loved, I
know--but it was a great and noble lady, more worthy of him than was I.
Pardon me, madam, if I dared to think she loved him too."

"Come hither, maiden, once again," said the princess in agitation. "He
loved another, you say--this Count de la Mole--and who was she?"

"Madam," replied Jocelyne in embarrassment, "I have already craved your
pardon that I should have ventured even to surmise it!"

"Ah!" sighed forth Margaret with a gleam of satisfaction in her face.
"Come back, my girl, come back!" she resumed. "I have treated you
harshly. I knew not what I did. Hear me--this Count has proved a traitor
to his king; perhaps, I may fancy, a traitor to others also; he has
conspired to turn away the rightful succession of the crown. But I
believe him not guilty of all the black arts of which he is accused. I
would save him from the unhappy consequences of his error, if I could.
But what can I do? My mother is fearfully incensed against him!"

"Oh, madam, you have access to the king!" cried Jocelyne imploringly.
"He is your brother--and the power to save or to destroy is his. He will
not refuse you, if you entreat his pardon and mercy for the Count."

Margaret shook her head doubtfully.

"Alas!" she said, with a look of distress, "other influences are at work
which mine cannot resist. I knew not all--but now I tremble."

Jocelyne still entreated, in all the agony of despair; and the young
Princess, again calling to her ladies, and learning that the
Queen-mother had returned to her own apartment, at last departed from
her chamber, bidding her fair suppliant await her return.

Long, eternally long, appeared those minutes, as the unhappy girl still
waited for that return which she imagined was to bring her the news of
life or death. To calm the agitation of her mind, she prayed. But her
thoughts were far too disturbed for prayer; and the prayer brought her
no comfort.

At length the Queen of Navarre came back to her apartment--as Jocelyne
looked in her face, she could scarcely repress a scream; that face was
one of sorrow, and disappointment--the poor girl trembled in every limb,
and did not dare to speak.

"I have done all I could," said Margaret--"His door was obstinately
closed to me--I could not see him--it was she--it was my mother, who has
done this. I know it well."

"What is to be done? whether turn for help?" cried Jocelyne in dispair.
"Oh! would that I could lay down my life to save his."

"Noble gi