XXII
A LOVE MATCH
François appeared on the threshold, giving his hand to Diane de Poitiers, with whom he had come from the bedside of his sick son. Diane, inspired by her hatred, had a vague feeling that her rival was threatened with humiliation, and did not choose to miss the gratifying spectacle.
As for the king, he saw nothing, suspected nothing; he believed Madame d'Etampes and Benvenuto to be entirely reconciled, and as he saw them talking together when he entered, he saluted them both at once, with the same smile, and the same inclination of the head.
"Good morrow, my queen of beauty; good morrow, my king of artists," he said; "what are you talking about so confidentially? You seem both to be deeply interested."
"Mon Dieu! Sire, we are talking politics," said Benvenuto.
"And what particular subject exercises your faculties? Tell me, I beg."
"The question which engrosses everybody at present, Sire," continued the goldsmith.
"Ah! the Duchy of Milan."
"Yes, Sire."
"Well, what were you saying of it?"