Александр Дюма
Marguerite de Valois
CHAPTER XII
MUTUAL CONFIDENCES
"And, first, where are we going?" asked Marguerite; "not to the Pont des Meuniers, I suppose, – I have seen enough slaughter since yesterday, my poor Henriette."
"I have taken the liberty to conduct your majesty" —
"First and foremost, my majesty requests you to forget my majesty – you were taking me" —
"To the Hôtel de Guise, unless you decide otherwise."
"No, no, let us go there, Henriette; the Duc de Guise is not there, your husband is not there."
"Oh, no," cried the duchess, her bright emerald eyes sparkling with joy; "no, neither my husband, nor my brother-in-law, nor any one else. I am free – free as air, free as a bird, – free, my queen! Do you understand the happiness there is in that word? I go, I come, I command. Ah, poor queen, you are not free – and so you sigh."
"You go, you come, you command. Is that all? Is that all the use of liberty? You are happy with only freedom as an excuse!"
"Your majesty promised to tell me a secret."
"Again 'your majesty'! I shall be angry soon, Henriette. Have you forgotten our agreement?"
"No; your respectful servant in public – in private, your madcap confidante, is it not so, madame? Is it not so, Marguerite?"
"Yes, yes," said the queen, smiling.
"No family rivalry, no treachery in love; everything fair, open, and aboveboard! An offensive and defensive alliance, for the sole purpose of finding and, if we can, catching on the fly, that ephemeral thing called happiness."
"Just so, duchess. Let us again seal the compact with a kiss."
And the two beautiful women, the one so pale, so full of melancholy, the other so roseate, so fair, so animated, joined their lips as they had united their thoughts.
"Tell me, what is there new?" asked the duchess, giving Marguerite an eager, inquisitive look.
"Isn't everything new since day before yesterday?"
"Oh, I am speaking of love, not of politics. When we are as old as dame Catharine we will take part in politics; but we are only twenty, my pretty queen, and so let us talk about something else. Let me see! can it be that you are really married?"
"To whom?" asked Marguerite, laughing.
"Ah! you reassure me, truly!"
"Well, Henriette, that which reassures you, alarms me. Duchess, I must be married."
"When?"
"To-morrow."
"Oh, poor little friend! and is it necessary?"
"Absolutely."
"Mordi! as an acquaintance of mine says, this is very sad."
"And so you know some one who says mordi?" asked Marguerite, with a smile.
"Yes."
"And who is this some one?"
"You keep asking me questions when I am talking to you. Finish and I will begin."
"In two words, it is this: The King of Navarre is in love, and not with me; I am not in love, but I do not want him, yet we must both of us change, or seem to change, between now and to-morrow."
"Well, then, you change, and be very sure he will do the same."
"That is quite impossible, for I am less than ever inclined to change."
"Only with respect to your husband, I hope."
"Henriette, I have a scruple."
"A scruple! about what?"
"A religious one. Do you make any difference between Huguenots and Catholics?"
"In politics?"
"Yes."
"Of course."
"And in love?"
"My dear girl, we women are such heathens that we admit every kind of sect, and recognize many gods."
"In one, eh?"
"Yes," replied the duchess, her eyes sparkling; "he who is called Eros, Cupido, Amor. He who has a quiver on his back, wings on his shoulders, and a fillet over his eyes. Mordi, vive la dévotion!"
"You have a peculiar method of praying; you throw stones on the heads of Huguenots."
"Let us do our duty and let people talk. Ah, Marguerite! how the finest ideas, the noblest actions, are spoilt in passing through the mouths of the vulgar!"
"The vulgar! – why, it was my brother Charles who congratulated you on your exploits, wasn't it?"
"Your brother Charles is a mighty hunter blowing the horn all day, and that makes him very thin. I reject his compliments; besides, I gave him his answer – didn't you hear what I said?"
"No; you spoke so low."
