LITMIR.BIZ

      Chapter 25.

       The Cherry-Colored Cloak.

       Table of Contents

      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

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