A curious reflection brought a little calm to the Italian Queen.
"According to the soothsayer and to Ruggieri's forecast, this reign is soon to end. My difficulties will not last," thought she.
And thus, strange to say, an occult science, now forgotten—judicial astrology—was a support to Catherine at this juncture, as it was throughout her life; for the belief grew constantly from seeing the predictions of those who practised it realized with the greatest exactitude.
"You are very serious, madame," said Mary Stuart, taking from Dayelle's hands her little cap, pinched down over the parting of her hair with two frilled wings of handsome lace beyond the puffs of wavy yellow hair that shadowed her temples.
The painters of the time have so amply perpetuated this cap, that it now belongs essentially to the Queen of Scots, though it was Catherine who invented it when she went into mourning for Henri II.; but she could not wear it with such good effect as her daughter-in-law, to whom it was infinitely more becoming. And this was not the smallest of the grievances harbored by the Queen-mother against the young Queen.
"Does your Majesty mean that for a reproof?" said Catherine, turning to her daughter-in-law.
"I owe respect, and should not dare——" said the Scotch-woman meaningly, with a glance at Dayelle.
Between the two Queens the favorite waiting-woman stood like the figure-head on a fire-dog; an approving smile might cost her her life.
"How can I be as gay as you after losing the late King, and when I see my son's kingdom on the eve of a conflagration?"
"Politics do not much concern women," replied Mary Stuart. "Besides, my uncles are there."