"So much the better. I shall have more news to tell you. Now, then, finish your story, Marguerite."
"I was going to say – to say" —
"Well?"
"I was going to say," continued the queen, laughing, "if the stone my brother spoke of be a fact, I should resist."
"Ah!" cried Henriette, "so you have chosen a Huguenot, have you? Well, to reassure your conscience, I promise you that I will choose one myself on the first opportunity."
"Ah, so you have chosen a Catholic, have you?"
"Mordi!" replied the duchess.
"I see, I see."
"And what is this Huguenot of yours?"
"I did not choose him. The young man is nothing and probably never will be anything to me."
"But what sort is he? You can tell me that; you know how curious I am about these matters."
"A poor young fellow, beautiful as Benvenuto Cellini's Nisus, – and he came and took refuge in my room."
"Oho! – of course without any suggestion on your part?"
"Poor fellow! Do not laugh so, Henriette; at this very moment he is between life and death."
"He is ill, is he?"
"He is grievously wounded."
"A wounded Huguenot is very disagreeable, especially in these times; and what have you done with this wounded Huguenot, who is not and never will be anything to you?"
"He is in my closet; I am concealing him and I want to save him."
"He is handsome! he is young! he is wounded. You hide him in your closet; you want to save him. This Huguenot of yours will be very ungrateful if he is not too grateful."
"I am afraid he is already – much more so than I could wish."
"And this poor young man interests you?"
"From motives of humanity – that's all."
"Ah, humanity! my poor queen, that is the very virtue that is the ruin of all of us women."
"Yes; and you understand: as the King, the Duc d'Alençon, my mother, even my husband, may at any moment enter my room" —
"You want me to hide your little Huguenot as long as he is ill, on condition I send him back to you when he is cured?"
"Scoffer!" said Marguerite, "no! I do not lay my plans so far in advance; but if you could conceal the poor fellow, – if you could preserve the life I have saved, – I confess I should be most grateful. You are free at the Hôtel de Guise; you have neither brother-in-law nor husband to spy on you or constrain you; besides, behind your room there is a closet like mine into which no one is entitled to enter; so lend me your closet for my Huguenot, and when he is cured open the cage and let the bird fly away."
"There is only one difficulty, my dear queen: the cage is already occupied."
"What, have you also saved somebody?"
"That is exactly what I answered your brother with."
"Ah, I understand! that's why you spoke so low that I could not hear you."
"Listen, Marguerite: it is an admirable story – is no less poetical and romantic than yours. After I had left you six of my guards, I returned with the rest to the Hôtel de Guise, and I was watching them pillage and burn a house separated from my brother's palace only by the Rue des Quatre Fils, when I heard the voices of men swearing and of women crying. I went out on the balcony and the first thing I saw was a sword flashing so brilliantly that it seemed to light up the whole scene. I was filled with admiration for this fiery sword. I am fond of fine things, you know! Then naturally enough I tried to distinguish the arm wielding it and then the body to which the arm belonged. Amid sword-thrusts and shouts I at last made out the man and I saw – a hero, an Ajax Telamon. I heard a voice – the voice of a Stentor. My enthusiasm awoke – I stood there panting, trembling at every blow aimed at him, at every thrust he parried! That was a quarter hour of emotion such as I had never before experienced, my queen; and never believed was possible to experience. So there I was panting, holding my breath, trembling, and voiceless, when all of a sudden my hero disappeared."
"How?"
"Struck down by a stone an old woman threw at him. Then, like Cyrus, I found my voice, and screamed, 'Help! help!' my guards went out, lifted him up, and bore him to the room which you want for your protégé."
"Alas, my dear Henriette, I can better understand this story because it is so nearly my own."
"With this difference, queen, that as I am serving my King and my religion, I have no reason to send Monsieur Annibal de Coconnas away."
"His name is Annibal de Coconnas!" said Marguerite, laughing.
