Then he added, in a voice scarcely audible,—"Without the walls, I do not say"—
"Sire," cried the duke, "they are going out this evening to join in a revel with your brother, the Duc d'Alençon."
"Tavannes," said the King, with well-affected impatience, "do not you see that you are teasing the dog? Here, Actéon,—come!"
And Charles IX. went out without waiting to hear more, and Tavannes and the Duc de Guise were left almost as uncertain as before.
Meantime another scene was passing in Catharine's apartment. After she had given the Duc de Guise her counsel to remain firm, she returned to her rooms, where she found assembled the persons who were usually present when she went to bed.
Her face was now as full of joy as it had been downcast when she set out. With her most agreeable manner she dismissed her women one by one and her courtiers, and there remained only Madame Marguerite, who, seated on a coffer near the open window, was looking at the sky, absorbed in thought.
Two or three times, when she thus found herself alone with her daughter, the queen mother opened her mouth to speak, but each time a gloomy thought withheld the words ready to escape her lips.
Suddenly the portière was raised, and Henry of Navarre appeared.
The little greyhound, which was asleep on the throne, leaped up and bounded towards him.
"You here, my son!" said Catharine, starting. "Do you sup in the Louvre to-night?"