"I, sire!" exclaimed Marguerite, in astonishment; "why, how could you expect"—
"Why, by Heaven, my dear, nothing would be more natural. In order to please me, you were kind enough to save the life of young La Mole,—he must have reached Nantes,—and if one can get to a place he can easily get away from it."
"Ah! this explains an enigma, the answer to which I could not make out," said Marguerite. "I had left my window open, and found, on coming back to my room, a note on my floor."
"There now," said Henry.
"A note which at first I could not understand, and to which I attached no importance whatsoever," continued Marguerite. "Perhaps I was wrong, and that it comes from that quarter."
"That is possible," said Henry; "I might even say probable. Might I see this note?"
"Certainly, sire," replied Marguerite, handing to the king the missive she had put into her pocket. The king glanced at it.
"Is it not Monsieur de la Mole's handwriting?" said he.
"I do not know," replied Marguerite. "It looks to me like a counterfeit."
"No matter, let us read it." And he read: