"No, my son," replied Catharine, "it was Madame de Sauve."
At this moment the Duchesse de Lorraine, who in spite of all her efforts could no longer contain herself, burst into loud sobs.
Henry did not even turn toward her.
"Sister, what is the matter?" cried Marguerite, darting toward Claude.
"Nothing," said Catharine, passing between the two young women, "nothing; she has those nervous attacks, for which Mazille prescribes aromatic preparations."
And again, and with still more force than before, she pressed her eldest daughter's arm; then, turning toward the youngest:
"There, Margot," she said, "did you not hear me request you to retire to your room? If that is not sufficient, I command you."
"Excuse me, madame," replied Marguerite, trembling and pale; "I wish your majesty good-night."
"I hope your wishes may be heard. Good-night—good-night!"
Marguerite withdrew, staggering, and in vain seeking to meet her husband's eyes, but he did not even turn toward her.