piness,
all convinced Catharine that she had awakened her daughter.

Then she smiled as a woman does when she has succeeded in her plans, and
drawing up an easy chair, she said:

"Let us sit down, Marguerite, and talk."

"Madame, I am listening."

"It is time," said Catharine, slowly shutting her eyes in the
characteristic way of people who weigh each word or who deeply
dissimulate, "it is time, my daughter, that you should know how ardently
your brother and myself desire to see you happy."

This exordium for one who knew Catharine was alarming.

"What can she be about to say?" thought Marguerite.

"To be sure," continued La Florentine, "in giving you in marriage we
fulfilled one of those acts of policy frequently required by important
interests of those who govern; but I must confess, my poor child, that
we had no expectation that the indifference manifested by the King of
Navarre for one so young, so lovely, and so fascinating as yourself
would be so obstinate."

Marguerite arose, and folding her robe de chambre around her, courtesied
with ceremonious respect to her mother.

"I have heard to-night only," continued Catharine, "otherwise I should
have paid you an earlier visit, that your husband is far from showing
you those attentions you have a right to claim, not merely as a
beautiful woman, but as a princess of France."

Marguerite sighed, and Catharine, encouraged by this mute approval,
proceeded.

"In fact, that the King of Navarre is openly cohabiting one of my maids
of honor who is scandalously smitten with him, that he scorns the love
of the woman graciously given to him, is an insult to which we poor
powerful ones of the earth cannot apply a remedy, and yet the meanest
gentleman in our kingdom would avenge it by calling out his son-in-law
or having his son do so."

Marguerite dropped her head.

"For some time, my daughter," Catharine went on to say, "I have seen by
your reddened eyes, by your bitter sallies against La Sauve, that in
spite of your efforts your heart must show external signs of its
bleeding wound."

Marguerite trembled: a slight movement had shaken the curtains; but
fortunately Catharine did not notice it.

"This wound," said she with affectionate sweetness redoubled, "this
wound, my daughter, a mother's hand must cure. Those who with the
intention of securing your happiness have brought about your marriage,
and who in their anxiety about you notice that every night Henry of