Part 78 (2/2)
La Mole arose, pale and completely overcome.
”Oh!” he murmured, ”Coconnas was right, intrigue is enveloping me in its folds. It will suffocate me.”
”Well?” asked Marguerite.
”Well,” said La Mole, ”this is my answer: it is said, and I heard it at the other end of France, where your ill.u.s.trious name and your universal reputation for beauty touched my heart like a vague desire for the unknown,--it is said that sometimes you love, but that your love is always fatal to those you love, so that death, jealous, no doubt, almost always removes your lovers.”
”La Mole!”
”Do not interrupt me, oh, my well-loved Margarita, for they add that you preserve the hearts of these faithful friends in gold boxes[10], and that occasionally you bestow a melancholy thought, a pious glance on the sad remains. You sigh, my queen, your eyes droop; it is true. Well! make me the dearest and the happiest of your favorites. You have pierced the hearts of others, and you keep their hearts. You do more with me, you expose my head. Well, Marguerite, swear to me before the image of the G.o.d who has saved my life in this very place, swear to me, that if I die for you, as a sad presentiment tells me I shall do, swear to me that you will keep my head, which the hangman will separate from my body; and that you will sometimes press your lips to it. Swear, Marguerite, and the promise of such reward bestowed by my queen will make me silent, and, if necessary, a traitor and a coward; this is being wholly devoted, as your lover and your accomplice should be.”
”Oh! what ghastly foolishness, dear heart!” said Marguerite. ”Oh! fatal thought, sweet love.”
”Swear”--
”Swear?”
”Yes, on this silver chest with its cross. Swear.”
”Well!” said Marguerite, ”if--and G.o.d forbid!--your gloomy presentiment is realized, my fine gentleman, on this cross I swear to you that you shall be near me, living or dead, so long as I live; and if I am unable to rescue you from the peril which comes to you through me, through me alone, I will at least give to your poor soul the consolation for which you ask, and which you will so well have deserved.”
”One word more, Marguerite. I can die now. I shall not mind death; but I can live, too, for we may succeed. The King of Navarre, king, you may be queen, in which case he will take you away. This vow of separation between you will some day be broken, and will do away with ours. Now, Marguerite, my well-beloved Marguerite, with a word you have taken away my every fear of death; now with a word keep up my courage concerning life.”
”Oh, fear nothing, I am yours, body and soul!” cried Marguerite, again raising her hand to the cross on the little chest. ”If I leave, you follow, and if the king refuses to take you, then I shall not go.”
”But you dare not resist!”
”My well-beloved Hyacinthe,” said Marguerite, ”you do not know Henry. At present he is thinking of only one thing, that is, of being king. For this he would sacrifice everything he owns, and, still more, what he does not own. Now, adieu!”
”Madame,” said La Mole, smiling, ”are you going to send me away?”
”It is late,” said Marguerite.
”No doubt; but where would you have me go? Monsieur de Mouy is in my room with Monsieur le Duc d'Alencon.”
”Ah! yes,” said Marguerite, with a beautiful smile. ”Besides, I have still some things to tell you about this conspiracy.”
From that night La Mole was no longer an ordinary favorite. He well might carry his head high, for which, living or dead, so sweet a future was in store.
And yet at times his weary brow was bent, his cheek grew pale, and deep thoughts ploughed their furrows on the forehead of the young man, once so light-hearted, now so happy!
CHAPTER XXVII.
THE HAND OF G.o.d.
On leaving Madame de Sauve Henry had said to her:
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