La Mole hurriedly left the Louvre, and set out to search Paris for poor Coconnas.
His first move was to repair to the Rue de l'Arbre Sec and to enter Maître La Hurière's, for La Mole remembered that he had often repeated to the Piedmontese a certain Latin motto which was meant to prove that Love, Bacchus, and Ceres are gods absolutely necessary to us, and he hoped that Coconnas, to follow up the Roman aphorism, had gone to theBelle Étoileafter a night which must have been as full for his friend as it had been for himself.
La Mole found nothing at La Hurière's except the reminder of the assumed obligation. A breakfast which was offered with good grace was eagerly accepted by our gentleman, in spite of his anxiety. His stomach calmed in default of his mind, La Mole resumed his walk, ascending the bank of the Seine like a husband searching for his drowned wife. On reaching the quay of the Grève, he recognized the place where, as he had said to Monsieur d'Alençon, he had been stopped during his nocturnal tramp three or four hours before. This was no unusual thing in Paris, older by a hundred years than that in which Boileau was awakened at the sound of a ball piercing his window shutter. A bit of the plume from his hat remained on the battle-field. The sentiment of possession is innate in man. La Mole had ten plumes each more beautiful than the last, and yet he stopped to pick up that one, or, rather, the sole fragment of what remained of it, and was contemplating it with a pitiful air when he heard the sound of heavy steps approaching, and rough voices ordering him to stand aside. La Mole raised his head and perceived a litter preceded by two pages and accompanied by an outrider. La Mole thought he recognized the litter, and quickly stepped aside.
The young man was not mistaken.
"Monsieur de la Mole!" exclaimed a sweet voice from the litter, while a hand as white and as smooth as satin drew back the curtains.
"Yes, madame, in person," replied La Mole bowing.
"Monsieur de la Mole with a plume in his hand," continued the lady in the litter. "Are you in love, my dear monsieur, and are you recovering lost traces?"
"Yes, madame," replied La Mole, "I am in love, and very much so. But just now these are my own traces that I have found, although they are not those for which I am searching. But will your majesty permit me to inquire after your health?"
"It is excellent, monsieur; it seems to me that I have never been better. This probably comes from the fact of my having spent the night in retreat."
"Ah! in retreat!" said La Mole, looking at Marguerite strangely.
"Well, yes; what is there surprising in that?"
"May I, without indiscretion, ask you in what convent?"
"Certainly, monsieur, I make no mystery of it; in the convent of theAnnonciade. But what are you doing here with this startled air?"
"Madame, I too passed the night in retreat, and in the vicinity of the same convent. This morning I am looking for my friend who has disappeared, and in seeking him I came upon this plume."
"Whom does it belong to? Really, you frighten me about him; the place is a bad one."
"Your majesty may be reassured; the plume belongs to me. I lost it here about half-past five, as I was escaping from the hands of four bandits who tried with all their might to murder me, or at least I think they did."
Marguerite repressed a quick gesture of terror.
"Oh! tell me about it!" said she.
"Nothing is easier, madame. It was, as I have had the honor to tell your majesty, about five o'clock in the morning."
"And you were already out at five o'clock in the morning?" interrupted Marguerite.
"Your majesty will excuse me," said La Mole, "I had not yet returned."
"Ah! Monsieur de la Mole! you returned at five o'clock in the morning!" said Marguerite with a smile which was fatal for every one, and which La Mole was unfortunate enough to find adorable; "you returned so late, you merited this punishment!"
"Therefore I do not complain, madame," said La Mole, bowing respectfully, "and I should have been cut to pieces had I not considered myself a hundred times more fortunate than I deserve to be. But I was returning late, or early, as your majesty pleases, from that fortunate house in which I had spent the night in retreat, when four cut-throats rushed from the Rue de la Mortellerie and pursued me with indescribably long knives. It is grotesque, is it not, madame? but it is true—I had to run away, for I had forgotten my sword."
"Oh! I understand," said Marguerite, with an admirably naïve manner, "and you have come back to find your sword?"
La Mole looked at Marguerite as though a suspicion flashed through his mind.
"Madame, I would return to some place and very willingly too, since my sword is an excellent blade, but I do not know where the house is."
"What, monsieur?" exclaimed Marguerite. "You do not know where the house is in which you passed the night?"
"No, madame, and may Satan exterminate me if I have any idea!"
"Well this is strange! your story, then, is a romance?"
"A true romance, as you say, madame."
"Tell it to me."
"It is somewhat long."
"Never mind, I have time."
"And, above all, it is improbable."
"Never mind, no one could be more credulous than I."
"Does your majesty command me?"
"Why, yes; if necessary."
"In that case I obey. Last evening, having left two adorable women with whom we had spent the evening on the Saint Michel bridge, we took supper at Maître La Hurière's."
"In the first place," said Marguerite, perfectly naturally, "who is Maître La Hurière?"
"Maître La Hurière, madame," said La Mole, again glancing at Marguerite with the suspicion he had already felt, "Maître La Hurière is the host of the inn of theBelle Étoilein the Rue de l'Arbre Sec."
"Yes, I can see it from here. You were supping, then, at Maître La Hurière's with your friend Coconnas, no doubt?"
"Yes, madame, with my friend Coconnas, when a man entered and handed us each a note."
"Were they alike?" asked Marguerite.
"Exactly alike. They contained only a single line:
"'You are awaited in the Rue Saint Antoine, opposite the Rue Saint Jouy.'"
"And had the note no signature?" asked Marguerite.
"No; only three words—three charming words which three times promised the same thing, that is to say, a three-fold happiness."
"And what were these three words?"
"Eros, Cupido, Amor."
"In short, three sweet words; and did they fulfil what they promised?"
"Oh! more, madame, a hundred times more!" cried La Mole with enthusiasm.
"Continue. I am curious to know who was waiting for you in the Rue Saint Antoine, opposite the Rue de Jouy."
"Two duennas, each with a handkerchief in her hand. They said we must let them bandage our eyes. Your majesty may imagine that it was not a difficult thing to have done. We bravely extended our necks. My guide turned me to the left, my friend's guide turned him to the right, and we were separated."
"And then?" continued Marguerite, who seemed determined to carry out the investigation to the end.
"I do not know," said La Mole, "where his guide led my friend. To hell, perhaps. As to myself, all I know is that mine led me to a place I consider paradise."
"And whence, no doubt, your too great curiosity drove you?"
"Exactly, madame; you have the gift of divination. I waited, impatiently, for daylight, that I might see where I was, when at half-past four the same duenna returned, again bandaged my eyes, made me promise not to try to raise my bandage, led me outside, accompanied me for a hundred feet, made me again swear not to remove my bandage until I had counted fifty more. I counted fifty, and found myself in the Rue Saint Antoine, opposite the Rue de Jouy."
