"One thing is certain," said Marguerite to herself, "to-morrow Monsieur de la Mole must have a protector at the Louvre; and he who, to-night, sees and hears nothing, may change his mind to-morrow."
Then she called Gillonne, who was waiting to receive her last orders.
Gillonne came to her.
"Gillonne," said she in a whisper, "you must contrive to bring my brother the Duc d'Alençon here to-morrow morning before eight o'clock."
It was just striking two at the Louvre.
La Mole for a few moments talked on political subjects with the king, who gradually grew drowsy and was soon snoring.
La Mole might have slept as well as the king, but Marguerite was not asleep; she kept turning from side to side in her bed, and the noise she made disturbed the young man's ideas and sleep.
"He is very young," murmured Marguerite in her wakeful mood, "he is very timid; perhaps—but we must see—perhaps it will be ridiculous. Yet he has handsome eyes—and a good figure, and he is very charming; but if he should not turn out to be brave!—He ran away!—He is renouncing his faith! It is too bad—the dream began well. However, let things take their course and entrust them to that madcap Henriette's triple god."
And toward daybreak Marguerite fell asleep, murmuring:
"Eros, Cupido, Amor."