ossible to
describe.

At this instant a strange sound was heard, like a sharp insistent
scratching at the secret door.

Marguerite led the king toward the little door.

"Listen," said she.

"The queen mother is leaving her room," said a trembling voice outside,
which Henry instantly recognized as Madame de Sauve's.

"Where is she going?" asked Marguerite.

"She is coming to your majesty."

And then the rustling of a silk gown, growing fainter, showed that
Madame de Sauve was hastening rapidly away.

"Oho!" exclaimed Henry.

"I was sure of this," said Marguerite.

"And I," replied Henry, "feared it, and this is the proof of it."

And half opening his black velvet doublet, he showed the queen that he
had beneath it a shirt of mail, and a long Milan poniard, which
instantly glittered in his hand like a viper in the sun.

"As if you needed weapon and cuirass here!" cried Marguerite. "Quick,
quick, sire! conceal that dagger; 'tis the queen mother, indeed, but the
queen mother only."

"Yet"--

"Silence!--I hear her."

And putting her mouth close to Henry's ear, she whispered something
which the young king heard with attention mingled with astonishment.
Then he hid himself behind the curtains of the bed.

Meantime, with the quickness of a panther, Marguerite sprang to the
closet, where La Mole was waiting in a fever of excitement, opened the
door, found the young man, and pressing his hand in the
darkness--"Silence," said she, approaching her lips so near that he felt
her warm and balmy breath; "silence!"

Then returning to her chamber, she tore off her head-dress, cut the
laces of her dress with her poniard, and sprang into bed.

It was time--the key turned in the lock. Catharine had a key for every
door in the Louvre.

"Who is there?" cried Marguerite, as Catharine placed on guard at the
door the four gentlemen by whom she was attended.

And, as if frightened by this sudden intrusion into her chamber,
Marguerite sprang out from behind the curtains of her bed in a white
dressing-gown, and then recognizing Catharine, came to kiss her hand
with such well-feigned surprise that the wily Florentine herself could
not help being deceived by it.

CHAPTER XIV.

THE SECOND MARRIAGE NIGHT.

The queen mother cast a marvellously rapid glance around her. The velvet
slippers at the foot of the bed, Marguerite's clothes scattered over the
chairs, the way she rubbed her eyes as if to drive away her slee