"And then"—
"Then, madame, I returned so happy that I paid no attention to the four wretches, from whose clutches I had such difficulty in escaping. Now, madame," continued La Mole, "in finding a piece of my plume here, my heart trembled with joy, and I picked it up, promising myself to keep it as a souvenir of this glad night. But in the midst of my happiness, one thing troubles me; that is, what may have become of my companion."
"Has he not returned to the Louvre?"
"Alas! no, madame! I have searched everywhere, in theÉtoile d'Or, on the tennis courts, and in many other respectable places; but no Annibal, and no Coconnas"—
As La Mole uttered these words he accompanied them with a gesture of hopelessness, extended his arms and opened his cloak, underneath which at various points his doublet was seen, the lining of which showed through the rents like so many elegant slashes.
"Why, you were riddled through and through!" exclaimed Marguerite.
"Riddled is the word!" said La Mole, who was not sorry to turn to his account the danger he had run. "See, madame, see!"
"Why did you not change your doublet at the Louvre, since you returned there?" asked the queen.
"Ah!" said La Mole, "because some one was in my room."
"Some one in your room?" said Marguerite, whose eyes expressed the greatest astonishment; "who was in your room?"
"His highness."
"Hush!" interrupted Marguerite.
The young man obeyed.
"Qui ad lecticam meam stant?" she asked La Mole.
"Duo pueri et unus eques."
"Optime, barbari!" said she. "Dic, Moles, quem inveneris in biculo tuo?"
"Franciscum ducem."
"Agentem?"
"Nescio quid."
"Quocum?"
"Cum ignoto."[8]
"That is strange," said Marguerite. "So you were unable to find Coconnas?" she continued, without evidently thinking of what she was saying.
"So, madame, as I have had the honor of telling you, I am really dying of anxiety."
"Well," said Marguerite, sighing, "I do not wish to detain you longer in your search for him; I do not know why I think so, but he will find himself! Never mind, however, go, in spite of this."
The queen laid a finger on her lips. But as beautiful Marguerite had confided no secret, had made no avowal to La Mole, the young man understood that this charming gesture, meaning only to impose silence on him, must have another significance.
The procession resumed its march, and La Mole, intent on following out his investigation, continued to ascend the quay as far as the Rue Long Pont which led him to the Rue Saint Antoine.
Opposite the Rue Jouy he stopped. It was there that the previous evening the two duennas had bandaged his eyes and those of Coconnas. He had turned to the left, then he had counted twenty steps. He repeated this and found himself opposite a house, or rather a wall, behind which rose a house; in this wall was a door with a shed over it ornamented with large nails and loop-holes.
The house was in the Rue Cloche Percée, a small narrow street beginning in the Rue Saint Antoine and ending in the Rue Roi de Sicile.
"By Heaven!" cried La Mole, "it was here—I would swear to it—in extending my hand, as I came out, I felt the nails in the door, then I descended two steps. The man who ran by crying 'Help!' who was killed in the Rue Roi de Sicile, passed just as I reached the first. Let us see, now."
La Mole went to the door and knocked. The door opened and a mustached janitor appeared.
"Was ist das?" (Who is that?) asked the janitor.
"Ah! ah!" said La Mole, "we are Swiss, apparently." "My friend," he continued, assuming the most charming manner, "I want my sword which I left in this house in which I spent the night."
"Ich verstehe nicht," (I do not understand,) replied the janitor.
"My sword," went on La Mole.
"Ich verstehe nicht," repeated the janitor.
"—which I left—my sword which I left"—
"Ich verstehe nicht."
"—in this house, in which I spent the night."
"Gehe zum Teufel!" (Go to the devil!) And he slammed the door in La Mole's face.
"By Heaven!" cried La Mole, "if I had this sword I have just asked for, I would gladly put it through that fellow's body. But I have not, and this must wait for another day."
Thereupon La Mole continued his way to the Rue Roi de Sicile, took about fifty steps to the right, then to the left again, and came to the Rue Tizon, a little street running parallel with the Rue Cloche Percée, and like it in every way. More than this, scarcely had he gone thirty steps before he came upon the door with the large nails, with its shed and loop-holes, the two steps and the wall. One would have said that the Rue Cloche Percée had returned to see him pass by.
La Mole then reflected that he might have mistaken his right for his left, and he knocked at this door, to make the same demand he had made at the other. But this time he knocked in vain. The door was not opened.
Two or three times La Mole made the same trip, which naturally led him to the idea that the house had two entrances, one on the Rue Cloche Percée, the other on the Rue Tizon.
But this conclusion, logical as it was, did not bring him back his sword, and did not tell him where his friend was. For an instant he conceived the idea of buying another sword and cutting to pieces the wretched janitor who so persistently refused to speak anything but German, but he thought this porter belonged to Marguerite, and that if Marguerite had chosen thus, it was because she had her reasons, and that it might be disagreeable for her to be deprived of him.
Now La Mole would not have done anything disagreeable to Marguerite for anything in the world.
Fearing to yield to this temptation he returned about two o'clock in the afternoon to the Louvre.
As his room was not occupied this time he could enter it. The matter was urgent enough as far as his doublet was concerned, which, as the queen had already remarked to him, was considerably torn.
He therefore at once approached his bed to substitute the beautiful pearl-gray doublet for the one he wore, when to his great surprise the first thing he perceived near the pearl-gray doublet was the famous sword which he had left in the Rue Cloche Percée.
La Mole took it and turned it over and over.
It was really his.
"Ah! ah!" said he, "is there some magic under all this?" Then with a sigh, "Ah! if poor Coconnas could be found like my sword!"
Two or three hours after La Mole had ceased his circular tramp around the small double house, the door on the Rue Tizon had opened. It was about five o'clock in the evening, consequently night had closed in.
A woman wrapped in a long cloak trimmed with fur, accompanied by an attendant, came out of the door which was held open by a duenna of forty, and hurrying rapidly along to the Rue Roi de Sicile, knocked at a small door of the Hôtel Argenson, which opened for her; she then left by the main entrance of the same hôtel which opened on to the Vieille Rue du Temple, went toward a small postern in the Hôtel de Guise, unlocked it with a key which she carried in her pocket, and disappeared.
Half an hour later a young man with bandaged eyes left by the same door of the small house, guided by a woman who led him to the corner of the Rue Geoffroy Lasnier and La Mortellerie. There she asked him to count fifty steps and then remove his bandage.
The young man carefully obeyed the order, and when he had counted fifty, removed the handkerchief from his eyes.
"By Heaven!" cried he, looking around. "I'll be hanged if I know where I am! Six o'clock!" he cried, as the clock of Notre-Dame struck, "and poor La Mole, what can have become of him? Let us run to the Louvre, perhaps they may have news of him there."