"A terrible name, is it not? Well, he who bears it is worthy of it. What a champion he is, by Heaven! and how he made the blood flow! Put on your mask, my queen, for we are now at the palace."
"Why put on my mask?"
"Because I wish to show you my hero."
"Is he handsome?"
"He seemed magnificent to me during the conflict. To be sure, it was at night and he was lighted up by the flames. This morning by daylight I confess he seemed to me to have lost a little."
"So then my protégé is rejected at the Hôtel de Guise. I am sorry for it, for that is the last place where they would look for a Huguenot."
"Oh, no, your Huguenot shall come; I will have him brought this evening: one shall sleep in the right-hand corner of the closet and the other in the left."
"But when they recognize each other as Protestant and Catholic they will fight."
"Oh, there is no danger. Monsieur de Coconnas has had a cut down the face that prevents him from seeing very well; your Huguenot is wounded in the chest so that he can't move; and, besides, you have only to tell him to be silent on the subject of religion, and all will go well."
"So be it."
"It's a bargain; and now let us go in."
"Thanks," said Marguerite, pressing her friend's hand.
"Here, madame," said the duchess, "you are again 'your majesty;' suffer me, then, to do the honors of the Hôtel de Guise fittingly for the Queen of Navarre."
And the duchess, alighting from the litter, almost knelt on the ground in helping Marguerite to step down; then pointing to the palace door guarded by two sentinels, arquebuse in hand, she followed the queen at a respectful distance, and this humble attitude she maintained as long as she was in sight.
As soon as she reached her room, the duchess closed the door, and, calling to her waiting-woman, a thorough Sicilian, said to her in Italian,
"Mica, how is Monsieur le Comte?"
"Better and better," replied she.
"What is he doing?"
"At this moment, madame, he is taking some refreshment."
"It is always a good sign," said Marguerite, "when the appetite returns."
"Ah, that is true. I forgot you were a pupil of Ambroise Paré. Leave us, Mica."
"Why do you send her away?"
"That she may be on the watch."
Mica left the room.
"Now," said the duchess, "will you go in to see him, or shall I send for him here?"
"Neither the one nor the other. I wish to see him without his seeing me."
"What matters it? You have your mask."
"He may recognize me by my hair, my hands, a jewel."
"How cautious she is since she has been married, my pretty queen!"
Marguerite smiled.
"Well," continued the duchess, "I see only one way."
"What is that?"
"To look through the keyhole."
"Very well! take me to the door."
The duchess took Marguerite by the hand and led her to a door covered with tapestry; then bending one knee, she applied her eye to the keyhole.
"’Tis all right; he is sitting at table, with his face turned toward us; come!"
The queen took her friend's place, and looked through the keyhole; Coconnas, as the duchess had said, was sitting at a well-served table, and, despite his wounds, was doing ample justice to the good things before him.
"Ah, great heavens!" cried Marguerite, starting back.
"What is the matter?" asked the duchess in amazement.
"Impossible! – no! – yes! – on my soul, ’tis the very man!"
"Who?"
"Hush," said Marguerite, getting to her feet and seizing the duchess's hand; "’tis the man who pursued my Huguenot into my room, and stabbed him in my arms! Oh, Henriette, how fortunate he did not see me!"
"Well, then, you have seen him fighting; was he not handsome?"
"I do not know," said Marguerite, "for I was looking at the man he was pursuing."
"What is his name?"
"You will not mention it before the count?"
"No, I give you my promise!"
"Lerac de la Mole."
"And what do you think of him now?"
"Of Monsieur de la Mole?"
"No, of Monsieur de Coconnas?"
"Faith!" said Marguerite, "I confess I think" —
She stopped.
"Come, come," said the duchess, "I see you are angry with him for having wounded your Huguenot."
"Why, so far," said Marguerite, laughing, "my Huguenot owes him nothing; the slash he gave him under his eye" —
"They are quits, then, and we can reconcile them. Send me your wounded man."
