When Amy returned, Anna spoke: "What remarkable worldly prosperity! And yet, though a strikingly handsome woman, with polished manners, and Italian craftiness, you do not look happy."
"I am not—my heart is not at ease."
"Nor your conscience either," rejoined Charlie. "Unless you have found some way to polish that, to make it match your face and manners, I should think your majesty might find your conscience rather a disagreeable companion."
"My majesty is not accustomed to rebuke."
"I know it—and if I were in France, I should fear that some of your Italian powders might be sprinkled in my food or wine, in consequence. But I wonder when I think of you—a simple duke's daughter—being raised to the throne; and not only that, but of your ruling so absolutely over the three kings, your sons. Mother-in-law to one of the greatest kings of France, and to the most renowned of beautiful, suffering queens, what more do you want to make you celebrated?"
"One thing only," answered Amy. "The Massacre of St. Bartholomew will carry my name down to posterity. My daughter-in-law, Mary, Queen of Scotts, was interesting, but I am great. She could kill one husband: I, Catharine de Medici, will not say how many men groaned out my name that night."
"And now," said Ellen, "let us play Quotations. One quotes a well-known passage from some book, and if another mentions the author, she is entitled to propose the next passage. It all depends for interest upon our cleverness; so brighten up your wits, cousins mine."
"As I'm a poet," said Charlie, "I'll give you this:
'The poet's eye in a fine frenzy rolling,
Doth glance from heaven to earth, from earth to heaven.'"