Part 63 (2/2)

This was not what Charlotte expected; it seemed to her that the thickening veil between her and her lover every time she tried to sound the depths of his bottomless heart was a.s.suming the consistency of a wall, and was separating them from each other. So she felt the tears springing to her eyes as he made this answer, and as it struck ten o'clock just at that moment:

”Sire,” said Charlotte, ”it is my bed-time; my duties call me very early to-morrow morning to the queen mother.”

”So you drive me away to-night, do you, sweetheart?”

”Henry, I am sad. As I am sad, you would find me tedious and you would not like me any more. You see that it is better for you to withdraw.”

”Very good,” said Henry, ”I will withdraw if you insist upon it, only, _ventre saint gris_! you must at least grant me the favor of staying for your toilet.”

”But Queen Marguerite, sire! won't you keep her waiting if you remain?”

”Charlotte,” replied Henry, gravely, ”it was agreed between us that we should never mention the Queen of Navarre, but it seems to me that this evening we have talked about nothing but her.”

Madame de Sauve sighed; then she went and sat down before her toilet-table. Henry took a chair, pulled it along toward the one that served as his mistress's seat, and setting one knee on it while he leaned on the back of the other, he said:

”Come, my good little Charlotte, let me see you make yourself beautiful, and beautiful for me whatever you said. Heavens! What things! What scent-bottles, what powders, what phials, what perfumery boxes!”

”It seems a good deal,” said Charlotte, with a sigh, ”and yet it is too little, since with it all I have not as yet found the means of reigning exclusively over your majesty's heart.”

”There!” exclaimed Henry; ”let us not fall back on politics! What is that little fine delicate brush? Should it not be for painting the eyebrows of my Olympian Jupiter?”

”Yes, sire,” replied Madame de Sauve, ”and you have guessed at the first shot!”

”And that pretty little ivory rake?”

”'Tis for parting the hair!”

”And that charming little silver box with a chased cover?”

”Oh, that is something Rene sent, sire; 'tis the famous opiate which he has been promising me so long--to make still sweeter the lips which your majesty has been good enough sometimes to find rather sweet.”

And Henry, as if to test what the charming woman said, touched his lips to the ones which she was looking at so attentively in the mirror. Now that they were returning to the field of coquetry, the cloud began to lift from the baroness's brow. She took up the box which had thus been explained, and was just going to show Henry how the vermilion salve was used, when a sharp rap at the antechamber door startled the two lovers.

”Some one is knocking, madame,” said Dariole, thrusting her head through the opening of the portiere.

”Go and find out who it is, and come back,” said Madame de Sauve. Henry and Charlotte looked at each other anxiously, and Henry was beginning to think of retiring to the oratory, in which he had already more than once taken refuge, when Dariole reappeared.

”Madame,” said she, ”it is Maitre Rene, the perfumer.”

At this name Henry frowned, and involuntarily bit his lips.

”Do you want me to refuse him admission?” asked Charlotte.

”No!” said Henry; ”Maitre Rene never does anything without having previously thought about it. If he comes to you, it is because he has a reason for coming.”

”In that case, do you wish to hide?”

<script>