nd his knitted brow bespoke bitter reflection.

"Marguerite is neutral to-day," he said; "in a week Marguerite will be
hostile."

"Ah! you have been listening?" said Marguerite.

"What else could I do in the cabinet?"

"And did you find that I behaved otherwise than the Queen of Navarre
should behave?"

"No; but differently from the way in which the mistress of the Duc de
Guise should behave."

"Sir," replied the queen, "I may not love my husband, but no one has the
right to require me to betray him. Tell me honestly: would you reveal
the secrets of the Princesse de Porcian, your wife?"

"Come, come, madame," answered the duke, shaking his head, "this is very
well; I see that you do not love me as in those days when you disclosed
to me the plot of the King against me and my party."

"The King was strong and you were weak; Henry is weak and you are
strong. You see I always play a consistent part."

"Only you pass from one camp to another."

"That was a right I acquired, sir, in saving your life."

"Good, madame; and as when lovers separate, they return all the gifts
that have passed between them, I will save your life, in my turn, if
ever the need arises, and we shall be quits."

And the duke bowed and left the room, nor did Marguerite attempt to
retain him.

In the antechamber he found Gillonne, who guided him to the window on
the ground floor, and in the fosse he found his page, with whom he
returned to the Hotel de Guise.

Marguerite, in a dreamy mood, went to the opened window.

"What a marriage night!" she murmured to herself; "the husband flees
from me--the lover forsakes me!"

At that moment, coming from the Tour de Bois, and going up toward the
Moulin de la Monnaie, on the other side of the fosse passed a student,
his hand on his hip, and singing:

"SONG.

"Tell me why, O maiden fair,
When I burn to bite thy hair,
And to kiss thy rosy lips,
And to touch thy lovely breast,
Like a nun thou feign'st thee blest
In the cloister's sad eclipse?

"Who will win the precious prize
Of thy brow, thy mouth, thine eyes--
Of thy bosom sweet--what lover?
Wilt thou all thy charms devote
To grim Pluton when the boat
Charon rows shall take thee over?

"After thou hast sailed across,
Loveliest, then wilt find but loss--
All thy beauty will decay.
When I die and meet thee there
In the shades I'll never swear