And still holding her in his arms, he looked deep into her eyes. "I have heard of the mad passion of one d'Entragues for you," he went on, looking wildly at her, "and since their grandfather Capitaine Balzac married a Visconti of Milan, those rascals hesitate at nothing."
Marie gave the King such a look of pride that he was ashamed. Just then the cry was heard of the infant Charles de Valois from the adjoining room; he was just awake, and his nurse was no doubt bringing him to his mother.
"Come in, la Bourguignonne," said Marie, taking the child from his nurse and bringing him to the King. "You are more of a child than he," she said, half angry, but half pleased.
"He is a fine boy," said Charles IX., taking his son in his arms.
"No one but me can know how like you he is," said Marie. "He has your smile and ways already."
"What, so young?" said the King, smiling.
"Men will never believe such things," said she; "but look, my Charlot, play with him, look at him—now, am I not right?"
"It is true," said the King, startled by a movement on the infant's part, which struck him as the miniature reproduction of a trick of his own.
"Pretty flower!" said his mother. "He will never go away from me; he will never make me unhappy."
The King played with the child, tossing it, kissing it with entire devotion, speaking to it in those vague and foolish words, the onomatopœia of mothers and nurses; his voice was childlike, his brow cleared, joy came back to his saddened countenance; and when Marie saw that her lover had forgotten everything, she laid her head on his shoulder and whispered in his ear: