THE VALOIS SAGA: Queen Margot, Chicot de Jester & The Forty-Five Guardsmen (Historical Novels). Alexandre Dumas

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      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 13.

       How There are Keys which Open Doors They are Not Meant for.

       Table of Contents

      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.

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