assumed.

"Yes, you knew it!"

"If he does not come, he must be dead!" replied the young woman,
shuddering at the mere supposition.

What gave Charlotte the courage to lie so was the certainty that she
would suffer from a terrible vengeance if her little treason should be
discovered.

"But did you not write to the king, Carlotta mia?" inquired Catharine,
with the same cruel and silent laugh.

"No, madame," answered Charlotte, with well-assumed naivete, "I cannot
recollect receiving your majesty's commands to do so."

A short silence followed, during which Catharine continued to gaze on
Madame de Sauve as the serpent looks at the bird it wishes to fascinate.

"You think you are pretty," said Catharine, "you think you are clever,
do you not?"

"No, madame," answered Charlotte; "I only know that sometimes your
majesty has been graciously pleased to commend both my personal
attractions and address."

"Well, then," said Catharine, growing eager and animated, "you were
mistaken if you think so, and I lied when I told you so; you are a
simpleton and hideous compared to my daughter Margot."

"Oh, madame," replied Charlotte, "that is a fact I will not even try to
deny--least of all in your presence."

"So, then, the King of Navarre prefers my daughter to you; a
circumstance, I presume, not to your wishes, and certainly not what we
agreed should be the case."

"Alas, madame," cried Charlotte, bursting into a torrent of tears which
now flowed from no feigned source, "if it be so, I can but say I am very
unfortunate!"

"It is so," said Catharine, darting the two-fold keenness of her eyes
like a double poniard into Madame de Sauve's heart.

"But who can make you believe that?" asked Charlotte.

"Go down to the Queen of Navarre's _pazza_, and you will find your lover
there!"

"Oh!" exclaimed Madame de Sauve.

Catharine shrugged her shoulders.

"Are you jealous, pray?" asked the queen mother.

"I?" exclaimed Madame de Sauve, recalling her fast-failing strength.

"Yes, you! I should like to see a Frenchwoman's jealousy."

"But," said Madame de Sauve, "how should your majesty expect me to be
jealous except out of vanity? I love the King of Navarre only as far as
your majesty's service requires it."

Catharine gazed at her for a moment with dreamy eyes.

"What you tell me may on the whole be true," she murmured.

"Your majesty reads my heart."

"And your heart is wholly devoted to me?"

"Command me, mad