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who, pray, is?”

      “Why, by Heaven! it is the reformed religion marrying the pope — that’s all.”

      “No, no, I cannot be deceived by your jests. Monseigneur loves Madame Marguerite. And can I blame you? Heaven forbid! She is beautiful enough to be adored.”

      Henry reflected for a moment, and, as he reflected, a meaning smile curled the corner of his lips.

      “Baroness,” said he, “you seem to be seeking a quarrel with me, but you have no right to do so. What have you done to prevent me from marrying Madame Marguerite? Nothing. On the contrary, you have always driven me to despair.”

      “And well for me that I have, monseigneur,” replied Madame de Sauve.

      “How so?”

      “Why, of course, because you are marrying another woman!”

      “I marry her because you love me not.”

      “If I had loved you, sire, I must have died in an hour.”

      “In an hour? What do you mean? And of what death would you have died?”

      “Of jealousy! — for in an hour the Queen of Navarre will send away her women, and your majesty your gentlemen.”

      “Is that really the thought that is uppermost in your mind, ma mie?”

      “I did not say so. I only say, that if I loved you it would be uppermost in my mind most tormentingly.”

      “Very well,” said Henry, at the height of joy on hearing this confession, the first which she had made to him, “suppose the King of Navarre should not send away his gentlemen this evening?”

      “Sire,” replied Madame de Sauve, looking at the king with astonishment for once unfeigned, “you say things impossible and incredible.”

      “What must I do to make you believe them?”

      “Give me a proof — and that proof you cannot give me.”

      “Yes, baroness, yes! By Saint Henry, I will give it you!” exclaimed the king, gazing at the young woman with eyes hot with love.

      “Oh, your majesty!” exclaimed the lovely Charlotte in an undertone and with downcast eyes, “I do not understand — No! no, it is impossible for you to turn your back on the happiness awaiting you.”

      “There are four Henrys in this room, my adorable!” replied the king, “Henry de France, Henry de Condé, Henry de Guise, but there is only one Henry of Navarre.”

      “Well?”

      “Well; if this Henry of Navarre is with you all night”—

      “All night!”

      “Yes; will that be a certain proof to you that he is not with any other?”

      “Ah! if you do that, sire,” cried Madame Sauve.

      “On the honor of a gentleman I will do it!”

      Madame de Sauve raised her great eyes dewy with voluptuous promises and looked at the king, whose heart was filled with an intoxicating joy.

      “And then,” said Henry, “what will you say?”

      “I will say,” replied Charlotte, “that your majesty really loves me.”

      “Ventre saint gris! then you shall say it, baroness, for it is true.”

      “But how can you manage it?” murmured Madame de Sauve.

      “Oh! by Heaven! baroness, have you not about you some waiting-woman, some girl whom you can trust?”

      “Yes, Dariole is so devoted to me that she would let herself be cut in pieces for me; she is a real treasure.”

      “By Heaven! then say to her that I will make her fortune when I am King of France, as the astrologers prophesy.”

      Charlotte smiled, for even at this period the Gascon reputation of the Béarnais was already established with respect to his promises.

      “Well, then, what do you want Dariole to do?”

      “Little for her, a great deal for me. Your apartment is over mine?”

      “Yes.”

      “Let her wait behind the door. I will knock gently three times; she will open the door, and you will have the proof that I have promised you.”

      Madame de Sauve kept silence for several seconds, and then, as if she had looked around her to observe if she were overheard, she fastened her gaze for a moment on the group clustering around the queen mother; brief as the moment was, it was sufficient for Catharine and her lady-inwaiting to exchange a look.

      “Oh, if I were inclined,” said Madame de Sauve, with a siren’s accent that would have melted the wax in Ulysses’ ears, “if I were inclined to make your majesty tell a falsehood”—

      “Ma mie, try”—

      “Ah, ma foi! I confess I am tempted to do so.”

      “Give in! Women are never so strong as after they are defeated.”

      “Sire, I hold you to your promise for Dariole when you shall be King of France.”

      Henry uttered an exclamation of joy.

      At the precise moment when this cry escaped the lips of the Béarnais, the Queen of Navarre was replying to the Duc de Guise:

      “Noctu pro more— to-night as usual.”

      Then Henry turned away from Madame de Sauve as happy as the Duc de Guise had been when he left Marguerite de Valois.

      An hour after the double scene we have just related, King Charles and the queen mother retired to their apartments. Almost immediately the rooms began to empty; the galleries exhibited the bases of their marble columns. The admiral and the Prince de Condé were escorted home by four hundred Huguenot gentlemen through the middle of the crowd, which hooted as they passed. Then Henry de Guise, with the Lorraine gentlemen and the Catholics, left in their turn, greeted by cries of joy and plaudits of the people.

      But Marguerite de Valois, Henry de Navarre, and Madame de Sauve lived in the Louvre.

      Chapter 2.

       The Queen of Navarre’s Bedchamber.

       Table of Contents

      The Duc de Guise escorted his sister-inlaw, the Duchess de Nevers, to her hôtel in the Rue du Chaume, facing the Rue de Brac, and after he had put her into the hands of her women, he went to his own apartment to change his dress, put on a night cloak, and armed himself with one of those short, keen poniards which are called “foi de gentilhomme,” and were worn without swords; but as he took it off the table on which it lay, he perceived a small billet between the blade and the scabbard.

      He opened it, and read as follows:

      “I hope M. de Guise will not return to the Louvre to-night; or if he does, that he will at least take the precaution to arm himself with a good coat of mail and a proved sword.”

      “Aha!” said the duke, addressing his valet, “this is a singular warning, Maître Robin. Now be kind enough to tell me who has been here during my absence.”

      “Only one person, monseigneur.”

      “Who?”

      “Monsieur du Gast.”

      “Aha! In fact, methinks I recognize the handwriting. And you are sure that Du Gast came? You saw him?”

      “More than that, monseigneur; I spoke with him.”

      “Very good; then I will follow his

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