The duke looked at her with a smile of astonishment, bowed, and without any reply passed out with his guards.
Marguerite ran to a captain who was on the point of leaving the Louvre and was engaged in having his men's arquebuses loaded.
"The King of Navarre!" she exclaimed; "sir, where is the King of Navarre?"
"I do not know, madame," replied the captain, "I do not belong to his majesty's guards."
"Ah, my dear Réné," said the queen, recognizing Catharine's perfumer, "is that you?—you have just left my mother. Do you know what has become of my husband?"
"His majesty the King of Navarre is no friend of mine, madame, you ought to remember that. It is even said," he added, with a contraction of his features more like a grimace than a smile, "it is even said that he ventures to accuse me of having been the accomplice, with Madame Catharine, in poisoning his mother."
"No, no!" cried Marguerite, "my good Réné, do not believe that!"
"Oh, it is of little consequence, madame!" said the perfumer; "neither the King of Navarre nor his party is any longer to be feared!"
And he turned his back on Marguerite.
"Ah, Monsieur de Tavannes!" cried Marguerite, "one word, I beseech you!"