“Done, sweetest?—nothing,” answered Francis, unclosing his eyes, and looking at her. “Our mother is busied with affairs of state, as are also your uncles. There is much to disquiet them.” Francis draws her closer to him, laying his head upon her shoulder wearily, and again closing his eyes. “It is some conspiracy against her and your uncles—the Guises—mignonne,” added he, whispering into her ear.
“Conspiracy! Holy Virgin, how dreadful! Why did you not tell me this before we left Blois?”
“I feared to frighten you, dear love, ere we were safe within the thick walls of this old fortress.”
Mary starts up and seizes his hand.
“Tell me, tell me,” she says, in an unsteady voice, “what is this conspiracy?”
“A plot of the Huguenots, in which Condé and the Coligni are concerned,” replies Francis, roused by her vehemence into attention. “Did you not mark how suddenly our uncle, Francis of Guise, appeared at Blois, and that he was closeted with her Majesty for hours?” Mary, her eyes extended to their utmost limit and fixed on his, bows her head in assent. “Did we not leave immediately after the interview for Amboise? Did not that make you suspicious?”
“No, Francis; for you said that we came here to hold a joust and to hunt in the forest of Chanteloup. How could I doubt your word? Oh! this is horrible!”
“We came to Amboise, ma mie, because it is a stronghold, and Blois is an open town.”
“Do you know no more? or will you still deceive me?” asks Mary eagerly, looking at him with tearful eyes.
“My mother told me that the Duc de Guise was informed by the Catholics of England (which tidings have been since confirmed), that the Huguenots are arming in force, that they are headed by Condé, that they are plotting to imprison the Queen-mother and your uncles, and to carry you and me to Paris by force.”