QUEEN MARGOT (Historical Novel). Alexandre DumasЧитать онлайн книгу.
about to fall on the carpet.
Henry went straight to a window some distance off, and opened it. This window looked out on the river.
Marguerite followed him.
“Silence, sire — silence, for your own sake!” she murmured.
“What, madame,” said the Béarnais, with his peculiar smile, “did you not tell me we were alone?”
“Yes, sire; but did you not hear me say that by the aid of a tube introduced into the ceiling or the wall everything could be heard?”
“Well, madame, well,” said the Béarnais, earnestly and in a low voice, “it is true you do not love me, but you are, at least, honorable.”
“What do you mean, sire?”
“I mean that if you were capable of betraying me, you would have allowed me to go on, as I was betraying myself. You stopped me — I now know that some one is concealed here — that you are an unfaithful wife, but a faithful ally; and just now, I confess, I have more need of fidelity in politics than in love.”
“Sire!” replied Marguerite, confused.
“Good, good; we will talk of this hereafter,” said Henry, “when we know each other better.”
Then, raising his voice —“Well,” he continued, “do you breathe more freely now, madame?”
“Yes, sire — yes!”
“Well, then,” said the Béarnais, “I will no longer intrude on you. I owed you my respects, and some advances toward better acquaintance; deign, then, to accept them, as they are offered, with all my heart. Good-night, and happy slumbers!”
Marguerite raised her eyes, shining with gratitude, and offered her husband her hand.
“It is agreed,” she said.
“Political alliance, frank and loyal?” asked Henry.
“Frank and loyal,” was the reply.
And the Béarnais went toward the door, followed by Marguerite’s look as if she were fascinated. Then, when the curtain had fallen between them and the bedchamber:
“Thanks, Marguerite,” he said, in a quick low tone, “thanks! You are a true daughter of France. I leave you quite tranquil: lacking your love, your friendship will not fail me. I rely on you, as you, on your side, may rely on me. Adieu, madame.”
And Henry kissed his wife’s hand, and pressed it gently. Then with a quick step he returned to his own apartment, saying to himself, in a low voice, in the corridor:
“Who the devil is with her? Is it the King, or the Duc d’Anjou, or the Duc d’Alençon, or the Duc de Guise? is it a brother or a lover? is it both? I’ faith, I am almost sorry now I asked the baroness for this rendezvous; but, as my word is pledged, and Dariole is waiting for me — no matter. Yet, ventre saint gris! this Margot, as my brother-inlaw, King Charles, calls her, is an adorable creature.”
And with a step which betrayed a slight hesitation, Henry of Navarre ascended the staircase which led to Madame de Sauve’s apartments.
Marguerite had followed him with her eyes until he disappeared. Then she returned to her chamber, and found the duke at the door of the cabinet. The sight of him almost touched her with remorse.
The duke was grave, and his knitted brow bespoke bitter reflection.
“Marguerite is neutral today,” he said; “in a week Marguerite will be hostile.”
“Ah! you have been listening?” said Marguerite.
“What else could I do in the cabinet?”
“And did you find that I behaved otherwise than the Queen of Navarre should behave?”
“No; but differently from the way in which the mistress of the Duc de Guise should behave.”
“Sir,” replied the queen, “I may not love my husband, but no one has the right to require me to betray him. Tell me honestly: would you reveal the secrets of the Princesse de Porcian, your wife?”
“Come, come, madame,” answered the duke, shaking his head, “this is very well; I see that you do not love me as in those days when you disclosed to me the plot of the King against me and my party.”
“The King was strong and you were weak; Henry is weak and you are strong. You see I always play a consistent part.”
“Only you pass from one camp to another.”
“That was a right I acquired, sir, in saving your life.”
“Good, madame; and as when lovers separate, they return all the gifts that have passed between them, I will save your life, in my turn, if ever the need arises, and we shall be quits.”
And the duke bowed and left the room, nor did Marguerite attempt to retain him.
In the antechamber he found Gillonne, who guided him to the window on the ground floor, and in the fosse he found his page, with whom he returned to the Hôtel de Guise.
Marguerite, in a dreamy mood, went to the opened window.
“What a marriage night!” she murmured to herself; “the husband flees from me — the lover forsakes me!”
At that moment, coming from the Tour de Bois, and going up toward the Moulin de la Monnaie, on the other side of the fosse passed a student, his hand on his hip, and singing:
“SONG.
“Tell me why, O maiden fair,
When I burn to bite thy hair,
And to kiss thy rosy lips,
And to touch thy lovely breast,
Like a nun thou feign’st thee blest
In the cloister’s sad eclipse?
“Who will win the precious prize
Of thy brow, thy mouth, thine eyes —
Of thy bosom sweet — what lover?
Wilt thou all thy charms devote
To grim Pluton when the boat
Charon rows shall take thee over?
“After thou hast sailed across,
Loveliest, then wilt find but loss —
All thy beauty will decay.
When I die and meet thee there
In the shades I’ll never swear
Thou wert once my mistress gay!
“Therefore, darling, while we live,
Change thy mind and tokens give —
Kisses from thy honey mouth!
Else when thou art like to die
Thou ‘lt repent thy cruelty,
Filling all my life with drouth!”
Marguerite listened with a melancholy smile; then when the student’s voice was lost in the distance, she shut the window, and called Gillonne to help her to prepare for bed.
Chapter 3.
The Poet-King.
The next day and those that followed were devoted to festivals, balls, and tournaments.
The same amalgamation continued to take place between the two parties. The caresses and compliments lavished were enough to turn the heads of the most bigoted Huguenots. Père Cotton was to be seen dining and carousing with the Baron de Courtaumer; the Duc de Guise went boating on the Seine with the Prince de Condé. King Charles