"Not now – by and by."
"When?"
"When you have found yours another room."
"Which?"
Marguerite looked meaningly at her friend, who, after a moment's silence, laughed.
"So be it," said the duchess; "alliance firmer than ever."
"Friendship ever sincere!"
"And the word, in case we need each other?"
"The triple name of your triple god, 'Eros, Cupido, Amor.'"
And the two princesses separated after one more kiss, and pressing each other's hand for the twentieth time.
CHAPTER XIII
HOW THERE ARE KEYS WHICH OPEN DOORS THEY ARE NOT MEANT FOR
The Queen of Navarre on her return to the Louvre found Gillonne in great excitement. Madame de Sauve had been there in her absence. She had brought a key sent her by the queen mother. It was the key of the room in which Henry was confined. It was evident that the queen mother for some purpose of her own wished the Béarnais to spend that night in Madame de Sauve's apartment.
Marguerite took the key and turned it over and over; she made Gillonne repeat Madame de Sauve's every word, weighed them, letter by letter, in her mind, and at length thought she detected Catharine's plan.
She took pen and ink, and wrote:
"Instead of going to Madame de Sauve to-night, come to the Queen of Navarre."
"Marguerite."
She rolled up the paper, put it in the hollow of the key, and ordered Gillonne to slip the key under the king's door as soon as it was dark.
This first duty having been attended to, Marguerite thought of the wounded man, closed all the doors, entered the closet, and, to her great surprise, found La Mole dressed in all his clothes, torn and blood-stained as they were.
On seeing her he strove to rise, but, still dizzy, could not stand, and fell back upon the sofa which had served for his bed.
"What is the matter, sir?" asked Marguerite; "and why do you thus disobey your physician's orders? I recommended you rest, and instead of following my advice you do just the contrary."
"Oh, madame," said Gillonne, "it is not my fault; I have entreated Monsieur le Comte not to commit this folly, but he declares that nothing shall keep him any longer at the Louvre."
"Leave the Louvre!" said Marguerite, gazing with astonishment at the young man, who cast down his eyes. "Why, it is impossible – you cannot walk; you are pale and weak; your knees tremble. Only a few hours ago the wound in your shoulder was still bleeding."
"Madame," said the young man, "as earnestly as I thanked your majesty for having given me shelter, as earnestly do I pray you now to suffer me to depart."
"I scarcely know what to call such a resolution," said Marguerite; "it is worse than ingratitude."
"Oh," cried La Mole, clasping his hands, "think me not ungrateful; my gratitude will cease only with my life."
"It will not last long, then," said Marguerite, moved at these words, the sincerity of which it was impossible to doubt; "for your wounds will open, and you will die from loss of blood, or you will be recognized for a Huguenot and killed ere you have gone fifty yards in the street."
"Nevertheless I must leave the Louvre," murmured La Mole.
"Must," returned Marguerite, fixing her serene, inscrutable eyes upon him; then turning rather pale she added, "ah, yes; forgive me, sir, I understand; doubtless there is some one outside the Louvre who is anxiously waiting for you. You are right, Monsieur de la Mole; it is natural, and I understand it. Why didn't you say so at first? or rather, why didn't I think of it myself? It is duty in the exercise of hospitality to protect one's guest's affections as well as to cure his wounds, and to care for the spirit just as one cares for the body."
"Alas, madame," said La Mole, "you are laboring under a strange mistake. I am well nigh alone in the world, and altogether so in Paris, where no one knows me. My assassin is the first man I have spoken to in this city; your majesty the first woman who has spoken to me."
"Then," said Marguerite, "why would you go?"
"Because," replied La Mole, "last night you got no rest, and to-night" —
Marguerite blushed.
"Gillonne," said she, "it is already evening and time to deliver that key."
Gillonne smiled, and left the room.
"But," continued Marguerite, "if you are alone in Paris, without friends, what will you do?"
