, he first of all made sure that his
sword was out of its sheath.

Leaving her sleeping-room, Marguerite hastened to the antechamber and
came face to face with La Mole, who in spite of all the protests of
Gillonne had forced his way into Marguerite's room.

Coconnas was behind him, ready to urge him forward or sustain a retreat.

"Ah! it is you, Monsieur la Mole!" cried the queen; "but what is the
matter, and why are you so pale and trembling?"

"Madame," said Gillonne, "Monsieur de la Mole knocked at the door so
that, in spite of your majesty's orders, I was forced to open it."

"What is the meaning of this?" said the queen, severely; "is this true,
Monsieur de la Mole?"

"Madame, I wanted to warn your majesty that a stranger, a robber
perhaps, had gained admittance to your rooms with my cloak and my hat."

"You are mad, monsieur," said Marguerite, "for I see your cloak on your
shoulders, and, God forgive me, I think I see your hat on your head,
even though you are speaking to a queen."

"Oh! pardon me, madame, pardon me!" cried La Mole, quickly uncovering;
"but God is my witness, it is not my respect which is lacking."

"No, it is your trust, is it not?" said the queen.

"What can you expect?" cried La Mole, "when a man is in your majesty's
rooms; when he gains admittance by assuming my clothes, and perhaps my
name, who knows"--

"A man!" cried Marguerite, softly pressing her poor lover's arm; "a man!
You are modest, Monsieur de la Mole. Look through the opening of the
portiere and you will see two men."

Marguerite drew back the velvet portiere embroidered in gold, and La
Mole saw Henry talking with the man in the cherry-colored cloak.
Coconnas, as though he himself were concerned, looked also, saw, and
recognized De Mouy. Both men stood amazed.

"Now that you are reassured, or at least now that I hope you are," said
Marguerite, "take your stand outside my door, and for your life, my dear
La Mole, let no one enter. If any one even approaches the stairs, warn
me." La Mole, weak and obedient as a child, withdrew, glancing at
Coconnas, who looked at him. Both found themselves outside without
having thoroughly recovered from their astonishment.

"De Mouy!" cried Coconnas.

"Henry!" murmured La Mole.

"De Mouy with your cherry-colored cloak, your white plume, and your
swinging arm."

"Ah!" went on La Mole, "the moment it is not a question of love, it is a
question of plot."

"By Heaven! here we are