Part 41 (1/2)

”Leave the Louvre!” said Marguerite, gazing with astonishment at the young man, who cast down his eyes. ”Why, it is impossible--you cannot walk; you are pale and weak; your knees tremble. Only a few hours ago the wound in your shoulder was still bleeding.”

”Madame,” said the young man, ”as earnestly as I thanked your majesty for having given me shelter, as earnestly do I pray you now to suffer me to depart.”

”I scarcely know what to call such a resolution,” said Marguerite; ”it is worse than ingrat.i.tude.”

”Oh,” cried La Mole, clasping his hands, ”think me not ungrateful; my grat.i.tude will cease only with my life.”

”It will not last long, then,” said Marguerite, moved at these words, the sincerity of which it was impossible to doubt; ”for your wounds will open, and you will die from loss of blood, or you will be recognized for a Huguenot and killed ere you have gone fifty yards in the street.”

”Nevertheless I must leave the Louvre,” murmured La Mole.

”Must,” returned Marguerite, fixing her serene, inscrutable eyes upon him; then turning rather pale she added, ”ah, yes; forgive me, sir, I understand; doubtless there is some one outside the Louvre who is anxiously waiting for you. You are right, Monsieur de la Mole; it is natural, and I understand it. Why didn't you say so at first? or rather, why didn't I think of it myself? It is duty in the exercise of hospitality to protect one's guest's affections as well as to cure his wounds, and to care for the spirit just as one cares for the body.”

”Alas, madame,” said La Mole, ”you are laboring under a strange mistake.

I am well nigh alone in the world, and altogether so in Paris, where no one knows me. My a.s.sa.s.sin is the first man I have spoken to in this city; your majesty the first woman who has spoken to me.”

”Then,” said Marguerite, ”why would you go?”

”Because,” replied La Mole, ”last night you got no rest, and to-night”--

Marguerite blushed.

”Gillonne,” said she, ”it is already evening and time to deliver that key.”

Gillonne smiled, and left the room.

”But,” continued Marguerite, ”if you are alone in Paris, without friends, what will you do?”

”Madame, I soon shall have friends enough, for while I was pursued I thought of my mother, who was a Catholic; methought I saw her with a cross in her hand gliding before me toward the Louvre, and I vowed that if G.o.d should save my life I would embrace my mother's religion. Madame, G.o.d did more than save my life, he sent me one of his angels to make me love life.”

”But you cannot walk; before you have gone a hundred steps you will faint away.”

”Madame, I have made the experiment in the closet, I walk slowly and painfully, it is true; but let me get as far as the Place du Louvre; once outside, let befall what will.”

Marguerite leaned her head on her hand and sank into deep thought.

”And the King of Navarre,” said she, significantly, ”you no longer speak of him? In changing your religion, have you also changed your desire to enter his service?”

”Madame,” replied La Mole, growing pale, ”you have just hit upon the actual reason of my departure. I know that the King of Navarre is exposed to the greatest danger, and that all your majesty's influence as a daughter of France will barely suffice to save his life.”

”What do you mean, sir,” exclaimed Marguerite, ”and what danger do you refer to?”

”Madame,” replied La Mole, with some hesitation, ”one can hear everything from the closet where I am.”

”'Tis true,” said Marguerite to herself; ”Monsieur de Guise told me so before.”

”Well,” added she, aloud, ”what did you hear?”

”In the first place, the conversation between your majesty and your brother.”