This council, without being in any way decisive, had greatly embittered the feelings of those present.
Henry of Anjou, who had to rewrite nearly all his discourse, withdrew to begin the task.
Marguerite, who had not heard of the King of Navarre since the injury he had given to her window-pane, returned to her rooms, hoping to find him there.
D'Alençon, who had read hesitation in the eyes of his brother of Anjou, and who had surprised a meaning glance between him and his mother, retired to ponder on what he regarded as a fresh plot. Charles was about to go to his workshop to finish a boar-spear he was making for himself when Catharine stopped him.
The King, who suspected that he was to meet some opposition to his will, paused and looked at his mother closely.
"Well," he said, "what now?"
"A final word, sire, which we forgot, and yet it is of much importance: what day shall we decide on for the public reception?"
"Ah, that is true," said the King, seating himself again. "Well, what day would suit you?"
"I thought," replied Catharine, "from your Majesty's silence and apparent forgetfulness, that there was some deep-laid plan."
"No," said Charles; "why so, mother?"