‘So you are in no doubt as to my identity?’

‘Madame, who does not know the Queen of Navarre?’ ‘You must have seen me when I have not seen you.’

‘Yes, Madame; and, having seen you, could never banish your image from my mind.’

Margot was excited. ‘And, Monsieur, why should there be need for such banishment?’

His melancholy eyes, of such a startling blue, supplied the answer she expected, and his lips endorsed it. ‘That, Madame, I could not tell you. I beg of you not to embarrass me by commanding me to answer.’

‘I see you are in my brother’s service. I should therefore have no power to command you.’

‘Madame, any request of yours would be a command.’

She smiled. ‘You are from Provence,’ she said. ‘I realize that, for you have the soft speech. But you have learned to flatter like a Parisian.’

‘You are mistaken, Madame. There was no flattery.’

‘What is your name?’ asked Margot.

‘La Mole, Madame.’

‘La Mole? Just that . . . nothing more?’

‘Count Boniface de la Mole, Madame, at your service.’

‘You mean at the service of the Duke of Alençon?’

‘If I could find some means of serving his sister, I should be completely happy.’

‘Well, you may do so at once. I wish to see my brother.’

‘He is engaged at the moment, Madame, and is likely to be for some hours.’

‘It would seem that he is gallantly engaged.’

‘That is so, Madame.’

‘In that case I shall not disturb him. It would go ill with you if you interrupted him merely to tell him his sister wished to see him.’

‘Madame,’ he said, bowing and laying his hand on the hilt of his sword, ‘if you were to command me, I would willingly face death.’

She laughed lightly. ‘Nay, Monsieur le Comte, I would not have you face death. I think I should find you more amusing alive than dead.’

She extended her hand for him to kiss; he did this with a mingling of reverence and passion which delighted Margot. ‘Adieu, Monsieur.’

‘You will think me bold, Madame, but I will say what is in my heart. Au revoir, Madame. I shall live for our next meeting.’

Margot turned and left the chamber. She was smiling, for she had ceased to be bored.


* * *

Catherine summoned Charlotte de Sauves to her presence. ‘Well, Charlotte, I trust Navarre pleased you?’

Charlotte was silent.

‘You must not mind,’ said Catherine softly, ‘that I witnessed your grief yesterday. I thought how sad you looked when you left me, so I followed. Never try to lock your door against your Queen, Charlotte. It is useless. I do not like to see you looking so sad. I hope you were not sad when with Navarre. Poor man! He has waited so long. I should not have wished him to be disappointed.’

‘Madame,’ said Charlotte, ‘I have done what you commanded.’

‘That is well. I trust there was not too great a quarrel with Monsieur de Guise? However, it will do that young man good to learn that he is only about half as important as he imagines himself to be. You see, Charlotte, my dear, when you joined the Escadron, you agreed, did you not, to put aside all sentimentality. But let us not go into that. You have done well with Navarre. I do not wish your love affair with him to progress too rapidly. Navarre must not expect you to give all your spare time to him. There are others on whom you must bestow your smiles.’

Charlotte waited apprehensively.

‘I was not referring to Monsieur de Guise. If you patch up your quarrel with him, he must be made to understand that he can only gladden your leisure hours. You have serious work to do, and this does not include dalliance with the charming Duke. No, Charlotte! For there is another who needs your attention. I refer to my little son—my youngest, poor little Alençon.’

‘But, Madame, he has never looked my way.’

‘Whose fault is that? None but your own. He is susceptible to female beauty. You have only to smile on him a little, to flatter him a good deal, and he will be your slave.’

‘I am not sure, Madame. He is deeply enamoured of . . .’

‘Never mind of whom. I’ll wager that within a few days he will be deeply enamoured of Charlotte de Sauves if that lady intends to make him so. I expect to hear in a very short time that the King of Navarre and the Duke of Alençon have fallen out because they have both fallen into love with the same lady, and she is distributing her favours equally between them to keep the quarrel warm.’

‘Madame, this is a difficult task . . .’

‘Nonsense! It will be easy for you. You already have Navarre at your feet. Alençon . . . that one is a simple matter. I expect results, and I know that you are too wise a woman to disappoint me. Go now.’

When she was alone Catherine smiled to herself. Intrigue, as well as being stimulating. was often amusing if one had the right sort of humour to appreciate that fact. Monsieur de Guise had rather arrogantly suggested that she should have a wedge driven between Alençon and Navarre; he had almost dared to give an order to the Queen Mother. She had found it necessary to follow that suggestion, but Monsieur de Guise should not be allowed to come out of this matter without some discomfiture. As soon as Alençon began to hanker after Charlotte, and when he and Navarre began to regard each other with jealousy and suspicion, Guise would realize that she had used his mistress as that ‘wedge’. It was very amusing, but she doubted whether Guise would enjoy the joke; he had not the humour of young Navarre.

But she did not laugh long. There were other matters which were not so amusing. Her beloved son was far away in Poland and she yearned for him. Charles was becoming more obstinate, more suspicious of his mother every day. So that situation gave her little to laugh at.

Charles must die. She had promised herself and Henry that. But the death of the King would have to be a slow one. Heaven knew she had everything on her side. His physical state was such that, when speaking of it, Monsieur Paré was very grave. He coughed incessantly and spat blood. His violent moods would often end with those fits of coughing, When she watched him, writhing on the floor, his jacket stained with blood, she would assure herself that it could not now be long.

