"Oh!" exclaimed Henry, with a spontaneity and boldness which deceived Madame de Sauve herself, "it was a good thing formerly to distrust her, kind mother that she is, but then we were not on good terms; but now that I am her daughter's husband"—
"Madame Marguerite's husband!" exclaimed Charlotte, flushing with jealousy.
"Speak low in your turn," said Henry; "now that I am her daughter's husband we are the best friends in the world. What was it they wanted? For me to become a Catholic, so it seems. Well, grace has touched me, and by the intercession of Saint Bartholomew I have become one. We live together like brethren in a happy family—like good Christians."
"And Queen Marguerite?"
"Queen Marguerite?" repeated Henry; "oh, well, she is the link uniting us."
"But, Henry, you said that the Queen of Navarre, as a reward for the devotion I showed her, had been generous to me. If what you say is true, if this generosity, for which I have cherished deep gratitude toward her, is genuine, she is a connecting link easy to break. So you cannot trust to this support, for you have not made your pretended intimacy impose on any one."
"Still I do rest on it, and for three months it has been the bolster on which I have slept."
"Then, Henry!" cried Madame de Sauve, "you have deceived me, and Madame Marguerite is really your wife."
Henry smiled.
"There, Henry," said Madame de Sauve, "you have given me one of those exasperating smiles which make me feel the cruel desire to scratch your eyes out, king though you are."