Felix one morning. "The Queen of Navarre will be here to-morrow,
bringing four thousand Bearnese with her. They are sturdy fellows and
splendid fighters."

"There is another item of news," I said. "The English queen is sending
money and guns!"

"Ah," responded my comrade, "the English are stupid! Why don't they join
us boldly? We are fighting for the same object, and against the same
enemy. For, mark you, Edmond, our real foes are Spain and the Pope,
which these English will find out one of these days! If we get beaten,
it will be their turn next."

We gave the brave Queen of Navarre and her troops a right royal
reception, but to me the most interesting figure in the procession was
her son, Henry, on whom in the years to come the hopes of so many
Frenchmen were centred. He was quite a boy, only fifteen years old, but
he had a strong and capable face, full of fire and energy. His hair had
a reddish tinge, his skin was brown but clear, and he had well-shaped
regular features. His eyes had a sweet expression, and when he smiled
his whole face lit up with animation. He sat his horse with extreme
grace, and responded to the plaudits of the crowd with courtly bows.

"A gallant lad!" exclaimed Felix delightedly. "He has the makings of a
soldier, and in a year or two will be a tower of strength to us."

The talk now among the younger men was of moving out from Rochelle,
scattering the Royalists, marching on Paris, and dictating peace in the
palace. It was astonishing how easy these things appeared to be, as we
sat and gossiped idly in the Admiral's ante-chamber! Fortunately,