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"I pretended to be so."

"And what do you want with us, M. Chicot? Am I happy enough to be still
remembered in France?"

"Oh, madame," said Chicot, smiling, "we do not forget queens of your age
and your beauty. The king of France even writes on this subject to the
king of Navarre."

Marguerite colored. "He writes?"

"Yes, madame."

"And you have brought the letter?"

"I have not brought it, madame, for reasons that the king of Navarre
will explain to you, but learned it by heart and repeated it."

"I understand. This letter was important, and you feared to lose it, or
have it stolen."

"That is the truth, madame; but the letter was written in Latin."

"Oh, very well; you know I know Latin."

"And the king of Navarre, does he know it?"

"Dear M. Chicot, it is very difficult to find out what he does or does
not know. If one can believe appearances, he knows very little of it,
for he never seems to understand when I speak to any one in that
language. Then you told him the purport of the letter?"

"It was to him it was addressed."

"And did he seem to understand?"

"Only two words."

"What were they?"

"Turennius et Margota."

"Turennius et Margota?"

"Yes; those two words were in the letter."

"Then what did he do?"

"He sent me to you, madame."

"To me?"

"Yes, saying that the letter contained things of too much importance to
be confided to a stranger, and that it was better to take it to you, who
were the most beautiful of learned ladies, and the most learned of
beautiful ones."

"I will listen to you, M. Chicot, since such are the king's orders."

"Thank you, madame; where would you please it to be?"

"Come to my room."

Marguerite looked earnestly at Chicot, who, through pity for her, had
let her have a glimpse of the truth. Perhaps she felt the need of a
support, for she turned toward a gentleman in the group, and said: "M.
de Turenne, your arm to the castle. Precede us, M. Chicot."




CHAPTER XLVI.

MARGUERITE'S ROOM.


Marguerite's room was fashionably furnished; and tapestries, enamels,
china, books and manuscripts in Greek, Latin and French covered all the
tables; while birds in their cages, dogs on the carpet, formed a living
world round Marguerite.

The queen was a woman to understand Epicurus, not in Greek only, but she
occupied her life so well that from a thousand griefs she drew forth a
pleasure.

Chicot was invited to sit down in a beautiful armchair of tapestry,
representing a Cupid scattering a cloud of flowers; and a page, handsome
and richly dressed, offered to him refreshment. He did not accept it,
but as soon as the Vicomte de Turenne had left them, began to recite his
letter. We already know this letter, having read it in French with
Chicot, and therefore think it useless to follow the Latin translation.
Chicot spoke with the worst accent possible, but Marguerite understood
it perfectly, and could not hide her rage and indignation. She knew her
brother's dislike to her, and her mind was divided between anger and
fear. But as he concluded, she decided on her part.

"By the Holy Communion," said she, when Chicot had finished, "my brother
writes well in Latin! What vehemence! what style! I should never have
believed him capable of it. But do you not understand it, M. Chicot? I
thought you were a good Latin scholar."

"Madame, I have forgotten it; all that I remember is that Latin has no
article, that it has a vocative, and that the head belongs to the neuter
gender."

"Really!" said some one, entering noiselessly and merrily. It was the
king of Navarre. "The head is of the neuter gender, M. Chicot? Why is it
not masculine?"

"Ah, sire, I do not know; it astonishes me as much as it does your
majesty."

"It must be because it is sometimes the man, sometimes the woman that
rules, according to their temperaments."

"That is an excellent reason, sire."

"I am glad to be a more profound philosopher than I thought--but to
return to the letter. Madame, I burn to hear news from the court of
France, and M. Chicot brings them to me in an unknown tongue."

"Do you not fear, sire, that the Latin is a bad prognostic?" said
Chicot.

"M. Chicot is right, sire," said the queen.

"What!" said Henri, "does the letter contain anything disagreeable, and
from your brother, who is so clever and polite?"

"Even when he had me insulted in my litter, as happened near Sens, when
I left Paris to rejoin you, sire."

"When one has a brother whose own conduct is irreproachable," said
Henri, in an indefinable tone between jest and earnest, "a brother a
king, and very punctilious--"

"He ought to care for the true honor of his sister and of his house. I
do not suppose, sire, that if your sister, Catherine d'Albret,
occasioned some scandal, you would have it published by a captain of the
guards."

"Oh! I am like a good-natured bourgeois, and not a king; but the letter,
the letter; since it was addressed to me, I wish to know what it
contains."

"It is a perfidious letter, sire."

"Bah!"

"Oh! yes, and which contains more calumnies than are necessary to
embroil a husband with his wife, and a friend with his friends."

