Part 156 (2/2)
”It does not mean _mort_, as the queen mother said.”
”What does it mean, then?” asked Charles.
”It means--it means the name of the woman whom Monsieur de la Mole loves.”
”And what is the name of this woman?”
”_Marguerite_, brother!” cried the Queen of Navarre, falling on her knees before the King's bed, taking his hand between both of hers, and pressing her face to it, bathed in tears.
”Hush, sister!” said Charles, casting a sharp glance about him beneath his frowning brow. ”For just as you overheard a moment ago, we may now be overheard again.”
”What does it matter?” exclaimed Marguerite, raising her head, ”if the whole world were present to hear me, I would declare before it that it is infamous to abuse the love of a gentleman by staining his reputation with a suspicion of murder.”
”Margot, suppose I were to tell you that I know as well as you do who it is and who it is not?”
”Brother!”
”Suppose I were to tell you that Monsieur de la Mole is innocent?”
”You know this?”
”If I were to tell you that I know the real author of the crime?”
”The real author!” cried Marguerite; ”has there been a crime committed, then?”
”Yes; intentionally or unintentionally there has been a crime committed.”
”On you?”
”Yes.”
”Impossible!”
”Impossible? Look at me, Margot.”
The young woman looked at her brother and trembled, seeing him so pale.
”Margot, I have not three months to live!” said Charles.
”You, brother! you, Charles!” she cried.
”Margot, I am poisoned.”
Marguerite screamed.
”Hush,” said Charles. ”It must be thought that I am dying by magic.”
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