was

Henry had shrewd sense, and a quick perception of things: friends and enemies subsequently found fault with him for possessing too much of both. He fully admitted that she who thus banished him from the nuptial bed well justified in so doing by the indifference he had himself manifested towards her-and then, too, she had just repaid this indifference by saving his life; he therefore did not allow his wounded self-love to dictate his answer, but merely replied―

"If, madame, M. de la Mole were capable of coming to my apartments, I would give him up my own bed."

"Nay," said Marguerite, "I scarcely deem that either you or he would be in safety there to-night, and prudence directs that your majesty should remain here until the morning."

Then, without awaiting any further reply from the king, she summoned Gillonne, and bade her prepare the necessary cushions for the king, and to arrange a bed at the king's feet for M. de la Mole, who appeared so happy and contented with the honour done him, as almost to forget his wounds.

Then Marguerite, courtseying low to the king, passed into the adjoining chamber, the door of which was well furnished with bolts, and threw herself on the bed.

"One thing is certain," said Marguerite, mentally, "that, to-morrow, M. de la Mole must have a protector at the Louvre; and he who, to-night, sees and hears nothing, may change his mind to-morrow."

Then calling Gillonne, she said in a whisper-“ Gillonne, you must contrive to bring my brother d'Alençon here tomorrow morning before eight o'clock."

The loud peal of the Louvre clock chimed the second hour after midnight.

La Mole, after a short parley with the king on political subjects, was left to his own reflections; for Henry fell asleep in the midst of one of his own speeches, and snored as lustily as though he had been reposing on his own leathern couch in Béarn.

La Mole might also have sunk into the arms of sleep, but his ideas were continually disturbed and disarranged by his proximity to Marguerite, who, a prey to restless thoughts, turned and re-turned on her pillow; while the mind

of la Mole became occupied in sympathetic surprise as to what could trouble the slumbers of one so highly favoured both by nature and fortune.

"He is very young and timid," murmured the wakeful queen; "but his eyes are rich with manly expression, and his form is one of nobleness and beauty; 'twere pity he should turn out otherwise than brave and loyal. Well, well, 'tis useless speculating upon uncertain chances: the affair has begun well, let us hope it will finish so; and now to commend myself to the triple deity to whom that madcap Henriette pays homage, and court its aid to procure a visit from the drowsy god."

And as morning broke, Marguerite fell asleep, murmuring, "Eros, Cupido, Amor."

CHAPTER XV.

WHAT WOMAN WILLS, HEAVEN WILLS ALSO.

MARGUERITE was right. The rage which swelled Catherine's bosom at sight of an expedient whose aim she perceived, although powerless to prevent its effects, required some person on whom she could freely vent it: instead, therefore, of retiring to her own apartment, the queen-mother proceeded to those of her lady-in-waiting.

Madame de Sauve was expecting two visits,-one she hoped to receive from Henry, and the other she feared was in store for her from the queen-mother. Reclining on her bed only partially undressed, while Dariole kept watch in the antechamber, she heard a key turn in the lock, followed by a slow, measured tread, the heaviness of which was prevented from reaching her ear through the thickness of the rich carpets over which the new comer passed; but she felt quite sure it was not the light, eager footstep of Henry; and guessing that Dariole had been prevented from coming to warn her of the visitant who so late intruded on her repose, she lay with beating heart and listening ear, awaiting the nearer approach of friend or foe, as it might turn out.

The curtain which covered the doorway was lifted aside, and Catherine de Medicis appeared. She seemed calm; but madame de Sauve, accustomed for two years to the study of her crafty and deceitful nature, well knew what fatal designs, as well as bitter thoughts of cruel vengeance, might be concealed beneath that cold, imperturbable tranquillity of look and

manner.

At sight of Catherine, madame de Sauve was about to spring from her bed, but Catherine signed to her to remain where she was; and thus her unfortunate victim was compelled to remain as though spell-bound, vainly endeavouring to collect all her strength to endure the storm she felt was breaking over her.

"Did you convey the key to the king of Navarre?” inquired Catherine, in a voice which differed not from her usual tone; the only change was in her lips, which looked paler and paler each instant.

"I did, madame," answered Charlotte, in a voice that vainly sought to imitate the firm, assured manner of Catherine.

"And have you seen him?"