"Oh! oh! embroil a husband with his wife; you and me then?"

"Yes, sire."

Chicot was on thorns; he would have given much, hungry as he was, to be
in bed without supper.

"The storm is about to burst," thought he.

"Sire," said Marguerite, "I much regret that your majesty has forgotten
your Latin."

"Madame, of all the Latin I learned, I remember but one phrase--'Deus et
virtus oeterna'--a singular assemblage of masculine, feminine, and
neuter."

"Because, sire, if you did understand, you would see in the letter many
compliments to me."

"But how could compliments embroil us, madame? For as long as your
brother pays you compliments, I shall agree with him; if he speaks ill
of you, I shall understand his policy."

"Ah! if he spoke ill of me, you would understand it?"

"Yes; he has reasons for embroiling us, which I know well."

"Well, then, sire, these compliments are only an insinuating prelude to
calumnious accusations against your friends and mine."

"Come, ma mie, you have understood badly; let me hear if all this be in
the letter."

Marguerite looked defiant.

"Do you want your followers or not, sire?" said she.

"Do I want them? what a question! What should I do without them, and
reduced to my own resources?"

"Well, sire, the king wishes to detach your best servants from you."

"I defy him."

"Bravo, sire!" said Chicot.

"Yes," said Henri, with that apparent candor, with which to the end of
his life he deceived people, "for my followers are attached to me
through love, and not through interest; I have nothing to give them."

"You give them all your heart and your faith, sire; it is the best
return a king can make his friends."

"Yes, ma mie, I shall not fail to do so till I find that they do not
merit it."

"Well, sire, they wish to make you believe that they do not."

"Ah! but how?"

"I cannot tell you, sire, without compromising--" and she glanced at
Chicot.

"Dear M. Chicot," said Henri, "pray wait for me in my room, the queen
has something particular to say to me."




CHAPTER XLVII.

THE EXPLANATION.


To get rid of a witness whom Marguerite believed to know more of Latin
than he allowed was already a triumph, or at least a pledge of security
for her; for alone with her husband she could give whatever translation
of the Latin that she pleased.

Henri and his wife were then left tete-a-tete. He had on his face no
appearance of disquietude or menace; decidedly he could not understand
Latin.

"Monsieur," said Marguerite, "I wait for you to interrogate me."

"This letter preoccupies you much, ma mie; do not alarm yourself thus."

"Sire, because a king does not send a special messenger to another
without some reason that he believes important."

"Well ma mie, let us leave it for the present; have you not something
like a ball this evening?"

"Yes, sire," said Marguerite, astonished, "but that is not
extraordinary; you know we dance nearly every evening."

"I have a great chase for to-morrow."

"Each our pleasure, sire; you love the chase, I the dance."

"Yes, ma mie, and there is no harm in that," said Henri, sighing.

"Certainly not; but your majesty sighed as you said it."

"Listen to me, madame; I am uneasy."

"About what, sire?"

"About a current report."

"A report; your majesty uneasy about a report?"

"What more simple; when this report may annoy you."

"Me?"--"Yes, you."

"Sire, I do not understand you."

"Have you heard nothing?"

Marguerite began to tremble. "I am the least curious woman in the
world," said she, "I hear nothing but what is cried in my very ears.
Besides, I think so little of reports, that I should not listen to them
if I heard them."

"It is then your opinion, madame, that one should despise reports?"

"Absolutely, sire; particularly kings and queens."

"Why so, madame?"

"Because, as every one talks of us, we should have enough to do to
listen to them all."

"Well, I believe you are right, ma mie, and I am about to furnish you
with an excellent opportunity of exercising your philosophy."

Marguerite believed that the decisive moment had come, and rallied all
her courage.

"So be it, sire," said she.

Henri began in the tone of a penitent who has some great sin to
acknowledge.

"You know the great interest I take in Fosseuse?"

"Ah!" cried Marguerite, triumphantly, seeing he was not about to accuse
her; "yes, yes; the little Fosseuse, your friend."

"Yes, madame."

"My lady in waiting."--"Yes."

"Your passion--your love."

"Ah! you speak now just like one of the reports you were abusing just
now."

"It is true, sire, and I ask your pardon," said Marguerite, smiling.

"Ma mie, you are right, public report often lies, and we sovereigns have
great reason to establish this theory;" and he laughed ironically.

"Well; and Fosseuse?" said Marguerite.

"She is ill, ma mie, and the doctors do not understand her malady."

"That is strange, sire. Fosseuse, who you say is a pearl of purity,
ought to allow the doctors to penetrate into the secret of her illness."

"Alas! it is not so."

"What!" cried the queen; "is she not a pearl of purity?"

