From the nervous start of the duke and the flush which rose to his brow Catharine saw that the arrow aimed by her had hit the mark.
"He?" said he, "Henriot king? And of what kingdom, mother?"
"One of the most magnificent kingdoms in Christendom, my son."
"Oh! mother," said D'Alençon, growing pale, "what are you saying?"
"What a good mother ought to say to her son, and what you have thought of more than once, François."
"I?" said the duke; "I have thought of nothing, madame, I swear to you."
"I can well believe you, for your friend, your brother Henry, as you call him, is, under his apparent frankness, a very clever and wily person, who keeps his secrets better than you keep yours, François. For instance, did he ever tell you that De Mouy was his man of business?"
As she spoke, Catharine turned a glance upon François as though it were a dagger aimed at his very soul.
But the latter had but one virtue, or rather vice,—the art of dissimulation; and he bore her look unflinchingly.
"De Mouy!" said he in surprise, as if it were the first time he had heard the name mentioned in that connection.