Then suddenly stopping before Réné, and fixing on him her eyes, round and piercing like a hawk's:
"Confess you have made for her some love-philter," said she.
"For whom?" asked Réné, starting.
"La Sauve."
"I, madame?" said Réné; "never!"
"Never?"
"I swear it on my soul."
"There must be some magic in it, however, for he is desperately in love with her, though he is not famous for his constancy."
"Who, madame?"
"He, Henry, the accursed,—he who is to succeed my three sons,—he who shall one day be called Henry IV., and is yet the son of Jeanne d'Albret."