"Now, sir," said she, "descend to the gallery below, and wait until some one comes to you from the King of Navarre or the Duc d'Alençon. One of my pages will show you the way."
And Marguerite, as she said these words, went on her way. La Mole drew himself up close to the wall. But the passage was so narrow and the Queen of Navarre's farthingale was so voluminous that her silken gown brushed against the young man's clothes, while a penetrating perfume hovered where she passed.
La Mole trembled all over and, feeling that he was in danger of falling, he tried to find a support against the wall.
Marguerite disappeared like a vision.
"Are you coming, sir?" asked the page who was to conduct La Mole to the lower gallery.
"Oh, yes—yes!" cried La Mole, joyfully; for as the page led him the same way by which Marguerite had gone, he hoped that by making haste he might see her again.
And in truth, as he reached the top of the staircase, he perceived her below; and whether she heard his step or looked round by chance, Marguerite raised her head, and La Mole saw her a second time.
"Oh," said he, as he followed the page, "she is not a mortal—she is a goddess, and as Vergilius Maro says: 'Et vera incessu patuit dea.'"
"Well?" asked the page.
"Here I am," replied La Mole, "excuse me, here I am."