"Then," said Henry, "I seem to be imposing now by means of this pretended friendship, since there are moments when, king though I am, you desire to scratch out my eyes, because you believe that it exists!"
"Henry! Henry!" said Madame de Sauve, "I believe that God himself does not know what your thoughts are."
"My sweetheart," said Henry, "I think that Catharine first told you to love me, next, that your heart told you the same thing, and that when those two voices are speaking to you, you hear only your heart's. Now here I am. I love you and love you with my whole heart, and that is the very reason why if ever I should have secrets I should not confide them to you,—for fear of compromising you, of course,—for the queen's friendship is changeable, it is a mother-in-law's."
This was not what Charlotte expected; it seemed to her that the thickening veil between her and her lover every time she tried to sound the depths of his bottomless heart was assuming the consistency of a wall, and was separating them from each other. So she felt the tears springing to her eyes as he made this answer, and as it struck ten o'clock just at that moment:
"Sire," said Charlotte, "it is my bed-time; my duties call me very early to-morrow morning to the queen mother."
"So you drive me away to-night, do you, sweetheart?"
"Henry, I am sad. As I am sad, you would find me tedious and you would not like me any more. You see that it is better for you to withdraw."
"Very good," said Henry, "I will withdraw if you insist upon it, only, ventre saint gris! you must at least grant me the favor of staying for your toilet."
"But Queen Marguerite, sire! won't you keep her waiting if you remain?"
"Charlotte," replied Henry, gravely, "it was agreed between us that we should never mention the Queen of Navarre, but it seems to me that this evening we have talked about nothing but her."