uerite, they said, was at the end of the famous avenue. When he
had gone about two-thirds down it, he saw at the end, in an arbor
covered with jasmine, clematis, and broom, a group covered with ribbons,
feathers, velvets, and swords. Perhaps all this finery was slightly
old-fashioned, but for Nerac it was brilliant, and even Chicot, coming
straight from Paris, was satisfied with the coup d'oeil. A page preceded
Chicot.

"What do you want, D' Aubiac?" asked the queen, when she saw him.

"Madame, a gentleman from Paris, an envoy from the Louvre to the king of
Navarre, and sent by his majesty to you, desires to speak to your
majesty."

A sudden flush passed over Marguerite's face, and she turned quickly.
Chicot was standing near; Marguerite quitted the circle, and waving an
adieu to the company, advanced toward the Gascon.

"M. Chicot!" cried she in astonishment.

"Here I am at your majesty's feet," said he, "and find you ever good and
beautiful, and queen here, as at the Louvre."

"It is a miracle to see you here, monsieur; they said you were dead."

"I pretended to be so."

"And what do you want with us, M. Chicot? Am I happy enough to be still
remembered in France?"

"Oh, madame," said Chicot, smiling, "we do not forget queens of your age
and your beauty. The king of France even writes on this subject to the
king of Navarre."

Marguerite colored. "He writes?"

"Yes, madame."

"And you have brought the letter?"

"I have not brought it, madame, for reasons that the king of Navarre
will explain to you, but learned it by heart and repeated it."

"I understand. This letter was important, and you feared to lose it, or
have it stolen."

"That is the truth, madame; but the letter was written in Latin."

"Oh, very well; you know I know Latin."

"And the king of Navarre, does he know it?"

"Dear M. Chicot, it is very difficult to find out what he does or does
not know. If one can believe appearances, he knows very little of it,
for he never seems to understand when I speak to any one in that
language. Then you told him the purport of the letter?"

"It was to him it was addressed."

"And did he seem to understand?"

"Only two words."

"What were they?"

"Turennius et Margota."

"Turennius et Margota?"

"Yes; those two words were in the letter."

"Then what did he do?"

"He sent me to you, madame."

"To me?"

"Yes, saying that the letter contained things of too much importance to
be confided