Coconnas hurriedly descended the Rue La Mortellerie, and reached the gates of the Louvre in less time than it would have taken an ordinary horse. As he went he jostled and knocked down the moving hedge of brave bourgeois who were walking peacefully about the shops of the Place de Baudoyer, and entered the palace.
There he questioned the Swiss and the sentinel. The former thought they had seen Monsieur de la Mole enter that morning, but had not seen him go out.
The sentinel had been there only an hour and a half and had seen nothing.
He ran to his room and hastily threw open the door; but he found only the torn doublet of La Mole on the bed, which increased his fears still more.
Then he thought of La Hurière and hastened to the worthy inn of theBelle Étoile. La Hurière had seen La Mole; La Mole had breakfasted there. Coconnas was thus wholly reassured, and as he was very hungry he ordered supper.
Coconnas was in the two moods necessary for a good supper—his mind was relieved and his stomach was empty; therefore he supped so well that the meal lasted till eight o'clock. Then strengthened by two bottles of light wine from Anjou, of which he was very fond and which he tossed off with a sensual enjoyment shown by winks of his eyes and repeated smacking of his lips, he set out again in his search for La Mole, accompanying it through the crowd by kicks and knocks of his feet in proportion to the increasing friendship inspired in him by the comfort which always follows a good meal.
That lasted one hour, during which time Coconnas searched every street in the vicinity of the Quay of the Grève, the Port au Charbon, the Rue Saint Antoine, and the Rues Tizon and Cloche Percée, to which he thought his friend might have returned. Finally he bethought himself that there was a place through which he had to pass, the gate of the Louvre, and he resolved to wait at this gate until his return.
He was not more than a hundred steps from the Louvre, and had just put on her feet a woman whose husband he had already overturned on the Place Saint Germain l'Auxerrois, when in the distance he perceived before him in the doubtful light of a great lantern near the drawbridge of the Louvre the cherry-colored velvet cloak and the white plume of his friend, who like a shadow was disappearing under the gate and returning the sentinel's greeting.
The famous cherry-colored cloak was so well known to every one that he could not be mistaken in it.
"Well! by Heaven!" cried Coconnas; "it is really he this time, and he is returning. Well! well! La Mole, my friend! Plague it! Yet I have a good voice. How does it happen that he does not hear me? Fortunately I have as good legs as I have voice, so I will join him."
In this hope Coconnas set out as fast as he could, and reached the Louvre in an instant, but, fast as he was, just as he stepped into the court the red cloak, which seemed in haste also, disappeared in the vestibule.
"Hi there! La Mole!" cried Coconnas, still hastening. "Wait for me. It is I, Coconnas. What in the devil are you hurrying so for? Are you running away?"
In fact the red cloak, as though it had wings, scaled the stairs rather than mounted them.
"Ah! you will not hear me!" cried Coconnas. "I am angry with you! Are you sorry? Well, the devil! I can run no further." It was from the foot of the staircase that Coconnas hurled this final apostrophe to the fugitive whom he gave up following with his feet, but whom he still followed with his eyes through the screw of the stairway, and who had reached Marguerite's chamber. Suddenly a woman came out of this room and took the arm of the man Coconnas was following.
"Oh! oh!" said Coconnas, "that looked very much like Queen Marguerite. He was expected. In that case it is different. I understand why he did not answer me."
Crouching down by the banister he looked through the opening of the stairway. Then after a few words in a low voice he saw the red cloak follow the queen to her apartments.
"Good! good!" said Coconnas, "that is it. I was not mistaken. There are moments when the presence of our best friend is necessary to us, and dear La Mole has one of those moments."
And Coconnas ascending the stairs softly sat down on a velvet bench which ornamented the landing place, and said to himself:
"Very well, instead of joining him I will wait—yes; but," he added, "I think as he is with the Queen of Navarre I may have to wait long—it is cold, by Heaven! Well! well! I can wait just as well in my room. He will have to come there sometime."
Scarcely had he finished speaking, and started to carry out his resolution, when a quick light step sounded above him, accompanied by a snatch of song so familiar that Coconnas at once turned his head in the direction of the step and the song. It was La Mole descending from the upper story, where his room was. When he perceived Coconnas, he began to descend the stairs four steps at a time, and this done he threw himself into his arms.
"Oh, Heavens! is it you?" said Coconnas. "How the devil did you get out?"
"By the Rue Cloche Percée, by Heavens!"
"No, I do not mean that house."
"What then?"
"The queen's apartment."
"The queen's apartment?"
"The Queen of Navarre."
"I have not been there."
"Come now!"
"My dear Annibal," said La Mole, "you are out of your head. I have come from my room where I have been waiting for you for two hours."
"You have come from your room?"
"Yes."
"Was it not you I followed from the Place du Louvre?"
"When?"
"Just now."
"No."
"It was not you who disappeared under the gate ten minutes ago?"
"No."
"It was not you who just ascended the stairs as if you were pursued by a legion of devils?"
"No."
"By Heaven!" cried Coconnas, "the wine of theBelle Étoileis not poor enough to have so completely turned my head. I tell you that I have just seen your cherry-colored cloak and your white plume under the gate of the Louvre, that I followed both to the foot of the stairway, and that your cloak, your plume, everything, to your swinging arm, was expected here by a lady whom I greatly suspect to be the Queen of Navarre, and who led you through that door, which, unless I am mistaken, is that of the beautiful Marguerite."
"By Heaven!" cried La Mole, growing pale, "could there be treason?"
"Very good!" said Coconnas, "swear as much as you please, but do not tell me I am mistaken."
La Mole hesitated an instant, pressing his head between his hands, deterred by respect and jealousy. His jealousy conquered him, however, and he hastened to the door, at which he knocked with all his might. This caused a somewhat unusual hubbub considering the dignity of the place in which it occurred.
"We shall be arrested," said Coconnas, "but no matter, it is very funny. Tell me, La Mole, are there ghosts in the Louvre?"
"I know nothing about it," said the young man as pale as the plume which shaded his brow; "but I have always wanted to see one, and as the opportunity presents itself I shall do my best to come face to face with this one."
"I shall not prevent you," said Coconnas, "only knock a little less fiercely if you do not wish to frighten it away."
La Mole, exasperated as he was, felt the justice of the remark, and began to knock more gently.
Coconnas was not mistaken. The lady who had stopped the cavalier of the cherry-colored cloak was indeed the Queen of Navarre. As to the cavalier, our reader has already guessed, I presume, that he was no other than brave De Mouy. Upon recognizing the Queen of Navarre the young Huguenot realized that there was some mistake; but he dared not speak, fearing a cry from Marguerite would betray him. He preferred to let himself be led to her apartments, and when once there to say to his beautiful guide:
"Silence for silence, madame."