"No, madame, but I expect him; and when I heard the sound of a key in the lock, I fully concluded it was he."

This reply, which indicated either a blind confidence or profound dissimulation on the part of madame de Sauve, enraged Catherine beyond all power of concealment; she literally shook with passion, and clenching her small plump hand, she said, with a malignant smile—

"'Tis strange, methinks, you should expect the king of Navarre in your apartments, when you perfectly well know how unlikely it is he should be here!"

"How, madame?"

"Yes, I repeat, you are fully aware that this night the king of Navarre neither could nor would visit you."

Nothing but death would prevent him, I feel confident," replied Charlotte, urged to a still more determined dissimulation by the certainty of how bitterly she should have to pay for her deceit, were it discovered.

"But did you not write to the king, my pretty Carlotta?" inquired Catherine. with the same cruel and unnatural smile.

"No, madame," answered Charlotte, with well-assumed naïveté, “I cannot recollect receiving your majesty's commands to do so."

A short silence followed, during which, Catherine continued to gaze on madame de Sauve as the serpent regards the bird it wishes to fascinate.

"You think yourself a beauty, and a skilful manœuvrer, do you not?" asked Catherine.

"No, indeed, madame," answered Charlotte; "I only remember that there have been times when your majesty has been graciously pleased to commend both my personal attractions and address."

“Well, then,” said Catherine, growing eager and animated, "whatever I may have said or thought, I now declare that you are but a hideous dolt, when compared to my daughter Margot."

"Oh, madame,” replied Charlotte, "that is a fact I seek not to deny least of all in your presence."

"It follows, then, naturally enough, that the king of Navarre prefers my daughter to you; a circumstance, I presume, not to your wishes, and certainly not what we agreed should be the case."

"Alas! madame," cried Charlotte, bursting into a torrent of tears, which now flowed from no feigned source-" if it be

so, I can but say I am very unfortunate!"

"Then take my royal word for its truth," repeated Catherine, again fixing her reptile-like eye upon her victim, till her words seemed to pierce her heart like a two-edged dagger.

"But what reason has your majesty for coming to this conclusion?"

"Proceed to the apartments of the queen of Navarre, you incredulous simpleton! and you will find your lover there. How like you that? Does it excite your jealousy?"

"Me jealous?" said madame de Sauve, recalling her fastfading strength and courage.

"Yes, you! Tell me how you mean to act. I have a curiosity to see how a Frenchwoman demonstrates that pas sion."

66

Nay," said madame de Sauve, why should your majesty suppose I am wounded in any other feeling than my

vanity, since all the interest I feel in the king of Navarre arises from my wish to be of service to your majesty." Catherine looked at her with a penetrating glance. "You may be speaking the truth," said she. "Am I, then, to consider you as wholly devoted to my service?" "Command me, madame, and judge."

"Well, then, Carlotta, if you are really sincere in your professions and protestations, you must (to serve me, understand) affect the utmost affection for the king of Navarre, and, above all, a violent jealousy. Pretend to be jealous as an Italian."

"And in what manner, madame, do the Italian females evince their jealousy?"

"I will instruct you," replied Catherine; who, after remaining some moments as though striving to keep down some powerful emotion, quitted the apartment slowly and noiselessly as she had entered it.

Thankful to be freed from the oppressive gaze of eyes, that seemed to expand and dilate like those of the cat or panther, Charlotte permitted her to depart without attempting to utter a word; nor did she breathe freely till Dariole came to tell her that the terrible visitant had entirely disappeared. She then bade the waiting-maid to bring an armchair beside her bed and pass the night, fearing, as she said, to be left alone. Dariole obeyed; but, despite the company of her faithful attendant, despite the bright light from a lamp illumined by her orders, madame de Sauve remained in trembling expectation of Catherine's return, nor closed her eyes till the dawn of day.

Notwithstanding the late hour at which Marguerite's slumbers had commenced, she awoke at the first sound of the hunting-horns and dogs, and instantly rising, dressed herself in a negligé too decided to escape observation. She then summoned her maids, and caused the ordinary attendants of the king of Navarre to be shown into an antechamber adjoining that in which he had passed the night. Then opening the door of the chamber which contained both Henry and de la Mole, she cast an affectionate glance on the latter, and said to her husband

"It is not sufficient, sire, to have persuaded my royal