"And she is so devoted to your majesty," said Réné. "At least I should think so."
Catharine smiled and shrugged her shoulders.
"When a woman loves, is she faithful to any one but her lover? You must have given her some philter, Réné."
"I swear I have not, madame."
"Well, well; we'll say no more about it. Show me this new opiate you spoke of, that is to make her lips fresher and rosier than ever."
Réné approached a shelf and showed Catharine six small boxes of the same shape, i.e., round silver boxes ranged side by side.
"This is the only philter she ever asked me for," observed Réné; "it is true, as your majesty says, I composed it expressly for her, for her lips are so tender that the sun and wind affect them equally."
Catharine opened one of the boxes; it contained a most fascinating carmine paste.
"Give me some paste for my hands, Réné," said she; "I will take it away with me."
Réné took the taper, and went to seek, in a private compartment, what the queen asked for. As he turned, he fancied that he saw the queen quickly conceal a box under her mantle; he was, however, too familiar with these little thefts of the queen mother to have the rudeness to seem to perceive the movement; so wrapping the cosmetic she demanded in a paper bag, ornamented with fleurs-de-lis: