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.”
9. “I am alone; enter, my dear.”
Chapter 26.
Margarita.
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
