“The queen!” repeated Babette. “What must we say and do?”
In less than an hour all was changed; the hall was decorated; the supper-table sparkled. Presently the noise of horses sounded in the street. The light of torches carried by the horsemen of the escort brought all the burghers of the neighborhood to their windows. The noise soon subsided and the escort rode away, leaving the queen-mother and her son, King Charles IX., Charles de Gondi, now Grand-master of the wardrobe and governor of the king, Monsieur de Thou, Pinard, secretary of State, the old counsellor, and two pages, under the arcade before the door.
“My worthy people,” said the queen as she entered, “the king, my son, and I have come to sign the marriage-contract of the son of my furrier,—but only on condition that he remains a Catholic. A man must be a Catholic to enter Parliament; he must be a Catholic to own land which derives from the Crown; he must be a Catholic if he would sit at the king’s table. That is so, is it not, Pinard?”
The secretary of State entered and showed the letters-patent.
“If we are not all Catholics,” said the little king, “Pinard will throw those papers into the fire. But we are all Catholics here, I think,” he continued, casting his somewhat haughty eyes over the company.
“Yes, sire,” replied Christophe, bending his injured knees with difficulty, and kissing the hand which the king held out to him.
Queen Catherine stretched out her hand to Christophe and, raising him hastily, drew him aside into a corner, saying in a low voice:—
“Ah ca! my lad, no evasions here. Are you playing above-board now?”
“Yes, madame,” he answered, won by the dazzling reward and the honor done him by the grateful queen.
“Very good. Monsieur Lecamus, the king, my son, and I permit you to purchase the office of the goodman Groslay, counsellor of the Parliament, here present. Young man, you will follow, I hope, in the steps of your predecessor.”