de Montmoreney advanced to meet him, and a very cordial greeting passed between them.

“I am right glad to see you here again, prince,” said the marshal. “I hope we shall soon gather fresh laurels together in the Milanese.”

“I should rejoice to fight by your side,” replied Bourbon. “But I know not why I have been sent for by the king.”

“Have you been sent for?” said Montmoreney, surprised. “I thought you came of your own accord. So much the better. You will be well received. The king is in a very gracious humour – and so is the duchess.”

“Ah! the duchess!” exclaimed Bourbon, with an expression of deep disgust.

“You do not speak of her highness as she speaks of you, prince,” observed Triboulet. “I have heard her sigh and seen her change colour at the mention of your name.”

Bourbon made no reply to this remark, but graciously returned the salutation addressed to him by Cornelius Agrippa. A slight sign from the astrologer, who was standing within the vestibule, drew him towards him.

“I would fain have a word with your highness,” said Agrippa, as the Constable approached him. “I have been consulting your horoscope.”

“Ha! what have you found therein, good doctor?” asked Bourbon, who was by no means free from superstition.

“Much,” replied Agrippa, gravely. “This is a critical hour with you, prince – the most critical hour of your existence, since it forms the turning-point of your career. According as you now act, so will your future destiny be influenced. Comply with certain propositions which will be made you, and which will in no respect affect your honour, and your position will be assured, and you will be elevated to almost supreme power. Decline them – ”

“What then?” demanded Bourbon, fixing his dark eyes searchingly upon the astrologer.

“Decline them, I repeat,” pursued Agrippa, “and you will incur great perils – very great perils – but you will baffle the schemes of your enemies, and obtain brilliant successes.”

“You promise this, doctor?” cried Bourbon, eagerly.

“The stars promise it you, prince, not I,” returned Agrippa. “But I have more to tell, if you have courage to hear it,” he added, gravely.

“Say on! – let me know all,” cried Bourbon.

“You will not long enjoy your triumph. You will meet a warrior’s death before the walls of a great city.”

“The very death I covet,” said the Constable. “Take this, doctor,” he added, detaching a gem from his doublet, and giving it him. “Your prognostication decides me.”

“A word more and I have done,” said Agrippa, lowering his tone. “You will gain friends as powerful as those you will lose. There are other monarchs who can better appreciate your noble qualities than the King of France.”

Bourbon looked at the astrologer, as if he would fain question him further, but the latter signified by a glance that he had nothing more to impart, and the Constable left him and followed the chamberlain, who led him across the vestibule towards the doors of the grand gallery, before which ushers and a guard of halberdiers were stationed.