words.

"And that is why I have come to you," she added. "If you are unable
to rule without guidance, I must at least do what I can so that the
guidance shall not be that of a rebel, of one who guides you to the end
that he may master you."

"Master me!" he screamed. He rose in his indignation and faced her. But
his glance, unable to support her steady eyes, faltered and fell away.
Foul oaths poured from his royal lips. "Master me!" he repeated.

"Aye--master you," she answered him. "Master you until the little
remnant of your authority shall have been sapped; until you are no more
than a puppet in the hands of the Huguenot party, a roi faineant, a king
of straw."

"By God, madame, were you not my mother--"

"It is because I am your mother that I seek to save you."

He looked at her again, but again his glance faltered. He paced the
length of the room and back, mouthing and muttering. Then he came to
stand, leaning on the prie-dieu, facing her.

"By God's Death, madame, since you demand to know what the Admiral said,
you shall. You prove to me that what he told me was no more than true.
He told me that a king is only recognized in France as long as he is a
power for good or ill over his subjects; that this power, together
with the management of all State affairs, is slipping, by the crafty
contrivances of yourself and Anjou there, out of my hands into your own;
that this power and authority which you are both stealing from me may
one day be used against me and my kingdom. And he bade me be on my guard
against you both and take my measures. He gave me this counsel, madame,
because he deemed it his duty as one of my most loyal and faithful
servants at the point of death, and--"

"The shameless hypocrite!" her dull, contemptuous voice interrupted him.
"At the point of death! Two broken fingers and a flesh-wound in the arm
and he represents himself as in articulo mortis that he may play upon
you, and make you believe his lies."

Her stolidity of manner and her logic, ponderous and irresistible, had
their effect. His big, green eyes seemed to dilate, his mouth fell open.

"If--" he began, and checked, rapped out an oath, and checked again.
"Are they lies, madame?" he asked slowly.

She caught the straining note of hope in that question of his--a hope
founded upon vanity, the vanity to be king in fact, as well as king in
name. She rose.

"To ask me that--me, your mother--is to insult me. Come, Anjou."

And on