hat evening in her simple batiste wrapper; and Henry was
very grateful.

At the same time, as Henry was really in love, he was dreamy. Madame de
Sauve, who had come actually to love instead of pretending to love as
Catharine had commanded, kept gazing at Henry to see if his eyes were in
accord with his words.

"Come, now, Henry," she was saying, "be honest; that night which you
spent in the boudoir of her majesty the Queen of Navarre, with Monsieur
de la Mole at your feet, didn't you feel sorry that that worthy
gentleman was between you and the queen's bedroom?"

"Certainly I did, sweetheart," said Henry, "for the only way that I
could reach this room where I am so comfortable, where at this instant I
am so happy, was for me to pass through the queen's room."

Madame de Sauve smiled.

"And you have not been there since?"

"Only as I have told you."

"You will never go to her without informing me?"

"Never."

"Would you swear to it?"

"Certainly I would, if I were still a Huguenot, but"--

"But what?"

"But the Catholic religion, the dogmas of which I am now learning, teach
me that one must never take an oath."

"Gascon!" exclaimed Madame de Sauve, shaking her head.

"But now it is my turn, Charlotte," said Henry. "If I ask you some
questions, will you answer?"

"Certainly I will," replied the young woman, "I have nothing to hide
from you."

"Now look here, Charlotte," said the king, "explain to me just for once
how it came about that after the desperate resistance which you made to
me before my marriage, you became less cruel to me who am an awkward
Bearnais, an absurd provincial, a prince too poverty-stricken, indeed,
to keep the jewels of his crown polished."

"Henry," said Charlotte, "you are asking the explanation of the enigma
which the philosophers of all countries have been trying to determine
for the past three thousand years! Henry, never ask a woman why she
loves you; be satisfied with asking, 'Do you love me?'"

"Do you love me, Charlotte?" asked Henry.

"I love you," replied Madame de Sauve, with a fascinating smile,
dropping her pretty hand into her lover's.

Henry retained the hand.

"But," he went on to say, following out his thought, "supposing I have
guessed the word which the philosophers have been vainly trying to find
for three thousand years--at least as far as you are concerned,
Charlotte?"

Madame de Sauve blushed.

"You love me," pursued Henry, "consequently I have