"Silence for silence, madame."
Marguerite had gently pressed the arm of him whom in the semi-darkness she had mistaken for La Mole, and leaning toward him whispered in Latin:
"Sola sum; introito, carissime."[9]
De Mouy without answering let her lead him along; but scarcely was the door closed behind him and he found himself in the antechamber, which was better lighted than the stairway, before Marguerite saw that he was not La Mole.
Thereupon the cry which the cautious Huguenot had feared escaped Marguerite; but fortunately there was no further danger from it.
"Monsieur de Mouy!" cried she, stepping back.
"In person, madame, and I beg your majesty to leave me free to continue my way without mentioning my presence in the Louvre to any one."
"Oh! Monsieur de Mouy!" reiterated Marguerite, "I was mistaken, then!"
"Yes," said De Mouy, "I understand. Your majesty mistook me for the King of Navarre. I am the same height, I wear the same white plume, and many, no doubt in order to flatter me, say I have the same gait."
Marguerite looked closely at De Mouy.