"I mean that she persists in hiding the cause of her illness from the
doctors."

"But to you, sire, her confidant, her father."

"I know nothing, or at least wish to know nothing."

"Then, sire," said Marguerite, who now believed that she had to confer
instead of asking a pardon; "then, sire, I do not know what you want;
and wait for you to explain."

"Well, then, ma mie, I will tell you. I wish you--but it is asking a
great deal."

"Speak on, sire."

"To have the goodness to go to Fosseuse."

"I go to visit this girl whom every one says has the honor of being your
mistress; a thing which you do not deny."

"Gently, gently, ma mie. On my word you will make a scandal with your
exclamations; and really I believe that will rejoice the court of
France, for in the letter from my brother-in-law that Chicot repeated to
me, there was these words, 'Quotidie scandalurn,' which must mean 'daily
scandal.' It is not necessary to know Latin to understand that: it is
almost French."

"But, sire, to whom did these words apply?"

"Ah! that is what I want to know, but you, who know Latin, can help me
to find out."

Marguerite colored up to her ears.

"Well, monsieur," said she, "you wish me to take a humiliating step for
the sake of peace, and therefore I will comply."

"Thanks, ma mie, thanks."

"But what is the object of this visit?"

"It is very simple, madame."

"Still, you must tell me, for I am not clever enough to guess it."

"Well! you will find Fosseuse among the ladies of honor, sleeping in
their room; and they, you know, are so curious and indiscreet that one
cannot tell to what extremity Fosseuse may be reduced."

"But then she fears something," cried Marguerite, with a burst of anger
and hatred; "she wishes to hide herself."

"I do not know; all I do know is, that she wishes to quit the room of
the maids of honor."

"If she wishes to hide, let her not count on me. I may shut my eyes to
certain things, but I will never be an accomplice," said Marguerite.

Henri seemed not to have heard, but he stood for a minute in a
thoughtful attitude, and then said, "Margota cum Turennio. Ah! those
were the names, madame--'Margota cum Turennio.'"

Marguerite grew crimson.

"Calumnies, sire!" cried she.

"What calumnies?" replied he, with the most natural air possible. "Do
you find any calumny in it? It is a passage from my brother's
letter--'Margota cum Turennio conveniunt in castello nomine
Loignac!'--Decidedly I must get this letter translated."

"Leave this comedy, sire," said Marguerite, tremblingly, "and tell me at
once what you want from me."

"Well, I wish, ma mie, that you should separate Fosseuse from the other
girls, and send her a discreet doctor; your own, for example."

"Ah! I see what it is," cried the queen, "Fosseuse, the paragon, is near
her accouchement."

"I do not say so, ma mie; it is you who affirm it."

"It is so, monsieur; your insinuating tone, your false humility, prove
it to me. But there are sacrifices that no man should ask of his wife.
Take care of Fosseuse yourself, sire; it is your business, and let the
trouble fall on the guilty, not on the innocent."

"The guilty! Ah! that makes me think of the letter again."

"How so?"

"Guilty is 'nocens,' is it not?"

"Yes."

"Well, there was that word in the letter--'Margota cum Turennio, ambo
nocentes, conveniunt in castello nomine Loignac.' Mon Dieu! how I regret
that my knowledge is not as great as my memory is good."

"Ambo nocentes," repeated Marguerite, in a low voice, and turning very
pale, "he understood it all."

"Margota cum Turennio, ambo nocentes," repeated Henri. "What the devil
could my brother mean by 'ambo!' Ventre St. Gris, ma mie, it is
astonishing that you who know Latin so well have not yet explained it to
me. Ah! pardieu! there is 'Turennius' walking under your windows, and
looking up as if he expected you. I will call to him to come up; he is
very learned, and he will explain it to me."

"Sire, sire, be superior to all the calumniators of France."

"Oh! ma mie, it seems to me that people are not more indulgent in
Navarre than in France; you, yourself, were very severe about poor
Fosseuse just now."

"I severe?"

"Yes; and yet we ought to be indulgent here, we lead such a happy life,
you with your balls, and I with my chase."

"Yes, yes, sire; you are right; let us be indulgent."

"Oh! I was sure of your heart, ma mie."

"You know me well, sire."

"Yes. Then you will go and see Fosseuse?"

"Yes, sire."

"And separate her from the others?"

"Yes, sire."

"And send her your doctor?"

"Yes, sire."

"And if, unluckily, what you say were true, and she had been weak, for
women are frail--"

"Well, sire, I am a woman, and know the indulgence due to my sex."

"All! you know all things, ma mie; you are in truth a model of
perfection, and I kiss your hands."

