Part 77 (1/2)
”Very good, madame; and you, De Mouy, return to the duke, and make sure of him.”
CHAPTER XXVI.
MARGARITA.
During the conversation which we have just related, La Mole and Coconnas mounted guard. La Mole somewhat chagrined, Coconnas somewhat anxious. La Mole had had time to reflect, and in this he had been greatly aided by Coconnas.
”What do you think of all this, my friend?” La Mole had asked of Coconnas.
”I think,” the Piedmontese had replied, ”that there is some court intrigue connected with it.”
”And such being the case, are you disposed to play a part in it?”
”My dear fellow,” replied Coconnas, ”listen well to what I am going to say to you and try and profit by it. In all these princely dealings, in all royal affairs, we can and should be nothing but shadows. Where the King of Navarre leaves a bit of his plume and the Duc d'Alencon a piece of his cloak, we leave our lives. The queen has a fancy for you, and you for her. Nothing is better. Lose your head in love, my dear fellow, but not in politics.”
That was wise council. Therefore it was heard by La Mole with the melancholy of a man who feels that, placed between reason and madness, it is madness he will follow.
”I have not a fancy for the queen, Annibal, I love her; and fortunately or unfortunately I love her with all my heart. This is madness, you will say. Well, I admit that I am mad. But you are wise, Coconnas, you ought not to suffer for my foolishness and my misfortune. Go back to our master and do not compromise yourself.”
Coconnas pondered an instant. Then raising his head:
”My dear fellow,” he replied, ”all that you tell me is perfectly reasonable; you are in love--act, therefore, like a lover. I am ambitious, and being so, I think life is worth more to me than a woman's kiss. When I risk my life, I make my own conditions. Try, so far as you are concerned, my poor Medor, to make yours.”
Whereupon Coconnas extended his hand to La Mole and withdrew, having exchanged a final glance and a final smile with his friend.
About ten minutes after he left his post, the door opened, and Marguerite, peering out cautiously, took La Mole by the hand and, without uttering a word, drew him from the corridor into the furthest corner of her room. She closed the door behind her with a care which indicated the importance of the conversation she was about to have.
Once in her room she stopped, seated herself on her ebony chair, and drawing La Mole to her, she clasped her hands over both of his.
”Now that we are alone,” said she, ”let us talk seriously, my very dear friend.”
”Seriously, madame,” said La Mole.
”Or lovingly. Does that please you better? But there can be serious things in love, and especially in the love of a queen.”
”Then--let us talk of serious things; but on condition that your majesty will not be vexed at the lighter things I have to say to you.”
”I shall be vexed only at one thing, La Mole, and that is if you address me as 'madame' or 'your majesty.' For you, my beloved, I am just Marguerite.”
”Yes, Marguerite! Yes, Margarita! Yes, my pearl!” cried the young man, devouring the queen with his eyes.
”Yes, that is right,” said Marguerite. ”So you are jealous, my fine gentleman?”
”Oh! unreasonably.”
”Still?”
”Madly, Marguerite.”