and sound," she said, turning to show herself to Christophe.

"Ah! madame, I have your bill, too," he said, looking at her with
well-played simplicity.

The young queen eyed him, but did not take the paper; and she noticed,
though without at the moment drawing any conclusions, that he had taken
her bill from his pocket, whereas he had carried Queen Catherine's
in his bosom. Neither did she find in the lad's eyes that glance of
admiration which her presence invariably excited in all beholders. But
she was so engrossed by her surcoat that, for the moment, she did not
ask herself the meaning of such indifference.

"Take the bill, Dayelle," she said to her waiting-woman; "give it to
Monsieur de Versailles (Lomenie) and tell him from me to pay it."

"Oh! madame," said Christophe, "if you do not ask the king or
monseigneur the grand-master to sign me an order your gracious word will
have no effect."

"You are rather more eager than becomes a subject, my friend," said Mary
Stuart. "Do you not believe my royal word?"

The king now appeared, in silk stockings and trunk-hose (the breeches
of that period), but without his doublet and mantle; he had, however, a
rich loose coat of velvet edged with minever.

"Who is the wretch who dares to doubt your word?" he said, overhearing,
in spite of his distance, his wife's last words.

The door of the dressing-room was hidden by the royal bed. This room
was afterwards called "the old cabinet," to distinguish it from the fine
cabinet of pictures which Henri III. constructed at the farther end of
the same suite of rooms, next to the hall of the States-general. It was
in the old cabinet that Henri III. hid the murderers when he sent for
the Duc de Guise, while he himself remained hidden in the new cabinet
during the murder, only emerging in time to see the overbearing subject
for whom there were no longer prisons, tribunals, judges, nor even laws,
draw his last breath. Were it not for these terrible circumstances the
historian of to-day could hardly trace the former occupation of these
cabinets, now filled with soldiers. A quartermaster writes to his
mistress on the very spot where the pensive Catherine once decided on
her course between the parties.

"Come with me, my friend," said the queen-mother, "and I will see that
you are paid. Commerce must live, and money is its backbone."

"Go, my lad," cried the young queen, laughing; "my august mother knows
more than I do about commerce