ill, and I had lost all hope of seeing
you."

"Would your majesty perhaps wish me to believe that it had cost you
something to lose this hope?" replied Madame de Sauve.

"By Heaven! I believe it!" replied the Bearnais; "know you not that you
are my sun by day and my star by night? By my faith, I was in deepest
darkness till you appeared and suddenly illumined all."

"Then, monseigneur, I serve you a very ill turn."

"What do you mean, _ma mie_?" inquired Henry.

"I mean that he who is master of the handsomest woman in France should
only have one desire--that the light should disappear and give way to
darkness, for happiness awaits you in the darkness."

"You know, cruel one, that my happiness is in the hands of one woman
only, and that she laughs at poor Henry."

"Oh!" replied the baroness, "I believed, on the contrary, that it was
this person who was the sport and jest of the King of Navarre." Henry
was alarmed at this hostile attitude, and yet he bethought him that it
betrayed jealous spite, and that jealous spite is only the mask of love.

"Indeed, dear Charlotte, you reproach me very unjustly, and I do not
comprehend how so lovely a mouth can be so cruel. Do you suppose for a
moment that it is I who give myself in marriage? No, _ventre saint
gris_, it is not I!"

"It is I, perhaps," said the baroness, sharply,--if ever the voice of
the woman who loves us and reproaches us for not loving her can seem
sharp.

"With your lovely eyes have you not seen farther, baroness? No, no;
Henry of Navarre is not marrying Marguerite de Valois."

"And who, pray, is?"

"Why, by Heaven! it is the reformed religion marrying the pope--that's
all."

"No, no, I cannot be deceived by your jests. Monseigneur loves Madame
Marguerite. And can I blame you? Heaven forbid! She is beautiful enough
to be adored."

Henry reflected for a moment, and, as he reflected, a meaning smile
curled the corner of his lips.

"Baroness," said he, "you seem to be seeking a quarrel with me, but you
have no right to do so. What have you done to prevent me from marrying
Madame Marguerite? Nothing. On the contrary, you have always driven me
to despair."

"And well for me that I have, monseigneur," replied Madame de Sauve.

"How so?"

"Why, of course, because you are marrying another woman!"

"I marry her because you love me not."

"If I had loved you, sire, I must have died in an hour."

"In an hour? What do you mean? And of what death w