"Madame, I soon shall have friends enough, for while I was pursued I thought of my mother, who was a Catholic; methought I saw her with a cross in her hand gliding before me toward the Louvre, and I vowed that if God should save my life I would embrace my mother's religion. Madame, God did more than save my life, he sent me one of his angels to make me love life."
"But you cannot walk; before you have gone a hundred steps you will faint away."
"Madame, I have made the experiment in the closet, I walk slowly and painfully, it is true; but let me get as far as the Place du Louvre; once outside, let befall what will."
Marguerite leaned her head on her hand and sank into deep thought.
"And the King of Navarre," said she, significantly, "you no longer speak of him? In changing your religion, have you also changed your desire to enter his service?"
"Madame," replied La Mole, growing pale, "you have just hit upon the actual reason of my departure. I know that the King of Navarre is exposed to the greatest danger, and that all your majesty's influence as a daughter of France will barely suffice to save his life."
"What do you mean, sir," exclaimed Marguerite, "and what danger do you refer to?"
"Madame," replied La Mole, with some hesitation, "one can hear everything from the closet where I am."
"’Tis true," said Marguerite to herself; "Monsieur de Guise told me so before."
"Well," added she, aloud, "what did you hear?"
"In the first place, the conversation between your majesty and your brother."
"With François?" said Marguerite, changing color.
"Yes, madame, with the Duc d'Alençon; and then after you went out I heard what Gillonne and Madame de Sauve said."
"And these two conversations" —
"Yes, madame; married scarcely a week, you love your husband; your husband will come, in his turn, in the same way that the Duc d'Alençon and Madame de Sauve came. He will confide his secrets to you. Well, then, I must not overhear them; I should be indiscreet – I cannot – I must not – I will not be!"
By the tone in which La Mole uttered these last words, by the anxiety expressed in his voice, by the embarrassment shown in his eyes, Marguerite was enlightened as by a sudden revelation.
"Aha!" said she, "so you have heard everything that has been said in this room?"
"Yes, madame."
These words were uttered in a sigh.
"And you wish to depart to-night, this evening, to avoid hearing any more?"
"This moment, if it please your majesty to allow me to go."
"Poor fellow!" said Marguerite, with a strange accent of tender pity.
Astonished by such a gentle reply when he was expecting a rather forcible outburst, La Mole timidly raised his head; his eyes met Marguerite's and were riveted as by a magnetic power on their clear and limpid depths.
"So then you feel you cannot keep a secret, Monsieur de la Mole?" said Marguerite in a soft voice as she stood leaning on the back of her chair, half hidden in the shadow of a thick tapestry and enjoying the felicity of easily reading his frank and open soul while remaining impenetrable herself.
"Madame," said La Mole, "I have a miserable disposition: I distrust myself, and the happiness of another gives me pain."
"Whose happiness?" asked Marguerite, smiling. "Ah, yes – the King of Navarre's! Poor Henry!"
"You see," cried La Mole, passionately, "he is happy."
"Happy?"
"Yes, for your majesty is sorry for him."
Marguerite crumpled up the silk of her purse and smoothed out the golden fringe.
"So then you decline to see the King of Navarre?" said she; "you have made up your mind; you are decided?"
"I fear I should be troublesome to his majesty just at the present time."
"But the Duc d'Alençon, my brother?"
"Oh, no, madame!" cried La Mole, "the Duc d'Alençon even still less than the King of Navarre."
"Why so?" asked Marguerite, so stirred that her voice trembled as she spoke.
"Because, although I am already too bad a Huguenot to be a faithful servant of the King of Navarre, I am not a sufficiently good Catholic to be friends with the Duc d'Alençon and Monsieur de Guise."
This time Marguerite cast down her eyes, for she felt the very depths of her heart stirred by what he said, and yet she could not have told whether his reply was meant to give her joy or pain.
