nited their thoughts.

"Tell me, what is there new?" asked the duchess, giving Marguerite an
eager, inquisitive look.

"Isn't everything new since day before yesterday?"

"Oh, I am speaking of love, not of politics. When we are as old as dame
Catharine we will take part in politics; but we are only twenty, my
pretty queen, and so let us talk about something else. Let me see! can
it be that you are really married?"

"To whom?" asked Marguerite, laughing.

"Ah! you reassure me, truly!"

"Well, Henriette, that which reassures you, alarms me. Duchess, I must
be married."

"When?"

"To-morrow."

"Oh, poor little friend! and is it necessary?"

"Absolutely."

"_Mordi_! as an acquaintance of mine says, this is very sad."

"And so you know some one who says _mordi_?" asked Marguerite, with a
smile.

"Yes."

"And who is this some one?"

"You keep asking me questions when I am talking to you. Finish and I
will begin."

"In two words, it is this: The King of Navarre is in love, and not with
me; I am not in love, but I do not want him, yet we must both of us
change, or seem to change, between now and to-morrow."

"Well, then, you change, and be very sure he will do the same."

"That is quite impossible, for I am less than ever inclined to change."

"Only with respect to your husband, I hope."

"Henriette, I have a scruple."

"A scruple! about what?"

"A religious one. Do you make any difference between Huguenots and
Catholics?"

"In politics?"

"Yes."

"Of course."

"And in love?"

"My dear girl, we women are such heathens that we admit every kind of
sect, and recognize many gods."

"In one, eh?"

"Yes," replied the duchess, her eyes sparkling; "he who is called
_Eros_, _Cupido_, _Amor_. He who has a quiver on his back, wings on his
shoulders, and a fillet over his eyes. _Mordi, vive la devotion!_"

"You have a peculiar method of praying; you throw stones on the heads of
Huguenots."

"Let us do our duty and let people talk. Ah, Marguerite! how the finest
ideas, the noblest actions, are spoilt in passing through the mouths of
the vulgar!"

"The vulgar!--why, it was my brother Charles who congratulated you on
your exploits, wasn't it?"

"Your brother Charles is a mighty hunter blowing the horn all day, and
that makes him very thin. I reject his compliments; besides, I gave him
his answer--didn't you hear what I said?"

"No; you spoke so low."

"So much the better. I shall have more n