our new production."

She took the box in one hand, and with the other touched the tip of her
finger to the rose paste, which she was about to raise to her lips.

Rene gave a start.

The baroness smilingly lifted the opiate to her mouth.

Rene turned pale.

Still in the shadow, but with fixed and glowing eyes, Henry lost neither
the action of the one nor the shudder of the other.

Charlotte's hand had but a short distance to go before it would touch
her lips when Rene seized her arm, just as Henry rose to do so.

Henry fell back noiselessly on the couch.

"One moment, madame," said Rene, with a constrained smile, "you must not
use this opiate without special directions."

"Who will give me these directions?"

"I."

"When?"

"As soon as I have finished saying what I have to say to his Majesty the
King of Navarre."

Charlotte opened her eyes wide, understanding nothing of the mysterious
language about her, and sat with the opiate pot in one hand, gazing at
the tip of her finger, red with the rouge.

Henry rose, and moved by a thought which, like all those of the young
king, had two sides, one which seemed superficial, the other which was
deep, he took Charlotte's hand and red as it was, made as though to
raise it to his lips.

"One moment," said Rene, quickly, "one moment! Be kind enough, madame,
to rinse your lovely hands with this soap from Naples which I neglected
to send you at the same time as the rouge, and which I have the honor of
bringing you now."

Drawing from its silver wrapping a cake of green soap, he put it in a
vermilion basin, poured some water over it, and, with one knee on the
floor, offered it to Madame de Sauve.

"Why, really, Maitre Rene, I no longer recognize you," said Henry, "you
are so gallant that you far outstrip every court fop."

"Oh, what a delicious perfume!" cried Charlotte, rubbing her beautiful
hands with the pearly foam made by the scented cake.

Rene performed his office of courtier to the end. He offered a napkin of
fine Frisian linen to Madame de Sauve, who dried her hands on it.

"Now," said the Florentine to Henry. "Let your mind be at rest,
monseigneur."

Charlotte gave her hand to Henry, who kissed it, and while she half
turned on her chair to listen to what Rene was about to say, the King of
Navarre returned to his couch, more convinced than ever that something
unusual was passing through the mind of the perfumer.

"Well?" asked Charlotte. The Floren