said La Mole, smiling, "are you going to send me away?"

"It is late," said Marguerite.

"No doubt; but where would you have me go? Monsieur de Mouy is in my
room with Monsieur le Duc d'Alencon."

"Ah! yes," said Marguerite, with a beautiful smile. "Besides, I have
still some things to tell you about this conspiracy."

From that night La Mole was no longer an ordinary favorite. He well
might carry his head high, for which, living or dead, so sweet a future
was in store.

And yet at times his weary brow was bent, his cheek grew pale, and deep
thoughts ploughed their furrows on the forehead of the young man, once
so light-hearted, now so happy!

CHAPTER XXVII.

THE HAND OF GOD.

On leaving Madame de Sauve Henry had said to her:

"Go to bed, Charlotte. Pretend that you are very ill, and on no account
see any one all day to-morrow."

Charlotte obeyed without questioning the reason for this suggestion from
the king. She was beginning to be accustomed to his eccentricities, as
we should call them to-day, or to his whims as they were then called.
Moreover, she knew that deep in his heart Henry hid secrets which he
told to no one, in his mind plans which he feared to reveal even in his
dreams; so that she carried out all his wishes, knowing that his most
peculiar ideas had an object.

Whereupon that evening she complained to Dariole of great heaviness in
her head, accompanied by dizziness. These were the symptoms which Henry
had suggested to her to feign.

The following day she pretended that she wanted to rise, but scarcely
had she put her foot on the floor when she said she felt a general
debility, and went back to bed.

This indisposition, which Henry had already announced to the Duc
d'Alencon, was the first news brought to Catharine when she calmly asked
why La Sauve was not present as usual at her levee.

"She is ill!" replied Madame de Lorraine, who was there.

"Ill!" repeated Catharine, without a muscle of her face betraying the
interest she took in the answer. "Some idle fatigue, perhaps."

"No, madame," replied the princess. "She complains of a severe headache
and of weakness which prevents her from walking." Catharine did not
answer. But, to hide her joy, she turned to the window, and perceiving
Henry, who was crossing the court after his conversation with De Mouy,
she rose the better to see him. Driven by that conscience which,
although invisible, always throbs in the deepest recesses of