Marguerite had gently pressed the arm of him whom in the semi-darkness she had mistaken for La Mole, and leaning toward him whispered in Latin:
"Sola sum; introito, carissime."[9]
De Mouy without answering let her lead him along; but scarcely was the door closed behind him and he found himself in the antechamber, which was better lighted than the stairway, before Marguerite saw that he was not La Mole.
Thereupon the cry which the cautious Huguenot had feared escaped Marguerite; but fortunately there was no further danger from it.
"Monsieur de Mouy!" cried she, stepping back.
"In person, madame, and I beg your majesty to leave me free to continue my way without mentioning my presence in the Louvre to any one."
"Oh! Monsieur de Mouy!" reiterated Marguerite, "I was mistaken, then!"
"Yes," said De Mouy, "I understand. Your majesty mistook me for the King of Navarre. I am the same height, I wear the same white plume, and many, no doubt in order to flatter me, say I have the same gait."
Marguerite looked closely at De Mouy.
"Do you understand Latin, Monsieur de Mouy?" she asked.
"I used to know it," replied the young man, "but I have forgotten it."
Marguerite smiled.
"Monsieur de Mouy," said she, "you may rely on my discretion. But as I think I know the name of the one you are seeking in the Louvre, I will offer my services to guide you directly to him."
"Excuse me, madame," said De Mouy, "I think you are mistaken, and that you are completely ignorant of"—
"What!" exclaimed Marguerite, "are you not looking for the King of Navarre?"
"Alas, madame," said De Mouy, "I regret to have to beg you especially to conceal my presence in the Louvre from your husband, his majesty the king."
"Listen, Monsieur de Mouy," said Marguerite in surprise, "I have considered you until now one of the strongest leaders of the Huguenot party, and one of the most faithful partisans of the king my husband. Am I mistaken?"
"No, madame, for this very morning I was all that you say."
"And what has changed you since this morning?"
"Madame," said De Mouy, bowing, "kindly excuse me from answering, and do me the favor to accept my homage."
De Mouy, respectful but firm, started towards the door.
Marguerite stopped him.
"But, monsieur," said she, "if I were to ask you for a word of explanation, my word is good, it seems to me?"
"Madame," replied De Mouy, "I am obliged to keep silent, and this duty must be very imperative for me not to have answered your majesty."
"But, monsieur"—
"Your majesty may ruin me, madame, but you cannot ask me to betray my new friends."
"But the old ones, monsieur, have they too not some rights?"
"Those who have remained true, yes; those who not only have abandoned us, but themselves as well, no."
Marguerite, thoughtful and anxious, would no doubt have answered by a new question, had not Gillonne suddenly entered the apartment.
"The King of Navarre!" she cried.
"How is he coming?"
"By the secret corridor."
"Take monsieur out by the other."
"Impossible, madame. Listen."
"Some one is knocking?"
"Yes, at the door to which you wish me to take monsieur."
"Who is knocking?"
"I do not know."
"Go and see, and come back and tell me."
"Madame," said De Mouy, "might I venture to remark to your majesty that if the King of Navarre sees me at this hour and in this costume in the Louvre, I am lost?"
Marguerite seized De Mouy and pushed him towards the famous cabinet.
"Step in here, monsieur," said she; "you will be as safe and as well protected as if you were in your own house; I give you my word of honor."
De Mouy entered hastily. Scarcely was the door closed when Henry appeared.
This time Marguerite had no anxiety to hide—she was merely gloomy, and love was far from her thoughts.
As to Henry, he entered with that mistrust which in the most dangerous moments caused him to notice the smallest details; whatever the circumstances, Henry was an acute observer. Therefore he at once saw the cloud on Marguerite's brow.
"You are busy, madame?" said he.
"I? Why, yes, sire, I was dreaming."
"You do well, madame. Dreaming is becoming to you. I too was dreaming; but contrary to you who seek solitude, I have come on purpose to share my dreams, with you." Marguerite gave the king a gesture of welcome, and indicating an armchair to him, seated herself on a chair of sculptured ebony, as delicate and as strong as steel. There was an instant's silence; then Henry broke it.
"I remembered, madame," said he, "that my dreams as to the future corresponded with yours in so far as although separated as husband and wife, nevertheless we both desire to unite our fortune."
"That is true, sire."
"I think I understood you to say also that in all the plans I might make toward our mutual rising, I would find in you not only a faithful but an active ally."
"Yes, sire, and I ask only one thing, that in beginning the work as soon as possible, you will give me the opportunity to begin also."
"I am glad to find you of this mind, madame, and I trust that you have not for one instant doubted that I would lose sight of the plan I resolved to carry out the very day when, thanks to your brave intervention, I was almost sure of being safe."
"Monsieur, I think that your carelessness is nothing but a mask, and I have faith not only in the predictions by the astrologers, but in your good genius as well."
"What should you say, madame, if someone were to upset our plans and threaten to reduce us to an ordinary position?"
"I should say that I was ready to fight with you, either openly or in secret, against this someone, whoever he might be."
"Madame," continued Henry, "it is possible for you, is it not, to gain immediate admission into the room of your brother, Monsieur d'Alençon? You are in his confidence and he is very friendly to you; might I venture to beg you to find out if he is at present holding a secret conference with someone?"
Marguerite gave a start.
"With whom, monsieur?" she asked.
"With De Mouy."
"Why?" asked Marguerite, repressing her emotion.
"Because if such is the case, madame, farewell to all our projects, or to all mine, at least."
"Sire, speak softly," said Marguerite, making a sign with her eyes and lips, and pointing to the cabinet.
"Oh! oh!" said Henry, "still someone? Indeed, that cabinet is so often occupied that it makes your room uninhabitable."
Marguerite smiled.
"Is it still Monsieur de la Mole?" asked Henry.
"No, sire, it is Monsieur de Mouy."
"He?" cried Henry with surprise mingled with joy. "He is not with the Duc d'Alençon, then? Oh! have him come in, that I may talk to him."
Marguerite stepped to the cabinet, opened it, and taking De Mouy by the hand led him without preamble to the King of Navarre.
"Ah! madame," said the young Huguenot, in a tone of reproach more sad than bitter, "you have betrayed me in spite of your promise; that is wrong. What should you do if I were to avenge myself by saying"—
"You will not avenge yourself, De Mouy," interrupted Henry, pressing the young man's hand, "or at least you will listen to me first. Madame," continued Henry, turning to the queen, "be kind enough, I beg you, to see that no one overhears us."
