"It is late," said Marguerite.
"No doubt; but where would you have me go? Monsieur de Mouy is in my room with Monsieur le Duc d'Alençon."
"Ah! yes," said Marguerite, with a beautiful smile. "Besides, I have still some things to tell you about this conspiracy."
From that night La Mole was no longer an ordinary favorite. He well might carry his head high, for which, living or dead, so sweet a future was in store.
And yet at times his weary brow was bent, his cheek grew pale, and deep thoughts ploughed their furrows on the forehead of the young man, once so light-hearted, now so happy!
CHAPTER XXVII.
THE HAND OF GOD.
On leaving Madame de Sauve Henry had said to her:
"Go to bed, Charlotte. Pretend that you are very ill, and on no account see any one all day to-morrow."