"It must be the ghost of some deceased belle, who, expecting still to find here the sturdy abbot of the monastery, came to pay him a nocturnal visit. But let us leave the dead to themselves, and turn our thoughts to the living. I love you, my pet, above all your companions."
"Your Majesty has taken pity upon a poor girl."
"Yes; it is now about eight or nine years ago, that, as Paula, one of my women, was crossing the Chatelet Square, she saw an old Bohemian wench holding a little girl by the hand. Struck by the beauty and comeliness of the little one, Paula offered to buy her. The gypsy quickly closed the bargain. Paula told me the story. I desired to see her protegé. It turned out to be yourself. The Bohemian woman must have kidnapped you from some Huguenot family, I fear, judging from a little lead medal that hung from your neck and bore the legend—A Pastor calling the sheep of the Church out of the desert—a common expression in the cabalistic cant of those depraved people."
"Alas! madam, I preserve no other memento of my family—you will pardon me for having kept the medal."
"Well, from the instant that Paula brought you before me I was charmed with your childish gracefulness. I had you carefully trained in the art of pleasing, and placed you among my maids of honor."
"Your Majesty enjoys my unbounded gratitude. Whenever you commanded I obeyed, even when you exacted a sacrifice—whatever it may have cost me—"
"You are alluding, my pet, to the conversion of the Marquis of Solange! I said to you: 'Solange is a Huguenot; he is influential in his province; should war break out again, he may become a dangerous enemy to me; he contemplates leaving the court;—make him love you, and be not cruel to him; a handsome lass like you is well worth a mass.' The bargain was struck. We now have one Catholic more, and one virgin less."
Anna Bell hid her face, purple with shame.
Without seeming to notice the young girl's confusion, Catherine De Medici proceeded: "By the virtue of your beautiful eyes Solange has become a fervent Catholic and one of my most faithful servitors. You gave me in that instance proof of your complete devotion. For the rest, it was a sweet sacrifice on your part, my pet; Solange is an accomplished nobleman, young, handsome, brave and witty. It is not now about that lover that we have business on hand. I have other plans for you. I am thinking of marrying you. I wish to make a Princess of you, and verify the most cherished of your secret wishes—which I have guessed. Anna Bell, you do not love Solange; you never loved him; and you nourish in the recesses of your heart a desperate passion for the young Prince Franz of Gerolstein."
"Good God! Madam. Have pity upon me! Mercy!"