are to do so," said the Scottish
queen, maliciously, glancing at Dayelle.

Placed between the rival queens, the favorite waiting-woman stood rigid
as an andiron; a smile of comprehension might have cost her her life.

"Can I be as gay as you, after losing the late king, and now beholding
my son's kingdom about to burst into flames?"

"Public affairs do not concern women," said Mary Stuart. "Besides, my
uncles are there."

These words were, under the circumstances, like so many poisoned arrows.

"Let us look at our furs, madame," replied the Italian, sarcastically;
"that will employ us on our legitimate female affairs while your uncles
decide those of the kingdom."

"Oh! but we will go the Council, madame; we shall be more useful than
you think."

"We!" said Catherine, with an air of astonishment. "But I do not
understand Latin, myself."

"You think me very learned," cried Mary Stuart, laughing, "but I assure
you, madame, I study only to reach the level of the Medici, and learn
how to _cure_ the wounds of the kingdom."

Catherine was silenced by this sharp thrust, which referred to the
origin of the Medici, who were descended, some said, from a doctor
of medicine, others from a rich druggist. She made no direct answer.
Dayelle colored as her mistress looked at her, asking for the applause
that even queens demand from their inferiors if there are no other
spectators.

"Your charming speeches, madame, will unfortunately cure the wounds of
neither Church nor State," said Catherine at last, with her calm and
cold dignity. "The science of my fathers in that direction gave them
thrones; whereas if you continue to trifle in the midst of danger you
are liable to lose yours."

It was at this moment that Ambroise Pare, the chief surgeon, scratched
softly on the door, and Madame Dayelle, opening it, admitted Christophe.

VII. A DRAMA IN A SURCOAT

The young reformer intended to study Catherine's face, all the while
affecting a natural embarrassment at finding himself in such a place;
but his proceedings were much hastened by the eagerness with which the
younger queen darted to the cartons to see her surcoat.

"Madame," said Christophe, addressing Catherine.

He turned his back on the other queen and on Dayelle, instantly
profiting by the attention the two women were eager to bestow upon the
furs to play a bold stroke.

"What do you want of me?" said Catherine giving him a searching look.

Christophe had