At this moment Gillonne came back. Marguerite asked her a question with a glance; Gillonne's answer, also conveyed by her eyes, was in the affirmative. She had succeeded in getting the key to the King of Navarre.
Marguerite turned her eyes toward La Mole, who stood before her, his head drooping on his breast, pale, like one suffering alike in mind and in body.
"Monsieur de la Mole is proud," said she, "and I hesitate to make him a proposition he will doubtless reject."
La Mole rose, took one step toward Marguerite, and was about to bow low before her to signify that he was at her service; but an intense, keen, burning pang forced the tears from his eyes, and conscious that he was in danger of falling, he clutched a piece of tapestry and clung to it.
"Don't you see, sir," cried Marguerite, springing to him and supporting him in her arms, "don't you see that you still need me?"
A scarcely perceptible movement passed over La Mole's lips.
"Oh, yes!" he whispered, "like the air I breathe, like the light I see!"
At this moment three knocks were heard at Marguerite's door.
"Do you hear, madame?" cried Gillonne, alarmed.
"Already!" exclaimed Marguerite.
"Shall I open?"
"Wait! perhaps it is the King of Navarre."
"Oh, madame!" cried La Mole, recalled to himself by these words, which the queen had spoken in such a low tone that she hoped Gillonne only had heard them, "on my knees I entreat you, let me depart. Yes, dead or alive! madame, have pity on me! Oh! you do not answer. I will tell you all, and then you will drive me away, I hope."
"Be silent," said Marguerite, who found an indescribable charm in the young man's reproaches; "be silent."
"Madame," replied La Mole, who did not find that anger he expected in the voice of the queen, "madame, I tell you again, everything is audible in this closet. Oh, do not make me perish by tortures more cruel than the executioner could inflict" —
"Silence! silence!" said Marguerite.
"Oh, madame, you are merciless! you will not hear me, you will not understand me. Know, then, that I love you" —
"Silence! I tell you," interrupted Marguerite, placing on his mouth her warm, perfumed hand, which he seized between both of his and pressed eagerly to his lips.
"But" – he whispered.
"Be silent, child – who is this rebel that refuses to obey his queen?"
Then darting out of the closet, she shut the door and stood leaning against the wall pressing her trembling hand to her heart, as if to control it.
"Open, Gillonne."
Gillonne left the room, and an instant after, the fine, intellectual, but rather anxious countenance of the King of Navarre appeared behind the tapestry.
"You have sent for me, madame?"
"Yes, sire. Your majesty received my letter?"
"And not without some surprise, I confess," said Henry, looking round with distrust, which, however, almost instantly vanished from his mind.
"And not without some apprehension," added Marguerite.
"I confess it, madame! But still, surrounded as I am by deadly enemies, by friends still more dangerous, perhaps, than my open foes, I recollected that one evening I had seen a noble generosity shining in your eyes – ’twas the night of our marriage; that one other evening I had seen the star of courage beaming in them – ’twas yesterday, the day fixed for my death."
"Well, sire?" said Marguerite, smiling, while Henry seemed striving to read her heart.
"Well, madame," returned the king, "thinking of these things, I said to myself, as I read your letter bidding me come: 'Without friends, for he is a disarmed prisoner, the King of Navarre has but one means of dying nobly, of dying a death that will be recorded in history. It is to die betrayed by his wife; and I am come'" —
"Sire," replied Marguerite, "you will change your tone when you learn that all this is the work of a woman who loves you – and whom you love."
Henry started back at these words, and his keen gray eyes under their black lashes were fixed on the queen with curiosity.
"Oh, reassure yourself, sire," said the queen, smiling; "I am not that person."
"But, madame," said Henry, "you sent me this key, and this is your writing."
"It is my writing, I confess; the letter came from me, but the key is a different matter. Let it satisfy you to know that it has passed through the hands of four women before it reached you."
"Of four women?" exclaimed Henry in astonishment.
"Yes," said Marguerite; "Queen Catharine's, Madame de Sauve's, Gillonne's, and mine."
