"But"--he whispered.

"Be silent, child--who is this rebel that refuses to obey his queen?"

Then darting out of the closet, she shut the door and stood leaning
against the wall pressing her trembling hand to her heart, as if to
control it.

"Open, Gillonne."

Gillonne left the room, and an instant after, the fine, intellectual,
but rather anxious countenance of the King of Navarre appeared behind
the tapestry.

"You have sent for me, madame?"

"Yes, sire. Your majesty received my letter?"

"And not without some surprise, I confess," said Henry, looking round
with distrust, which, however, almost instantly vanished from his mind.

"And not without some apprehension," added Marguerite.

"I confess it, madame! But still, surrounded as I am by deadly enemies,
by friends still more dangerous, perhaps, than my open foes, I
recollected that one evening I had seen a noble generosity shining in
your eyes--'twas the night of our marriage; that one other evening I had
seen the star of courage beaming in them--'twas yesterday, the day fixed
for my death."

"Well, sire?" said Marguerite, smiling, while Henry seemed striving to
read her heart.

"Well, madame," returned the king, "thinking of these things, I said to
myself, as I read your letter bidding me come: 'Without friends, for he
is a disarmed prisoner, the King of Navarre has but one means of dying
nobly, of dying a death that will be recorded in history. It is to die
betrayed by his wife; and I am come'"--

"Sire," replied Marguerite, "you will change your tone when you learn
that all this is the work of a woman who loves you--and whom you love."

Henry started back at these words, and his keen gray eyes under their
black lashes were fixed on the queen with curiosity.

"Oh, reassure yourself, sire," said the queen, smiling; "I am not that
person."

"But, madame," said Henry, "you sent me this key, and this is your
writing."

"It is my writing, I confess; the letter came from me, but the key is a
different matter. Let it satisfy you to know that it has passed through
the hands of four women before it reached you."

"Of four women?" exclaimed Henry in astonishment.

"Yes," said Marguerite; "Queen Catharine's, Madame de Sauve's,
Gillonne's, and mine."

Henry pondered over this enigma.

"Now let us talk reasonably, sire," said Marguerite, "and above all let
us speak frankly. Common report has it that your majesty has consented
to abjure. Is it true?"