"But believe, sire, that it is for the love of you alone that I make
this sacrifice."

"Oh! yes, ma mie, I know you well, madame, and my brother of France
also, he who speaks so well of you in this letter, and adds, 'Fiat sanum
exemplum statim, atque res certior eveniet.' Doubtless, ma mie, it is
you who give this good example."

And Henri kissed the cold hand of Marguerite. Then, turning on the
threshold of the door, he said:

"Say everything kind from me to Fosseuse, and do for her as you have
promised me. I set off for the chase; perhaps I shall not see you till
my return, perhaps never--these wolves are wicked beasts. Come, and let
me embrace you, ma mie."

Then he embraced Marguerite, almost affectionately, and went out,
leaving her stupefied with all she had heard.




CHAPTER XLVIII.

THE SPANISH AMBASSADOR.


The king rejoined Chicot, who was still agitated with fears as to the
explanation.

"Well, Chicot," said Henri, "do you know what the queen says?"

"No."

"She pretends that your cursed Latin will disturb our peace."

"Oh! sire, forget it, and all will be at an end. It is not with a piece
of spoken Latin as though it were written; the wind carries away the
one, fire cannot sometimes destroy the other."

"I! I think of it no more."

"That is right."

"I have something else to do."

"Your majesty prefers amusing yourself."

"Oh! mon cher, here we do everything openly; love, war, and politics."

"The first more than the two last; do you not, sire?"

"Ma foi! yes; I confess it, my dear friend. This country is so fine, and
its women so beautiful."

"Oh! sire, you forget the queen; can the Navarrese women be more
pleasing and beautiful than she is? If they are, I compliment them."

"Ventre St. Gris, you are right, Chicot; and I, who forgot that you are
an ambassador, and represent King Henri III., and that he is the brother
of Marguerite, and that consequently, before you, I ought to place her
before every one--but you must excuse my imprudence, I am not accustomed
to ambassadors."

At this moment the door of the room opened, and D'Aubiac announced, "The
ambassador from Spain."

Chicot gave a start which made the king smile.

"Ma foi!" said Henri, "that is a contradiction that I did not expect.
And what the devil can he want here?"

"Yes," said Chicot, "what the devil does he want here?"

"We shall soon know; perhaps our Spanish neighbor has some frontier
dispute to settle with us."

"I will retire," said Chicot. "This is doubtless a real ambassador from
his majesty Philippe II., while I--"

"Open that library door, Chicot, and go in there."

"But from there I shall hear all, in spite of myself."

"Oh! Never mind; I have nothing to hide. Apropos; have you nothing more
to say to me from your king?"

"Nothing at all, sire."

"Very well, then, you have nothing to do but to see and hear, like all
other ambassadors, and the library will do excellently for that purpose.
Look with all your eyes, and listen with all your ears, my dear Chicot.
D'Aubiac, let the ambassador enter."

Chicot hastened to his place of concealment, and drew the tapestry
close.

When the first preliminaries of etiquette were over, the ambassador
said:

"Can I speak freely to your majesty?"

"You may, monsieur."

"Sire, I bring the answer from his Catholic majesty."

"An answer," thought Chicot; "then there was a question."

"An answer to what?" said Henri.

"To your proposals of last month."

"Ma foi! I am very forgetful! please to recall to me what they were."

"About the invasions of the Lorraine princes."

"Yes, I remember, particularly those of M. de Guise; go on, monsieur."

"Sire, the king, my master, although much begged to sign a treaty of
alliance with Lorraine, prefers one with Navarre. I know my master's
intentions with regard to you."

"May I also know them?"

"Sire, my master will refuse nothing to Navarre."

Chicot bit his fingers to convince himself that he was not dreaming.

"What can I ask then?" said Henri.

"Whatever your majesty pleases."

"Diable!"

"If your majesty will speak openly and frankly?"

"Ventre St. Gris, it is embarrassing."

"Shall I tell you his majesty the king of Spain's proposal?"

"I listen."

"The king of France treats the queen of Navarre as an enemy, he
repudiates her as a sister, and covers her with opprobrium. All this,
but I beg your majesty's pardon for touching on so delicate a subject--"

"Go on."

"All this, then, is public."

"Well! monsieur, and what of all this?"

"It is consequently easy for your majesty to repudiate as a wife her
whom her brother disclaims as a sister. This once done, the alliance
between the king of Navarre and the king of Spain is concluded, and the
king of Spain will give the infanta, his daughter, to your majesty, and
he himself will marry Madame Catherine de Navarre, your majesty's
sister."

A movement of pride shook Henri, while Chicot shuddered with terror. The
one saw his star rising, radiant like the morning sun; the other saw the
scepter of the Valois ready to decline and fall.