Scarcely had Henry uttered these words when Gillonne entered, frightened, and whispered a few words to Marguerite, which caused the latter to spring from her seat. While she hastened to the antechamber with Gillonne, Henry, without troubling himself as to why she had left the room, examined the bed, the side of it, as well as the draperies, and sounded the wall with his fingers. As to Monsieur de Mouy, frightened at all these preparations, he first of all made sure that his sword was out of its sheath.
Leaving her sleeping-room, Marguerite hastened to the antechamber and came face to face with La Mole, who in spite of all the protests of Gillonne had forced his way into Marguerite's room.
Coconnas was behind him, ready to urge him forward or sustain a retreat.
"Ah! it is you, Monsieur la Mole!" cried the queen; "but what is the matter, and why are you so pale and trembling?"
"Madame," said Gillonne, "Monsieur de la Mole knocked at the door so that, in spite of your majesty's orders, I was forced to open it."
"What is the meaning of this?" said the queen, severely; "is this true, Monsieur de la Mole?"
"Madame, I wanted to warn your majesty that a stranger, a robber perhaps, had gained admittance to your rooms with my cloak and my hat."
"You are mad, monsieur," said Marguerite, "for I see your cloak on your shoulders, and, God forgive me, I think I see your hat on your head, even though you are speaking to a queen."
"Oh! pardon me, madame, pardon me!" cried La Mole, quickly uncovering; "but God is my witness, it is not my respect which is lacking."
"No, it is your trust, is it not?" said the queen.
"What can you expect?" cried La Mole, "when a man is in your majesty's rooms; when he gains admittance by assuming my clothes, and perhaps my name, who knows"—
"A man!" cried Marguerite, softly pressing her poor lover's arm; "a man! You are modest, Monsieur de la Mole. Look through the opening of the portière and you will see two men."
Marguerite drew back the velvet portière embroidered in gold, and La Mole saw Henry talking with the man in the cherry-colored cloak. Coconnas, as though he himself were concerned, looked also, saw, and recognized De Mouy. Both men stood amazed.
"Now that you are reassured, or at least now that I hope you are," said Marguerite, "take your stand outside my door, and for your life, my dear La Mole, let no one enter. If any one even approaches the stairs, warn me." La Mole, weak and obedient as a child, withdrew, glancing at Coconnas, who looked at him. Both found themselves outside without having thoroughly recovered from their astonishment.
"De Mouy!" cried Coconnas.
"Henry!" murmured La Mole.
"De Mouy with your cherry-colored cloak, your white plume, and your swinging arm."
"Ah!" went on La Mole, "the moment it is not a question of love, it is a question of plot."
"By Heaven! here we are in the midst of politics," said Coconnas grumbling. "Fortunately I do not see Madame de Nevers mixed up in it."
Marguerite returned and sat down by the two speakers. She had been gone only a moment, but had made the most of her time. Gillonne, on guard in the secret passage, and the two gentlemen on duty at the main entrance, assured perfect safety for her.
"Madame," said Henry, "do you think it would be possible for us to be overheard in any way?"
"Monsieur," said Marguerite, "the walls of this room are wadded, and a double wainscoting deadens all sound."
"I depend on you," replied Henry smiling. Then turning to De Mouy:
"Now," said the king, in a low tone, as if in spite of the assurance of Marguerite his fears were not wholly overcome, "what are you here for?"
"Here?" said De Mouy.
"Yes, here, in this room," repeated Henry.
"He had nothing to do here," said Marguerite; "I induced him to come."
"You?"
"I guessed everything."
"You see, De Mouy, we can discover what is going on."
"This morning," continued Marguerite, "Monsieur de Mouy was with Duc François in the apartment of two of his gentlemen."
"You see, De Mouy," repeated Henry, "we know everything."
"That is true," said De Mouy.
"I was sure," said Henry, "that Monsieur d'Alençon had taken possession of you."
"That is your fault, sire. Why did you so persistently refuse what I offered you?"
"You refused!" exclaimed Marguerite. "The refusal I feared, then, was real?"
"Madame," said Henry, shaking his head, "and you, my brave De Mouy, really, you make me laugh with your exclamations. What! a man enters my chamber, speaks to me of a throne, of a revolt, of a revolution, to me, Henry, a prince tolerated provided that I eat humble pie, a Huguenot spared on condition that I play the Catholic; and I am expected to accept, when these propositions are made in a room without padding or double wainscoting!Ventre saint gris!You are either children or fools!"
"But, sire, could not your majesty have left me some hope, if not by word, at least by a gesture or sign?"
"What did my brother-in-law say to you, De Mouy?" asked Henry.
"Oh, sire, that is not my secret."
"Well, my God!" continued Henry, with a certain impatience at having to deal with a man who so poorly understood his words. "I do not ask what you proposed to him, I ask you merely if he listened to you, if he heard you."
"He listened, sire, and he heard."
"He listened and he heard! You admit it yourself, De Mouy, tactless conspirator that you are! Had I said one word you would have been lost, for I did not know, I merely suspected that he was there, or if not he, someone else, the Duc d'Anjou, Charles IX., or the queen mother, for instance. You do not know the walls of the Louvre, De Mouy; it was for them that the proverb was made which says that walls have ears; and knowing these walls you expected me to speak! Well, well, De Mouy, you pay a small compliment to the common sense of the King of Navarre, and I am surprised that not esteeming him more highly you should have offered him a crown."
"But, sire," said De Mouy, "could you not even while refusing this crown have given me some sign? In that case I should not have considered everything hopeless and lost."
"Well!Ventre saint gris!" exclaimed Henry, "if one can hear cannot one see also? and is not one lost by a sign as much as by a word? See, De Mouy," continued the king, looking around him, "at the present moment, so near to you that my words do not reach beyond the circle of our three chairs, I still fear I may be overheard when I say: De Mouy, repeat your proposal to me."
"But, sire," cried De Mouy in despair, "I am now engaged with Monsieur d'Alençon."
Marguerite angrily clasped and unclasped her beautiful hands.
"Then it is too late?" said she.
"On the contrary," murmured Henry, "know that even in this, God's hand is visible. Continue your arrangement, De Mouy, for in Duc François lies our safety. Do you suppose that the King of Navarre would guarantee your heads? On the contrary, wretched man, I should have you all killed to the last one, and on the least suspicion. But with a son of France it is different. Secure proofs, De Mouy, ask for guarantees; but, stupid that you are, you will be deeply involved, and one word will suffice for you."
"Oh, sire, it was my despair at your having left us, believe me, which threw me into the arms of the duke; it was also the fear of being betrayed, for he kept our secret."
"Keep his, now, De Mouy; it rests with you. What does he wish? To leave court? Furnish him with means to escape. Work for him, De Mouy, as if you were working for me, turn the shield so that he may parry every blow they aim at us. When it is time to flee, we will both flee. When it is time to fight and reign, I will reign alone."
