CHAPTER XLVI.
MARGUERITE'S ROOM.
Marguerite's room was fashionably furnished; and tapestries, enamels,china, books and manuscripts in Greek, Latin and French covered all thetables; while birds in their cages, dogs on the carpet, formed a livingworld round Marguerite.
The queen was a woman to understand Epicurus, not in Greek only, but sheoccupied her life so well that from a thousand griefs she drew forth apleasure.
Chicot was invited to sit down in a beautiful armchair of tapestry,representing a Cupid scattering a cloud of flowers; and a page, handsomeand richly dressed, offered to him refreshment. He did not accept it,but as soon as the Vicomte de Turenne had left them, began to recite hisletter. We already know this letter, having read it in French withChicot, and therefore think it useless to follow the Latin translation.Chicot spoke with the worst accent possible, but Marguerite understoodit perfectly, and could not hide her rage and indignation. She knew herbrother's dislike to her, and her mind was divided between anger andfear. But as he concluded, she decided on her part.
"By the Holy Communion," said she, when Chicot had finished, "my brotherwrites well in Latin! What vehemence! what style! I should never havebelieved him capable of it. But do you not understand it, M. Chicot? Ithought you were a good Latin scholar."
"Madame, I have forgotten it; all that I remember is that Latin has noarticle, that it has a vocative, and that the head belongs to the neutergender."
"Really!" said some one, entering noiselessly and merrily. It was theking of Navarre. "The head is of the neuter gender, M. Chicot? Why is itnot masculine?"
"Ah, sire, I do not know; it astonishes me as much as it does yourmajesty."
"It must be because it is sometimes the man, sometimes the woman thatrules, according to their temperaments."
"That is an excellent reason, sire."
"I am glad to be a more profound philosopher than I thought--but toreturn to the letter. Madame, I burn to hear news from the court ofFrance, and M. Chicot brings them to me in an unknown tongue."
"Do you not fear, sire, that the Latin is a bad prognostic?" saidChicot.
"M. Chicot is right, sire," said the queen.
"What!" said Henri, "does the letter contain anything disagreeable, andfrom your brother, who is so clever and polite?"
"Even when he had me insulted in my litter, as happened near Sens, whenI left Paris to rejoin you, sire."
"When one has a brother whose own conduct is irreproachable," saidHenri, in an indefinable tone between jest and earnest, "a brother aking, and very punctilious--"
"He ought to care for the true honor of his sister and of his house. Ido not suppose, sire, that if your sister, Catherine d'Albret,occasioned some scandal, you would have it published by a captain of theguards."
"Oh! I am like a good-natured bourgeois, and not a king; but the letter,the letter; since it was addressed to me, I wish to know what itcontains."
"It is a perfidious letter, sire."
"Bah!"
"Oh! yes, and which contains more calumnies than are necessary toembroil a husband with his wife, and a friend with his friends."
"Oh! oh! embroil a husband with his wife; you and me then?"
"Yes, sire."
Chicot was on thorns; he would have given much, hungry as he was, to bein bed without supper.
"The storm is about to burst," thought he.
"Sire," said Marguerite, "I much regret that your majesty has forgottenyour Latin."
"Madame, of all the Latin I learned, I remember but one phrase--'Deus etvirtus oeterna'--a singular assemblage of masculine, feminine, andneuter."
"Because, sire, if you did understand, you would see in the letter manycompliments to me."
"But how could compliments embroil us, madame? For as long as yourbrother pays you compliments, I shall agree with him; if he speaks illof you, I shall understand his policy."
"Ah! if he spoke ill of me, you would understand it?"
"Yes; he has reasons for embroiling us, which I know well."
"Well, then, sire, these compliments are only an insinuating prelude tocalumnious accusations against your friends and mine."
"Come, ma mie, you have understood badly; let me hear if all this be inthe letter."
Marguerite looked defiant.
"Do you want your followers or not, sire?" said she.
"Do I want them? what a question! What should I do without them, andreduced to my own resources?"
"Well, sire, the king wishes to detach your best servants from you."
"I defy him."
"Bravo, sire!" said Chicot.
"Yes," said Henri, with that apparent candor, with which to the end ofhis life he deceived people, "for my followers are attached to methrough love, and not through interest; I have nothing to give them."
"You give them all your heart and your faith, sire; it is the bestreturn a king can make his friends."
"Yes, ma mie, I shall not fail to do so till I find that they do notmerit it."
"Well, sire, they wish to make you believe that they do not."
"Ah! but how?"
"I cannot tell you, sire, without compromising--" and she glanced atChicot.
"Dear M. Chicot," said Henri, "pray wait for me in my room, the queenhas something particular to say to me."