Only the eyes were visible, gleaming still with youthful vigour. Yet try as he might to lose himself in the crowds, none were unaware of his identity. The cries went up as he strode amongst them. ‘Vive Guise!’ Pretty ladies took off their masks to smile at him. People tried to touch the hem of his cloak, kiss his shadow as he passed by, throw flowers upon him or press their rosaries into his hand as a blessing. One dared to pull aside his cloak and cry, ‘Monseigneur, show yourself to us!’ Their attentions didn’t trouble Guise, nor did he hesitate to shake the hand held out to him by a beggar, although it was coated in filth. He knew he owed his status to the people, and accepted their love with gratitude. Today, however, he did not linger to bask in their approbation for he had but one object on his mind, and that was to see the Queen Mother. He had come to Paris without the King’s consent and if he valued his skin, he must hasten to make his plea before Henri learned of his presence in the city.
