"That is an excellent reason, sire."

"I am glad to be a more profound philosopher than I thought--but to
return to the letter. Madame, I burn to hear news from the court of
France, and M. Chicot brings them to me in an unknown tongue."

"Do you not fear, sire, that the Latin is a bad prognostic?" said
Chicot.

"M. Chicot is right, sire," said the queen.

"What!" said Henri, "does the letter contain anything disagreeable, and
from your brother, who is so clever and polite?"

"Even when he had me insulted in my litter, as happened near Sens, when
I left Paris to rejoin you, sire."

"When one has a brother whose own conduct is irreproachable," said
Henri, in an indefinable tone between jest and earnest, "a brother a
king, and very punctilious--"

"He ought to care for the true honor of his sister and of his house. I
do not suppose, sire, that if your sister, Catherine d'Albret,
occasioned some scandal, you would have it published by a captain of the
guards."

"Oh! I am like a good-natured bourgeois, and not a king; but the letter,
the letter; since it was addressed to me, I wish to know what it
contains."

"It is a perfidious letter, sire."

"Bah!"

"Oh! yes, and which contains more calumnies than are necessary to
embroil a husband with his wife, and a friend with his friends."

"Oh! oh! embroil a husband with his wife; you and me then?"

"Yes, sire."

Chicot was on thorns; he would have given much, hungry as he was, to be
in bed without supper.

"The storm is about to burst," thought he.

"Sire," said Marguerite, "I much regret that your majesty has forgotten
your Latin."

"Madame, of all the Latin I learned, I remember but one phrase--'Deus et
virtus oeterna'--a singular assemblage of masculine, feminine, and
neuter."

"Because, sire, if you did understand, you would see in the letter many
compliments to me."

"But how could compliments embroil us, madame? For as long as your
brother pays you compliments, I shall agree with him; if he speaks ill
of you, I shall understand his policy."

"Ah! if he spoke ill of me, you would understand it?"

"Yes; he has reasons for embroiling us, which I know well."

"Well, then, sire, these compliments are only an insinuating prelude to
calumnious accusations against your friends and mine."

"Come, ma mie, you have understood badly; let me hear if all this be in
the letter."

Marguerite looked defiant.

"Do you want your followers or not, sire?" sa