ellow declared that he had been mistaken, and having now
discovered his veritable wife, protested against resigning her.

By that time the whole party were gone to Montpipeau, but that the Baron
was among them was not known at the Louvre until Queen Catherine, who
had always treated Diane as rather a favoured, quick-witted _protegee_,
commanded her attendance, and on her way let her know that Madame
de Sauve had reported that, among all the follies that were being
perpetrated at the hunting-seat, the young Queen was absolutely throwing
the little Nid-de-Merle into the arms of her Huguenot husband, and that
if measures were not promptly taken all the great estates in the
Bocage would be lost to the young Chevalier, and be carried over to the
Huguenot interest.

Still Diane could not believe that it was so much a matter of love
as that the young had begun to relish court favour and to value the
inheritance, and she could quite believe her little cousin had been
flattered by a few attentions that had no meaning in them. She was not
prepared to find that Eustacie shrank from her, and tried to avoid
a private interview. In truth, the poor child had received such
injunctions from the Queen, and so stern a warning look from the King,
that she durst not utter a syllable of the evening that had sealed her
lot, and was so happy with her secret, so used to tell everything
to Diane, so longing to talk of her husband, that she was afraid of
betraying herself if once they were alone together. Yet Diane, knowing
that her father trusted to her to learn how far things had gone, and
piqued at seeing the transparent little creature, now glowing and
smiling with inward bliss, now pale, pensive, sighing, and anxious, and
scorning her as too childish for the love that she seemed to affect, was
resolved on obtaining confidence from her.

And when the whole female court had sat down to the silk embroidery in
which Catherine de Medicis excelled, Diane seated herself in the recess
of a window and beckoned her cousin to her side, so that it was not
possible to disobey.

'Little one,' she said, 'why have you cast off your poor cousin? There,
sit down'--for Eustacie stood, with her silk in her hand, as if meaning
instantly to return to her former place; and now, her cheeks in a flame,
she answered in an indignant whisper, 'You know, Diane! How could you
try to keep him from me?'

'Because it was better for thee, my child, than to be pestered w