Marguerite advanced graciously toward the handsome young man, who,
without knowing it, was acting like a finished courtier.

"Recover yourself, sir," said she; "I will wait and they will wait for
me."

"Pardon me, madame," said La Mole, "if I did not salute your majesty at
first with all the respect which you have a right to expect from one of
your humblest servants, but"--

"You took me for one of my ladies?" said Marguerite.

"No, madame; but for the shade of the beautiful Diane de Poitiers, who
is said to haunt the Louvre."

"Come, sir," said Marguerite, "I see you will make your fortune at
court; you said you had a letter for the king, it was not needed, but no
matter! Where is it? I will give it to him--only make haste, I beg of
you."

In a twinkling La Mole threw open his doublet, and drew from his breast
a letter enveloped in silk.

Marguerite took the letter, and glanced at the writing.

"Are you not Monsieur de la Mole?" asked she.

"Yes, madame. Oh, _mon Dieu_! Can I hope my name is known to your
majesty?"

"I have heard the king, my husband, and the Duc d'Alencon, my brother,
speak of you. I know they expect you."

And in her corsage, glittering with embroidery and diamonds, she slipped
the letter which had just come from the young man's doublet and was
still warm from the vital heat of his body. La Mole eagerly watched
Marguerite's every movement.

"Now, sir," said she, "descend to the gallery below, and wait until some
one comes to you from the King of Navarre or the Duc d'Alencon. One of
my pages will show you the way."

And Marguerite, as she said these words, went on her way. La Mole drew
himself up close to the wall. But the passage was so narrow and the
Queen of Navarre's farthingale was so voluminous that her silken gown
brushed against the young man's clothes, while a penetrating perfume
hovered where she passed.

La Mole trembled all over and, feeling that he was in danger of falling,
he tried to find a support against the wall.

Marguerite disappeared like a vision.

"Are you coming, sir?" asked the page who was to conduct La Mole to the
lower gallery.

"Oh, yes--yes!" cried La Mole, joyfully; for as the page led him the
same way by which Marguerite had gone, he hoped that by making haste he
might see her again.

And in truth, as he reached the top of the staircase, he perceived her
below; and whether she heard his step or looked round by chance,
Marguerite raised her head