d on the
former's arm.

"M. Broussel alone," he said, drawing Le Brusquet back, and I passed
through the door.

I found myself in a small ante-chamber; but there was not a soul
within. I stood for a moment irresolute, when the door behind me
opened once again, and I heard De Lorgnac's voice.

"Onwards! Through the curtains ahead of you."

This I did, and entered a large room, richly furnished. The light,
bright though soft, of the tall candles burning in grotesque holders
fell on the curtains of violet velvet, starred with the golden lilies
of France, on the rare tapestry, that covered the walls, on embroidered
cushions and quaint carvings. There were flowers in abundance
everywhere; but their scent was killed by something that burned in a
cup held by a little bronze Ganymede, the odour of which filled the
room with a sweet but heavy scent. This room, like the other, was
likewise empty, and after glancing round twice to make sure, I took my
stand near a table, upon which there were some writing materials and a
pair of richly embroidered gloves. The sight of the gloves brought old
Camus back to my mind, and I was about to take one up, to look at the
workmanship, when I heard a footfall; the curtains were set aside, and
a woman stood before me.

It was Catherine de Medicis herself. It was years since I had seen
her, then a young girl; but now, though still young, she was in the
bloom of ripened womanhood. People said that, with all her
accomplishments, she lacked courage, and was dull and stupid. As my
glance rested on the pale features, on the somewhat sullen mouth, and
on the dark, expressionless eyes before me, I began to think they were
right. To-day, however, I was also to begin learning a new lesson.
Others have since learned it too, and paid for the learning as lessons
have never been paid for before or after. She let fall the curtain she
held as I sank on one knee before her and extended me a shapely hand.
As I touched it with my lips she said in her deep-toned voice:

"M. Broussel, arise!"

I did so, and, moving towards the chair near the table, she sat down,
and began toying with one of the gloves, her eyes not meeting my look,
but surveying me with a swift sidelong glance.

"_Eh bien_!" she said, "you are that M. Broussel who came so
opportunely to the rescue of my cousin of Vendome."

I bowed, and with another of her swift glances she asked:

"And you are to be trusted?"

"Your Majest