Henry pondered over this enigma.
"Now let us talk reasonably, sire," said Marguerite, "and above all let us speak frankly. Common report has it that your majesty has consented to abjure. Is it true?"
"That report is mistaken; I have not yet consented."
"But your mind is made up?"
"That is to say, I am deliberating. When one is twenty and almost a king, ventre saint gris! there are many things well worth a mass."
"And among other things life, for instance!"
Henry could not repress a fleeting smile.
"You do not tell me your whole thought," said Marguerite.
"I have reservations for my allies, madame; and you know we are but allies as yet; if indeed you were both my ally – and" —
"And your wife, sire?"
"Faith! yes, and my wife" —
"What then?"
"Why, then, it might be different, and I perhaps might resolve to remain King of the Huguenots, as they call me. But as it is, I must be content to live."
Marguerite looked at Henry in such a peculiar manner that it would have awakened suspicion in a less acute mind than his.
"And are you quite sure of succeeding even in that?" she asked.
"Why, almost; but you know, in this world nothing is certain."
"It is true," replied Marguerite, "your majesty shows such moderation and professes such disinterestedness, that after having renounced your crown, after having renounced your religion, you will probably renounce your alliance with a daughter of France; at least this is hoped for."
These words bore a significance which sent a thrill through Henry's whole frame; but instantaneously repressing the emotion, he said:
"Deign to recollect, madame, that at this moment I am not my own master; I shall therefore do what the King of France orders me. If I were consulted the least in the world on this question, affecting as it does my throne, my honor, and my life, rather than build my future on this forced marriage of ours, I should prefer to enter a monastery or turn gamekeeper."
This calm resignation, this renunciation of the world, alarmed Marguerite. She thought perhaps this rupture of the marriage had been agreed upon by Charles IX., Catharine, and the King of Navarre. Why should she not be taken as a dupe or a victim? Because she was sister of the one and daughter of the other? Experience had taught her that this relationship gave her no ground on which to build her security.
So ambition was gnawing at this young woman's, or rather this young queen's heart, and she was too far above vulgar frailties to be drawn into any selfish meanness; in the case of every woman, however mediocre she may be, when she loves her love has none of these petty trials, for true love is also an ambition.
"Your majesty," said Marguerite, with a sort of mocking disdain, "has no confidence in the star that shines over the head of every king!"
"Ah," said Henry, "I vainly look for mine now, I cannot see it; ’tis hidden by the storm which now threatens me!"
"And suppose a woman's breath were to dispel this tempest, and make the star reappear, brilliant as ever?"
"’Twere difficult."
"Do you deny the existence of this woman?"
"No, I deny her power."
"You mean her will?"
"I said her power, and I repeat, her power. A woman is powerful only when love and interest are combined within her in equal degrees; if either sentiment predominates, she is, like Achilles, vulnerable; now as to this woman, if I mistake not, I cannot rely on her love."
Marguerite made no reply.
"Listen," said Henry; "at the last stroke of the bell of Saint Germain l'Auxerrois you must have thought of regaining your liberty, sacrificed for the purpose of destroying my followers. My concern was to save my life: that was the most essential thing. We lose Navarre, indeed; but what is that compared with your being enabled to speak aloud in your room, which you dared not do when you had some one listening to you in yonder closet?"
Deeply absorbed as she was in her thoughts, Marguerite could not refrain from smiling. The king rose and prepared to seek his own apartment, for it was some time after eleven, and every one at the Louvre was, or seemed to be, asleep.
Henry took three steps toward the door, then suddenly stopped as if for the first time recollecting the motive of his visit to the queen.
"By the way, madame," said he, "had you not something to communicate to me? or did you desire to give me an opportunity of thanking you for the reprieve which your brave presence in the King's armory brought me? In truth it was just in time, madame; I cannot deny it, you appeared like a goddess of antiquity, in the nick of time to save my life."
