out I
heard what Gillonne and Madame de Sauve said."

"And these two conversations"--

"Yes, madame; married scarcely a week, you love your husband; your
husband will come, in his turn, in the same way that the Duc d'Alencon
and Madame de Sauve came. He will confide his secrets to you. Well,
then, I must not overhear them; I should be indiscreet--I cannot--I must
not--I will not be!"

By the tone in which La Mole uttered these last words, by the anxiety
expressed in his voice, by the embarrassment shown in his eyes,
Marguerite was enlightened as by a sudden revelation.

"Aha!" said she, "so you have heard everything that has been said in
this room?"

"Yes, madame."

These words were uttered in a sigh.

"And you wish to depart to-night, this evening, to avoid hearing any
more?"

"This moment, if it please your majesty to allow me to go."

"Poor fellow!" said Marguerite, with a strange accent of tender pity.

Astonished by such a gentle reply when he was expecting a rather
forcible outburst, La Mole timidly raised his head; his eyes met
Marguerite's and were riveted as by a magnetic power on their clear and
limpid depths.

"So then you feel you cannot keep a secret, Monsieur de la Mole?" said
Marguerite in a soft voice as she stood leaning on the back of her
chair, half hidden in the shadow of a thick tapestry and enjoying the
felicity of easily reading his frank and open soul while remaining
impenetrable herself.

"Madame," said La Mole, "I have a miserable disposition: I distrust
myself, and the happiness of another gives me pain."

"Whose happiness?" asked Marguerite, smiling. "Ah, yes--the King of
Navarre's! Poor Henry!"

"You see," cried La Mole, passionately, "he is happy."

"Happy?"

"Yes, for your majesty is sorry for him."

Marguerite crumpled up the silk of her purse and smoothed out the golden
fringe.

"So then you decline to see the King of Navarre?" said she; "you have
made up your mind; you are decided?"

"I fear I should be troublesome to his majesty just at the present
time."

"But the Duc d'Alencon, my brother?"

"Oh, no, madame!" cried La Mole, "the Duc d'Alencon even still less than
the King of Navarre."

"Why so?" asked Marguerite, so stirred that her voice trembled as she
spoke.

"Because, although I am already too bad a Huguenot to be a faithful
servant of the King of Navarre, I am not a sufficiently good Catholic to
be friends with the Duc d'Alencon and Monsieur de