Guise."

This time Marguerite cast down her eyes, for she felt the very depths of
her heart stirred by what he said, and yet she could not have told
whether his reply was meant to give her joy or pain.

At this moment Gillonne came back. Marguerite asked her a question with
a glance; Gillonne's answer, also conveyed by her eyes, was in the
affirmative. She had succeeded in getting the key to the King of
Navarre.

Marguerite turned her eyes toward La Mole, who stood before her, his
head drooping on his breast, pale, like one suffering alike in mind and
in body.

"Monsieur de la Mole is proud," said she, "and I hesitate to make him a
proposition he will doubtless reject."

La Mole rose, took one step toward Marguerite, and was about to bow low
before her to signify that he was at her service; but an intense, keen,
burning pang forced the tears from his eyes, and conscious that he was
in danger of falling, he clutched a piece of tapestry and clung to it.

"Don't you see, sir," cried Marguerite, springing to him and supporting
him in her arms, "don't you see that you still need me?"

A scarcely perceptible movement passed over La Mole's lips.

"Oh, yes!" he whispered, "like the air I breathe, like the light I see!"

At this moment three knocks were heard at Marguerite's door.

"Do you hear, madame?" cried Gillonne, alarmed.

"Already!" exclaimed Marguerite.

"Shall I open?"

"Wait! perhaps it is the King of Navarre."

"Oh, madame!" cried La Mole, recalled to himself by these words, which
the queen had spoken in such a low tone that she hoped Gillonne only had
heard them, "on my knees I entreat you, let me depart. Yes, dead or
alive! madame, have pity on me! Oh! you do not answer. I will tell you
all, and then you will drive me away, I hope."

"Be silent," said Marguerite, who found an indescribable charm in the
young man's reproaches; "be silent."

"Madame," replied La Mole, who did not find that anger he expected in
the voice of the queen, "madame, I tell you again, everything is audible
in this closet. Oh, do not make me perish by tortures more cruel than
the executioner could inflict"--

"Silence! silence!" said Marguerite.

"Oh, madame, you are merciless! you will not hear me, you will not
understand me. Know, then, that I love you"--

"Silence! I tell you," interrupted Marguerite, placing on his mouth her
warm, perfumed hand, which he seized between both of his and pressed
eagerly to his lips.