"Do not trust the duke," said Marguerite, "he is gloomy and acute, without hatred as without love; ever ready to treat his friends like enemies and his enemies like friends."
"And he is expecting you now, De Mouy?" said Henry.
"Yes, sire."
"Where?"
"In the apartment belonging to his two gentlemen."
"At what time?"
"Before midnight."
"It is not yet eleven o'clock," said Henry, "so you have lost no time; now you may go, De Mouy."
"We have your word, monsieur?" said Marguerite.
"Come now, madame!" said Henry, with the confidence he knew so well how to use with certain people and on certain occasions, "with Monsieur de Mouy, such things are not even asked for."
"You are right, sire," replied the young man; "but I need your word, for I shall have to tell the leaders that I have it. You are not a Catholic, are you?"
Henry shrugged his shoulders.
"You do not renounce the kingdom of Navarre?"
"I renounce no kingdom, De Mouy, I merely reserve for myself the choice of the best; that is, the one which shall best suit me and you."
"And if in the meantime your majesty should be arrested, you would promise to reveal nothing even should they torture your royal majesty?"
"De Mouy, I swear that, before God."
"One further word, sire. How am I to see you in future?"
"After to-morrow you shall have a key to my room. You will come there, De Mouy, as often as it may be necessary and when you please. It is for the Duc d'Alençon to answer for your presence in the Louvre. In the meantime, use the small stairway. I will show you the way. The queen will have the cherry-colored cloak like yours come here—the one who was in the antechamber just now. No one must notice any difference between you, or know that there are two of you, De Mouy. Do you not agree with me? And you, madame?" Henry looked at Marguerite and uttered the last words with a smile.
"Yes," said she, without moving a feature; "for this Monsieur de la Mole belongs to my brother, the duke."
"Well, madame, try to win him over to our side," said Henry, in perfect seriousness. "Spare neither gold nor promises; I will put all my treasures at his disposal."
"In that case," said Marguerite, with one of the smiles which belong only to the women of Boccaccio, "since this is your wish, I will do my best to second it."
"Very good, madame; and you, De Mouy, return to the duke, and make sure of him."
During the conversation which we have just related, La Mole and Coconnas mounted guard. La Mole somewhat chagrined, Coconnas somewhat anxious. La Mole had had time to reflect, and in this he had been greatly aided by Coconnas.
"What do you think of all this, my friend?" La Mole had asked of Coconnas.
"I think," the Piedmontese had replied, "that there is some court intrigue connected with it."
"And such being the case, are you disposed to play a part in it?"
"My dear fellow," replied Coconnas, "listen well to what I am going to say to you and try and profit by it. In all these princely dealings, in all royal affairs, we can and should be nothing but shadows. Where the King of Navarre leaves a bit of his plume and the Duc d'Alençon a piece of his cloak, we leave our lives. The queen has a fancy for you, and you for her. Nothing is better. Lose your head in love, my dear fellow, but not in politics."
That was wise council. Therefore it was heard by La Mole with the melancholy of a man who feels that, placed between reason and madness, it is madness he will follow.
"I have not a fancy for the queen, Annibal, I love her; and fortunately or unfortunately I love her with all my heart. This is madness, you will say. Well, I admit that I am mad. But you are wise, Coconnas, you ought not to suffer for my foolishness and my misfortune. Go back to our master and do not compromise yourself."
Coconnas pondered an instant. Then raising his head:
"My dear fellow," he replied, "all that you tell me is perfectly reasonable; you are in love—act, therefore, like a lover. I am ambitious, and being so, I think life is worth more to me than a woman's kiss. When I risk my life, I make my own conditions. Try, so far as you are concerned, my poor Medor, to make yours."
Whereupon Coconnas extended his hand to La Mole and withdrew, having exchanged a final glance and a final smile with his friend.
About ten minutes after he left his post, the door opened, and Marguerite, peering out cautiously, took La Mole by the hand and, without uttering a word, drew him from the corridor into the furthest corner of her room. She closed the door behind her with a care which indicated the importance of the conversation she was about to have.
Once in her room she stopped, seated herself on her ebony chair, and drawing La Mole to her, she clasped her hands over both of his.
"Now that we are alone," said she, "let us talk seriously, my very dear friend."
"Seriously, madame," said La Mole.
"Or lovingly. Does that please you better? But there can be serious things in love, and especially in the love of a queen."
"Then—let us talk of serious things; but on condition that your majesty will not be vexed at the lighter things I have to say to you."
"I shall be vexed only at one thing, La Mole, and that is if you address me as 'madame' or 'your majesty.' For you, my beloved, I am just Marguerite."
"Yes, Marguerite! Yes, Margarita! Yes, my pearl!" cried the young man, devouring the queen with his eyes.
"Yes, that is right," said Marguerite. "So you are jealous, my fine gentleman?"
"Oh! unreasonably."
"Still?"
"Madly, Marguerite."
"Jealous of whom? Come!"
"Of everyone."
"But really?"
"Of the king first."
"I should think after what you had seen and heard you might be easy on that point."
"Of this Monsieur de Mouy, whom I saw this morning for the first time, and whom this evening I find so far advanced in his intimacy with you."
"Monsieur de Mouy?"
"Yes."
"Who gave you such ideas about Monsieur de Mouy?"
"Listen! I recognized him from his figure, from the color of his hair, from a natural feeling of hatred. He is the one who was with Monsieur d'Alençon this morning."
"Well, what connection has that with me?"
"Monsieur d'Alençon is your brother. It is said that you are very fond of him. You may have confided to him a vague feeling of your heart, and, according to the custom at court, he has aided your wish by admitting Monsieur de Mouy to your apartment. Now, what I do not understand is how I was fortunate enough to find the king here at the same time. But in any case, madame, be frank with me. In default of other sentiment, a love like mine has the right to demand frankness in return. See, I prostrate myself at your feet. If what you have felt for me is but a passing fancy, I will give you back your trust, your promise, your love; I will give back to Monsieur d'Alençon his kind favors and my post of gentleman, and I will go and seek death at the siege of La Rochelle, if love does not kill me before I have gone as far as that."
Marguerite listened smilingly to these charming words, watching La Mole's graceful gestures, then leaning her beautiful dreamy head on her feverish hand:
"You love me?" she asked.
"Oh, madame! more than life, more than safety, more than all; but you, you—you do not love me."
"Poor fool!" she murmured.
"Ah, yes, madame," cried La Mole, still at her feet, "I have told you I was that."
"The chief thought of your life, then, is your love, dear La Mole!"
"It is the only thought, madame, the sole thought."
"Well, be it so; I will make of all the rest only an accessory to this love. You love me; do you wish to remain near me?"
"My one prayer is that God will never take me from you."
"Well, you shall not leave me. I need you, La Mole."
