QUEEN MARGOT (Historical Novel). Alexandre Dumas

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      “Political alliance, frank and loyal?” asked Henry.

      “Frank and loyal,” was the reply.

      And the Béarnais went toward the door, followed by Marguerite’s look as if she were fascinated. Then, when the curtain had fallen between them and the bedchamber:

      “Thanks, Marguerite,” he said, in a quick low tone, “thanks! You are a true daughter of France. I leave you quite tranquil: lacking your love, your friendship will not fail me. I rely on you, as you, on your side, may rely on me. Adieu, madame.”

      And Henry kissed his wife’s hand, and pressed it gently. Then with a quick step he returned to his own apartment, saying to himself, in a low voice, in the corridor:

      “Who the devil is with her? Is it the King, or the Duc d’Anjou, or the Duc d’Alençon, or the Duc de Guise? is it a brother or a lover? is it both? I’ faith, I am almost sorry now I asked the baroness for this rendezvous; but, as my word is pledged, and Dariole is waiting for me — no matter. Yet, ventre saint gris! this Margot, as my brother-inlaw, King Charles, calls her, is an adorable creature.”

      And with a step which betrayed a slight hesitation, Henry of Navarre ascended the staircase which led to Madame de Sauve’s apartments.

      Marguerite had followed him with her eyes until he disappeared. Then she returned to her chamber, and found the duke at the door of the cabinet. The sight of him almost touched her with remorse.

      The duke was grave, and his knitted brow bespoke bitter reflection.

      “Marguerite is neutral today,” he said; “in a week Marguerite will be hostile.”

      “Ah! you have been listening?” said Marguerite.

      “What else could I do in the cabinet?”

      “And did you find that I behaved otherwise than the Queen of Navarre should behave?”

      “No; but differently from the way in which the mistress of the Duc de Guise should behave.”

      “Sir,” replied the queen, “I may not love my husband, but no one has the right to require me to betray him. Tell me honestly: would you reveal the secrets of the Princesse de Porcian, your wife?”

      “Come, come, madame,” answered the duke, shaking his head, “this is very well; I see that you do not love me as in those days when you disclosed to me the plot of the King against me and my party.”

      “The King was strong and you were weak; Henry is weak and you are strong. You see I always play a consistent part.”

      “Only you pass from one camp to another.”

      “That was a right I acquired, sir, in saving your life.”

      “Good, madame; and as when lovers separate, they return all the gifts that have passed between them, I will save your life, in my turn, if ever the need arises, and we shall be quits.”

      And the duke bowed and left the room, nor did Marguerite attempt to retain him.

      In the antechamber he found Gillonne, who guided him to the window on the ground floor, and in the fosse he found his page, with whom he returned to the Hôtel de Guise.

      Marguerite, in a dreamy mood, went to the opened window.

      “What a marriage night!” she murmured to herself; “the husband flees from me — the lover forsakes me!”

      At that moment, coming from the Tour de Bois, and going up toward the Moulin de la Monnaie, on the other side of the fosse passed a student, his hand on his hip, and singing:

      “SONG.

      “Tell me why, O maiden fair,

       When I burn to bite thy hair,

       And to kiss thy rosy lips,

       And to touch thy lovely breast,

       Like a nun thou feign’st thee blest

       In the cloister’s sad eclipse?

      “Who will win the precious prize

       Of thy brow, thy mouth, thine eyes —

       Of thy bosom sweet — what lover?

       Wilt thou all thy charms devote

       To grim Pluton when the boat

       Charon rows shall take thee over?

      “After thou hast sailed across,

       Loveliest, then wilt find but loss —

       All thy beauty will decay.

       When I die and meet thee there

       In the shades I’ll never swear

       Thou wert once my mistress gay!

      “Therefore, darling, while we live,

       Change thy mind and tokens give —

       Kisses from thy honey mouth!

       Else when thou art like to die

       Thou ‘lt repent thy cruelty,

       Filling all my life with drouth!”

      Marguerite listened with a melancholy smile; then when the student’s voice was lost in the distance, she shut the window, and called Gillonne to help her to prepare for bed.

      Chapter 3.

       The Poet-King.

       Table of Contents

      The next day and those that followed were devoted to festivals, balls, and tournaments.

      The same amalgamation continued to take place between the two parties. The caresses and compliments lavished were enough to turn the heads of the most bigoted Huguenots. Père Cotton was to be seen dining and carousing with the Baron de Courtaumer; the Duc de Guise went boating on the Seine with the Prince de Condé. King Charles seemed to have laid aside his usual melancholy, and could not get enough of the society of his new brother-inlaw, Henry. Moreover, the queen mother was so gay, and so occupied with embroidery, ornaments, and plumes, that she could not sleep.

      The Huguenots, to some degree contaminated by this new Capua, began to assume silken pourpoints, wear devices, and parade before certain balconies, as if they were Catholics.

      On every side there was such a reaction in favor of the Protestants that it seemed as if the whole court was about to become Protestant; even the admiral, in spite of his experience, was deceived, and was so carried away that one evening he forgot for two whole hours to chew on his toothpick, which he always used from two o’clock, at which time he finished his dinner, until eight o’clock at night, when he sat down to supper.

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