“Yes, dearest; but not more mine than I am yours eternally—and I would recompense your love as it deserves. But know, Gabrielle, that Marguerite de Valois absolutely refuses to consent to a divorce that I may marry you. She declares she acts in my interests; but I believe her odious pride is offended at being succeeded by a gentlewoman of honest and ancient lineage, a thousand times better than all the Valois that ever lived, a race born of the Devil, I verily believe. I have threatened her with a state trial; the proofs against her are flagrant. She knows that she would in that case be either beheaded or imprisoned for life. Not even that shakes her resolve, so inveterate is she against our union.”
“Alas! poor lady—did she ever love you?”
“Not a whit; she was false from the beginning. Let us speak of her no more,” said the King, rising and walking up and down the room. Then stopping opposite Gabrielle, who, dismayed at what she heard, sat with her face buried in her hands, he asked her, “How about Bellegarde?”
Gabrielle shrank back, then looked up at him.
“Are you sure he is entirely banished from your remembrance?”
“As much as if I had never known him,” replied she promptly.
“I depend upon your pledge of meeting him no more, because, good-natured as I am—and I am good natured, Par Dieu!—I am somewhat choleric and hot (God pardon me), and if by chance I ever surprised you together, why, vrai Dieu, if I had my sword I might be sorry for the consequences.”
“Sire, there is no danger; you may wear your sword for me. If such a thing ever occurred, it is I who would deserve to die.”
“Well, ma mie, I must draw the trenches nearer the walls of Paris. In my absence remain at Mantes,” said Henry. “Then I must advance upon Rouen. I expect a vigorous resistance, and God only knows how it will end. I leave all in your care, and invest you, fair Gabrielle, with the same power as if you were really queen. Would to heaven you were—confound that devil of a Margot! I will return to you as often as I can, and write constantly. Now I must say that sad word, adieu. Adieu! adieu! ma mie.”
Gabrielle consoled the King as best she could, and after much ado he took his departure, always repeating, “adieu, ma mie.”