"You need me? Does the sun need the glow-worm?"
"If I will tell you that I love you, would you be wholly devoted to me?"
"Ah! am I not that already, madame, and more than wholly?"
"Yes, but, God forgive me, you still doubt!"
"Oh! I am wrong, I am ungrateful, or, rather, as I have told you and repeated to you, I am a fool. But why was Monsieur de Mouy with you this evening? why did I see him this morning with Monsieur le Duc d'Alençon? Why that cherry-colored cloak, that white plume, that affected imitation of my gait? Ah! madame, it is not you whom I suspect, but your brother."
"Wretched man!" said Marguerite, "wretched man to suppose that Duc François would push complacency so far as to introduce a wooer to his sister's room! Mad enough to be jealous, and yet not to have guessed! Do you know, La Mole, that the Duc d'Alençon would run you through with his own sword if he knew that you were here, this evening, at my feet, and that instead of sending you away I were saying to you: 'Stay here where you are, La Mole; for I love you, my fine gentleman, do you hear? I love you!' Ah, yes! he would certainly kill you."
"Great God!" cried La Mole, starting back and looking at Marguerite in terror, "is it possible?"
"Everything is possible, my friend, in these times and at this court. Now, one word; it was not for me that Monsieur de Mouy, in your cloak, his face hidden under your hat, came to the Louvre. It was for Monsieur d'Alençon. But I, thinking it was you, brought him here. He knows our secret, La Mole, and must be carefully managed."
"I should prefer to kill him," said La Mole; "that is shorter and surer."
"And I, my brave gentleman," said the queen, "I prefer him to live, and for you to know everything, for not only is his life useful to us, but it is necessary. Listen and weigh your words well before you answer. Do you love me enough, La Mole, to be glad if I were really to become a queen; that is, queen of a real kingdom?"
"Alas, madame, I love you enough to wish what you wish, even should this desire ruin my whole life!"
"Well, do you want to aid me to realize this desire, which would make you still happier?"
"Oh! I should lose you, madame," cried La Mole hiding his head in his hands.
"No, on the contrary. Instead of being the first of my servants, you would become the first of my subjects, that is all."
"Oh! no interest—no ambition, madame—do not sully the feeling I have for you—the devotion, nothing but devotion!"
"Noble nature!" said Marguerite; "well, yes, I accept your devotion, and I shall find out how to reward it."
She extended both her hands, and La Mole covered them with kisses.
"Well!" said she.
"Well, yes!" replied La Mole, "yes, Marguerite, I am beginning to comprehend this vague project already talked of by us Huguenots before the massacre of Saint Bartholomew, the scheme for the execution of which I, like many another worthier than myself, was sent to Paris. You covet this actual kingdom of Navarre which is to take the place of an imaginary kingdom. King Henry drives you to it; De Mouy conspires with you, does he not? But the Duc d'Alençon, what is he doing in it all? Where is there a throne for him? I do not see. Now, is the Duc d'Alençon sufficiently your—friend to aid you in all this without asking anything in exchange for the danger he runs?"
"The duke, my friend, is conspiring on his own account. Let us leave him to his illusions. His life answers for ours."
"But I, who belong to him, can I betray him?"
"Betray him! In what are you betraying him? What has he confided to you? Is it not he who has betrayed you by giving your cloak and hat to De Mouy as a means of gaining him admittance to his apartments? You belong to him, you say! Were you not mine, my gentleman, before you were his? Has he given you a greater proof of friendship than the proof of love you have from me?"
La Mole arose, pale and completely overcome.
"Oh!" he murmured, "Coconnas was right, intrigue is enveloping me in its folds. It will suffocate me."
"Well?" asked Marguerite.
"Well," said La Mole, "this is my answer: it is said, and I heard it at the other end of France, where your illustrious name and your universal reputation for beauty touched my heart like a vague desire for the unknown,—it is said that sometimes you love, but that your love is always fatal to those you love, so that death, jealous, no doubt, almost always removes your lovers."
"La Mole!"
"Do not interrupt me, oh, my well-loved Margarita, for they add that you preserve the hearts of these faithful friends in gold boxes[10], and that occasionally you bestow a melancholy thought, a pious glance on the sad remains. You sigh, my queen, your eyes droop; it is true. Well! make me the dearest and the happiest of your favorites. You have pierced the hearts of others, and you keep their hearts. You do more with me, you expose my head. Well, Marguerite, swear to me before the image of the God who has saved my life in this very place, swear to me, that if I die for you, as a sad presentiment tells me I shall do, swear to me that you will keep my head, which the hangman will separate from my body; and that you will sometimes press your lips to it. Swear, Marguerite, and the promise of such reward bestowed by my queen will make me silent, and, if necessary, a traitor and a coward; this is being wholly devoted, as your lover and your accomplice should be."
"Oh! what ghastly foolishness, dear heart!" said Marguerite. "Oh! fatal thought, sweet love."
"Swear"—
"Swear?"
"Yes, on this silver chest with its cross. Swear."
"Well!" said Marguerite, "if—and God forbid!—your gloomy presentiment is realized, my fine gentleman, on this cross I swear to you that you shall be near me, living or dead, so long as I live; and if I am unable to rescue you from the peril which comes to you through me, through me alone, I will at least give to your poor soul the consolation for which you ask, and which you will so well have deserved."
"One word more, Marguerite. I can die now. I shall not mind death; but I can live, too, for we may succeed. The King of Navarre, king, you may be queen, in which case he will take you away. This vow of separation between you will some day be broken, and will do away with ours. Now, Marguerite, my well-beloved Marguerite, with a word you have taken away my every fear of death; now with a word keep up my courage concerning life."
"Oh, fear nothing, I am yours, body and soul!" cried Marguerite, again raising her hand to the cross on the little chest. "If I leave, you follow, and if the king refuses to take you, then I shall not go."
"But you dare not resist!"
"My well-beloved Hyacinthe," said Marguerite, "you do not know Henry. At present he is thinking of only one thing, that is, of being king. For this he would sacrifice everything he owns, and, still more, what he does not own. Now, adieu!"
"Madame," said La Mole, smiling, "are you going to send me away?"
"It is late," said Marguerite.
"No doubt; but where would you have me go? Monsieur de Mouy is in my room with Monsieur le Duc d'Alençon."
"Ah! yes," said Marguerite, with a beautiful smile. "Besides, I have still some things to tell you about this conspiracy."
From that night La Mole was no longer an ordinary favorite. He well might carry his head high, for which, living or dead, so sweet a future was in store.
And yet at times his weary brow was bent, his cheek grew pale, and deep thoughts ploughed their furrows on the forehead of the young man, once so light-hearted, now so happy!