His wife had given birth to a girl. That was a blessing. Surely he would never have the strength to give the Queen another child. But one could not be sure, and while Charles lived there was great cause for anxiety.

Why should he live? In her private closet she had many powders and potions which had solved such problems for her before and would do so again. But slow deaths were not so easy to achieve as quick ones. If it had just been a matter of giving one dose, that could have been achieved . . . if not at one time, then at another. But when there must be continual doses, it was not so easy.

Neither René, nor Cosmo, nor Lorenzo would be anxious to assist at the death of a King. Moreover Charles was surrounded by certain women, and, ironical as it was, each of these women, while being in herself quite insignificant, unimportant and altogether meek, seemed to stand by the side of the King like an angel with a flaming sword. There was his mistress, the mild Marie Touchet, his wife, the milder Elisabeth, and Madeleine, his nurse. All suspected the King’s mother of trying to shorten his life, and all were prepared to die to save him from her.

And, always hovering close to the King, was Monsieur Paré, the Huguenot, who should have been dispatched during that fateful August and who, owing his life to the King, was determined to pay his debt of gratitude by prolonging the King’s life.

But it was those three women who were the worst obstacles. They were more effective than an armed guard. And what could one do? Remove them? She had not the power to do that, for the King would not allow it; he was the master now. They had succeeded in turning him away from his mother.

And so the King grew weaker, and there were rumours throughout Paris that his mother was responsible for his low state of health. But he continued to live, to the delight of those three women who loved him and to the chagrin of his unnatural mother.


* * *

Margot’s friend, the flighty little Duchesse de Nevers, had a new lover. Little Henriette was so much in love that Margot was inclined to be envious.

Henriette whispered to Margot of her experiences. ‘He is so charming . . . so different. So handsome! So bold! And he is in the service of your brother, Monsieur d’Alençon.’

Margot was alert. ‘Indeed! I would hear more of this.’

‘He has a fair complexion and the most splendid white teeth. You should see them flash when he smiles . . . and he smiles continually.’

‘His name?’ demanded Margot.

‘Annibale. Le Comte Annibale de Coconnas.’

Margot sighed with relief.

‘I like the sound of him. So he is in the service of my brother. How odd that Poor Alençon, who is so unprepossessing himself, should have such handsome men in his service! Tell me more.’

‘He is very quick to anger, Madame, and his hair is reddish rather than brown. His eyes seem golden. I am asking him to my apartments to supper. Would Your Majesty honour us by coming tonight?’

Margot’s eyes sparkled. ‘What if you were discovered? Monsieur le Duc de Nevers . .

‘Has his own affairs to attend to, as Your Majesty well knows.’

‘I do not think that I should come,’ said Margot, deciding at once that she would not miss this for anything, and that it was just what she needed to relieve the monotony of her days. Any gentleman of Alençon’s suite was of interest to her as she might be able to talk to him of that most fascinating La Mole.

‘If you do not come, there will be no supper . . . for it is to be arranged solely on Your Majesty’s account.’

‘What does this mean?’ demanded Margot.

‘I suppose I must tell you, although it is supposed to be a secret. A friend of Monsieur de Coconnas is so enamoured of you that he is plunged in deepest melancholy and can neither eat nor sleep until he speaks with you. My Annibale is a most warm-hearted man, a most compassionate man and he . .

‘Enough of your Annibale, Henriette. We know he is charming. Tell me of the melancholy gentleman.’

‘He is very handsome, and it seems that he saw you and spoke to you, and you to him. You seemed so gracious that he has imagined that his wildest dreams may not be without some hope of fulfilment, and his name is . . .’

‘Le Comte Boniface de la Mole!’ said Margot.

‘You knew then, Madame?’

‘As you said, Henriette, we met. He is charming and your Annibale is coarse compared with him. That melancholy of which you speak . . . it is very deep. One feels he must be a poet, a dreamer. One longs to chase away his gloom. His eyes are startlingly blue. He is like a beautiful Greek statue. Already I think of him as my Hyacinth.’

‘If you will but attend our supper party, Madame, you will make your Hyacinth very happy.’

‘I will consider it.’

‘He intends to go to Cosmo Ruggieri this very afternoon to ask, first for some charm which will make you decide to attend the party, and then for another which will make you regard him favourably.’

‘But this is insolence!’ cried Margot delightedly.

‘You must forgive him, Madame. He is so much in love. And when a man cannot eat or sleep, Your Majesty must understand that he cannot go on like that.’

‘These are the tales they tell us, Henriette.’

‘But, Madame, this is true. Annibale swears it. La Mole has seen you often. He never misses a chance of seeing you. But he loved from afar . . . and then . . . when you spoke to him . . .’

‘Henriette, this afternoon, we will go to Ruggieri, and we will make him hide us, so that we may look at this young man and hear what he says.’

The two frivolous young women could not stop laughing-Margot embraced her dear friend, Henriette. Margot was delighted by the prospect of a love affair which she was sure would be one of the most charming she had ever experienced. It was just what she needed to keep intact her pride and annoyance with the Duke of Guise.


* * *

Heavy cloaks concealing them, Margot and Henriette de Nevers left the Louvre for the house of the Ruggieri brothers.

Margot allowed Henriette to lead the way into the shop, as she felt that she was more likely to be recognized by the apprentice than was Henriette.