Part 92 (1/2)
”The lecture will last until late into the night,” replied Gillonne, ”so that probably her majesty will stay with her friend until to-morrow morning.”
”The Queen of Navarre is happy,” murmured Catharine; ”she has friends and she is queen; she wears a crown, is called your majesty, yet has no subjects. She is happy indeed.”
After this remark, which made her listeners smile inwardly:
”Well,” murmured Catharine, ”since she has gone out--for she has gone, you say?”
”Half an hour ago, madame.”
”Everything is for the best; you may go.”
Gillonne bowed and left.
”Go on with your reading, Charlotte,” said the queen.
Madame de Sauve continued. At the end of ten minutes Catharine interrupted the story.
”Ah, by the way,” said she, ”have the guards dismissed from the corridor.”
This was the signal for which Maurevel was waiting. The order of the queen mother was carried out, and Madame de Sauve went on with her story. She had read for about a quarter of an hour without any interruption, when a prolonged and terrible scream reached the royal chamber and made the hair of those present stand on end.
The scream was followed by the sound of a pistol-shot.
”What is it?” said Catharine; ”why do you stop reading, Carlotta?”
”Madame,” said the young woman, turning pale, ”did you not hear?”
”What?” asked Catharine.
”That cry.”
”And that pistol-shot?” added the captain of the guards.
”A cry, a pistol-shot?” asked Catharine; ”I heard nothing. Besides, is a shout or a pistol-shot such a very unusual thing at the Louvre? Read, read, Carlotta.”
”But listen, madame,” said the latter, while Monsieur de Nancey stood up, his hand on his sword, but not daring to leave without permission from the queen, ”listen, I hear steps, curses.”
”Shall I go and find out about it, madame?” said De Nancey.
”Not at all, monsieur, stay where you are,” said Catharine, raising herself on one hand to give more emphasis to her order. ”Who, then, would protect me in case of an alarm? It is only some drunken Swiss fighting.”
The calmness of the queen, contrasted with the terror on the faces of all present, was so remarkable that, timid as she was, Madame de Sauve fixed a questioning glance on the queen.
”Why, madame, I should think they were killing some one.”
”Whom do you think they are killing?”
”The King of Navarre, madame; the noise comes from the direction of his apartments.”
”The fool!” murmured the queen, whose lips in spite of her self-control were beginning to move strangely, for she was muttering a prayer; ”the fool sees her King of Navarre everywhere.”