On leaving Madame de Sauve Henry had said to her:
"Go to bed, Charlotte. Pretend that you are very ill, and on no account see any one all day to-morrow."
Charlotte obeyed without questioning the reason for this suggestion from the king. She was beginning to be accustomed to his eccentricities, as we should call them to-day, or to his whims as they were then called. Moreover, she knew that deep in his heart Henry hid secrets which he told to no one, in his mind plans which he feared to reveal even in his dreams; so that she carried out all his wishes, knowing that his most peculiar ideas had an object.
Whereupon that evening she complained to Dariole of great heaviness in her head, accompanied by dizziness. These were the symptoms which Henry had suggested to her to feign.
The following day she pretended that she wanted to rise, but scarcely had she put her foot on the floor when she said she felt a general debility, and went back to bed.
This indisposition, which Henry had already announced to the Duc d'Alençon, was the first news brought to Catharine when she calmly asked why La Sauve was not present as usual at her levee.
"She is ill!" replied Madame de Lorraine, who was there.
"Ill!" repeated Catharine, without a muscle of her face betraying the interest she took in the answer. "Some idle fatigue, perhaps."
"No, madame," replied the princess. "She complains of a severe headache and of weakness which prevents her from walking." Catharine did not answer. But, to hide her joy, she turned to the window, and perceiving Henry, who was crossing the court after his conversation with De Mouy, she rose the better to see him. Driven by that conscience which, although invisible, always throbs in the deepest recesses of hearts most hardened to crime:
"Does not my son Henry seem paler than usual this morning?" she asked her captain of the guards.
There was nothing in the question. Henry was greatly troubled mentally; but physically he was very strong.
By degrees those usually present at the queen's levee withdrew. Three or four intimate ones remained longer than the others, but Catharine impatiently dismissed them, saying that she wished to be alone. When the last courtier had gone Catharine closed the door and going to a secret closet hidden in one of the panels of her room she slid back a door in a groove of wood and took out a book, the worn leaves of which showed frequent use. Placing the volume on a table, she opened it to a book-mark, then resting her elbow on the table and her head on one hand:
"That is it," murmured she, reading, "'headache, general weakness, pain in the eyes, swelling of the palate.' As yet they have mentioned only the pains in the head and weakness. But the other symptoms will not be slow in forthcoming."
She continued:
"'Then the inflammation reaches the throat, extends to the stomach, surrounds the heart like a circle of fire, and causes the brain to burst like a thunderclap,'" she read on to herself. Then in a low voice:
"For the fever, six hours; for the general inflammation, twelve hours; for the gangrene, twelve hours; for the suffering, six hours; in all thirty-six hours. Now, suppose that the absorption is slow, and that instead of thirty-six hours we have forty, even forty-eight, yes, forty-eight hours should suffice. But Henry, how is it that he is still up? Because he is a man, because he has a strong constitution, because perhaps he drank after he kissed her, and wiped his lips after drinking."
Catharine awaited the dinner hour with impatience.
Henry dined every day at the king's table. He came, he in turn complained of pain in his head; he ate nothing, and withdrew immediately after the meal, saying that having been awake a part of the previous night, he felt a pressing need of sleep.
Catharine listened as his uncertain steps died away. Then she had him followed. She was told that the King of Navarre had gone to Madame de Sauve's apartments.
"Henry," said she to herself, "will this evening complete the work of death which some unfortunate chance has left half finished."
The King of Navarre had indeed gone to Madame de Sauve's room, but it was to tell her to continue playing her rôle.
The whole of the following morning Henry did not leave his chamber; nor did he appear at dinner. Madame de Sauve, they said, was growing worse and worse, and the report of Henry's illness, spread abroad by Catharine herself, sped like one of those presentiments which hover in the air, but which no one can explain.
Catharine was delighted. The previous morning she had sent Ambroise Paré to help one of her favorite servants, who was ill at Saint Germain, so it had to be one of her own men who was called in to see Madame de Sauve and Henry. This man would say only what she wished him to say. If, contrary to all expectation, some other doctor had been summoned, and if some whisper concerning poison had frightened the court, in which so many such reports had already been circulated, she counted greatly on the rumor to arouse the jealousy of Marguerite regarding the various loves of her husband. We remember she had spoken strongly of this jealousy which had been apparent on various occasions; among others, on the hawthorn walk, where, in the presence of several persons, she had said to her daughter:
"So you are very jealous, Marguerite?" Therefore, with unruffled features she waited for the door to open, when some pale, startled servant would enter, crying:
"Your majesty, the King of Navarre has been hurt, and Madame de Sauve is dead!" Four o'clock in the afternoon struck. Catharine finished her luncheon in the aviary, where she was crumbling some bread for her rare birds which she herself had raised. Although her face was calm and even gloomy, as usual, her heart throbbed violently at the slightest sound. Suddenly the door opened.
"Madame," said the captain of the guards, "the King of Navarre is"—
"Ill?" hastily interrupted Catharine.
"No, madame, thank God! His majesty seems to be wonderfully well."
"What is it, then?"
"The King of Navarre is here."
"What does he want?"
"He is bringing your majesty a rare kind of monkey."
Just then Henry entered holding in his hand a basket, in which was a little monkey he was petting.
He entered smiling and seemed wholly absorbed in the dear little animal he brought; but occupied as he appeared to be, he did not fail to give his usual first glance around. This was sufficient for him under trying circumstances. As to Catharine, she was very pale, of a pallor which deepened as she saw that the cheeks of the young man were flushed with the glow of health.
The queen mother was amazed at this turn of affairs. She accepted Henry's gift mechanically, appeared agitated, complimented him on looking so well, and added:
"I am all the more pleased to see you looking so, because I heard that you were ill, and because, if I remember rightly, you yourself complained of not feeling well, in my presence. But I understand now," she added, trying to smile, "it was an excuse so that you might be free."
"No, I have really been very ill, madame," said Henry, "but a specific used in our mountains, and which comes from my mother, has cured my indisposition."
"Ah! you will give me the recipe, will you not, Henry?" said Catharine, really smiling this time, but with an irony she could not disguise.
"Some counter-poison," she murmured. "We must look into this; but no, seeing Madame de Sauve ill, it will be suspected. Indeed, I believe that the hand of God is over this man."
Catharine waited impatiently for the night. Madame de Sauve did not appear. At play she inquired for her, but was told that she was suffering more and more.
All the evening she was restless, and everyone anxiously wondered what were the thoughts which could move this face usually so calm.
At length everyone retired. Catharine had herself undressed and put to bed by her ladies-in-waiting. Then when everyone had gone to sleep in the Louvre, she rose, slipped on a long black dressing-gown, took a lamp, chose from her keys the one which unlocked the door of Madame de Sauve's apartments, and ascended the stairs to see her maid-of-honor.