"What do you want, D' Aubiac?" asked the queen, when she saw him.
"Madame, a gentleman from Paris, an envoy from the Louvre to the king of Navarre, and sent by his majesty to you, desires to speak to your majesty."
A sudden flush passed over Marguerite's face, and she turned quickly. Chicot was standing near; Marguerite quitted the circle, and waving an adieu to the company, advanced toward the Gascon.
"M. Chicot!" cried she in astonishment.
"Here I am at your majesty's feet," said he, "and find you ever good and beautiful, and queen here, as at the Louvre."
"It is a miracle to see you here, monsieur; they said you were dead."
"I pretended to be so."
"And what do you want with us, M. Chicot? Am I happy enough to be still remembered in France?"
"Oh, madame," said Chicot, smiling, "we do not forget queens of your age and your beauty. The king of France even writes on this subject to the king of Navarre."
Marguerite colored. "He writes?"