page, I should love you as
much as I do now. And yet, there is nothing so sweet as to whisper to
one's self: 'My lover is king!'"

"Oh! the pretty arm! Why must we dress ourselves? I love to pass my
fingers through your silky hair and tangle its blond curls. Ah ca!
sweet one, don't let your women kiss that pretty throat and those white
shoulders any more; don't allow it, I say. It is too much that the fogs
of Scotland ever touched them!"

"Won't you come with me to see my dear country? The Scotch love you;
there are no rebellions _there_!"

"Who rebels in this our kingdom?" said Francois, crossing his
dressing-gown and taking Mary Stuart on his knee.

"Oh! 'tis all very charming, I know that," she said, withdrawing her
cheek from the king; "but it is your business to reign, if you please,
my sweet sire."

"Why talk of reigning? This morning I wish--"

"Why say _wish_ when you have only to will all? That's not the speech of
a king, nor that of a lover.--But no more of love just now; let us drop
it! We have business more important to speak of."

"Oh!" cried the king, "it is long since we have had any business. Is it
amusing?"

"No," said Mary, "not at all; we are to move from Blois."

"I'll wager, darling, you have seen your uncles, who manage so well that
I, at seventeen years of age, am no better than a _roi faineant_. In
fact, I don't know why I have attended any of the councils since the
first. They could manage matters just as well by putting the crown in my
chair; I see only through their eyes, and am forced to consent to things
blindly."

"Oh! monsieur," said the queen, rising from the king's knee with a
little air of indignation, "you said you would never worry me again on
this subject, and that my uncles used the royal power only for the good
of your people. Your people!--they are so nice! They would gobble you
up like a strawberry if you tried to rule them yourself. You want
a warrior, a rough master with mailed hands; whereas you--you are a
darling whom I love as you are; whom I should never love otherwise,--do
you hear me, monsieur?" she added, kissing the forehead of the lad, who
seemed inclined to rebel at her speech, but softened at her kisses.

"Oh! how I wish they were not your uncles!" cried Francois II. "I
particularly dislike the cardinal; and when he puts on his wheedling air
and his submissive manner and says to me, bowing: 'Sire, the honor of
the crown and the faith of your fathers fo