For an instant there was profound silence, and then Henri said:

"The proposal, monsieur, is magnificent, and crowns me with honor."

"His majesty," said the negotiator, who already calculated on an
enthusiastic acceptance, "proposes only one condition."

"Ah! a condition! that is but just; let me hear it."

"In aiding your majesty against the Lorraine princes, that is to say, in
opening to your majesty a way to the throne, my master desires to
facilitate by your alliance the safety of Flanders, which the Duc
d'Anjou is already attacking; your majesty will understand that it is
pure preference on my master's part for you over the Lorraine princes,
since MM. de Guise, his natural allies, as Catholic princes, make of
themselves a party against the Duc d'Anjou in Flanders. Now, this is the
only condition, which you must think reasonable. His majesty the king of
Spain, allied to you by a double marriage, will help you to--" the
ambassador seemed to seek for the right word, "to succeed to the king of
France, and you will guarantee Flanders to him. I may then, now, knowing
your majesty's wisdom, regard the negotiation as happily terminated."

Henri took two or three turns up and down the room.

"This, then," said he at last, "is the answer you were charged to bring
me?"

"Yes, sire."

"Nothing else?"

"Nothing else, sire."

"Well! I refuse the offer of the king of Spain."

"You refuse the hand of the infanta!" cried the Spaniard, with a start,
as though he had received a sudden wound.

"It would be a great honor, but I cannot think it a greater one than
that of having married a daughter of France."

"No; but that alliance brought you nearly to the tomb, and this will
bring you to the throne."

"An incomparable piece of good fortune, monsieur, I know; but I will
never buy it with the blood and honor of my future subjects. What!
monsieur. I draw the sword against the king of France, my
brother-in-law, for the Spaniards; I arrest the standard of France in
its career of glory; I kill brothers by brothers' hands; I bring the
stranger into my country! No, monsieur; I asked the king of Spain for
aid against the Guises, who wish to rob me of my inheritance, but not
against the Duc d'Anjou, my brother-in-law; not against Henri III., my
friend; not against my wife, sister of my king. You will aid the Guises,
you will say, and lend them your support. Do so, and I will let loose on
you and on them all the Protestants of Germany and France. The king of
Spain wishes to reconquer Flanders, which is slipping from him; let him
do what his father, Charles V., did, and ask a free passage to go and
claim his title of first bourgeois of Ghent, and Henri III., I am
certain, will grant it to him, as Francois I. did. I wish for the throne
of France, says his Catholic majesty; it is possible, but I do not need
him to aid me in getting it; I will do that for myself, once it is
vacant, in spite of all the kings in the world. Adieu, then, monsieur.
Tell my brother Philippe that I am grateful for his offers, but cannot
believe for a moment that he thought me capable of accepting them.
Adieu, monsieur."

"Take care, sire," said the ambassador; "the good understanding between
two neighbors may be destroyed by a hasty word."

"Monsieur, my crown is so light that I should scarcely feel the
difference if it slipped off; besides, I believe I can guard it.
Therefore, once more adieu, monsieur, and tell the king your master that
I have greater ambitions than he dreams of." And the Bearnais, becoming
once more, not himself, but what he generally seemed to be, conducted
the ambassador, with a courteous smile, to the door.




CHAPTER XLIX.

THE POOR OF HENRI OF NAVARRE.


Chicot remained plunged in profound surprise. Henri lifted the tapestry,
and, striking him on the shoulder, said:

"Well, M. Chicot, how do you think I managed?"

"Wonderfully, sire; and really, for a king who is not accustomed to
ambassadors--"

"It is my brother Henri who sends me such ambassadors."

"How so, sire?"

"If he did not incessantly persecute his poor sister, others would not
dream of it. Do you believe that if the king of Spain had not heard of
the public insult offered to the queen, when a captain of the guards
searched her litter, that he would have proposed to me to repudiate
her?"

"I see with pleasure, sire," replied Chicot, "that all attempts will be
useless, and that nothing can interrupt the harmony that exists between
the queen and yourself."

"Oh, my friend, the interest they have in making us quarrel is too
clear."

"I confess to you, sire, that I am not so penetrating as you are."

"Doubtless Henri would be delighted if I repudiated his sister."

"How so? Pray explain to me."

"You know they forgot to pay me my wife's dowry."

"I guessed as much, sire."

"This dowry was to consist of 300,000 golden crowns and some towns;
among others, Cahors."

"A pretty town, mordieu!"

"I have claimed, not the money, but Cahors."

"Ventre de biche! sire, in your place, I should have done the same."