CHAPTER XVIII. THE QUEEN'S MOVE.
"Her arms across her breast she laid;
She was more fair than words can say:
Bare-footed came the beggar-maid."
It was impossible that the Queen-mother's anxiety should not have revealed to her the coldness which had sprung up between her son and Mlle de Tricotrin. She had been at the Kora rout, and her intense love for Kophetua, and her absorbing desire to see him united to her new favourite, had made her eyes sharper than those of the rest of the world, interested as they were.
Hitherto her hopes had been rising daily. She was rejoicing not only at the skilful manner in which the Marquis was winning over all parties to their common cause, but also at the warm relations which seemed to be growing between Kophetua and the beautiful Frenchwoman. It was quite clear to her that he was taking an interest in Mlle de Tricotrin which he had never shown for a woman before. At last she felt her long-deferred hopes were about to be realised, when suddenly she was aware that the happy love-progress was arrested. Some discord had jarred in upon the growing harmony. It rang in her listening ears rudely enough, but whence it was she could not tell.
It was this that made her look so sad and anxious, as she took her usual drive in the cool of the following afternoon. Of late Mlle de Tricotrin, who had grown to be like a daughter to the lonely Queen, had always accompanied her on these drives. This time, however, she had sent an excuse that she was not well. Indeed, she felt that after her crime she could not play her part before the keen eyes of her patroness without breaking down. So Margaret was alone, for she would have no one to replace her Héloise. She wished besides to think over quietly by herself what could be the cause of the coldness which Mlle de Tricotrin's message only confirmed.
It was the Queen's custom during these drives to visit from time to time the public hospitals of the villages around the capital. For in this well-ordered kingdom every village possessed its hospital, maintained at the public expense, and there was not one in which the benign and stately presence of Margaret was not familiar and welcome. With the affection of the people she strove to fill the aching void, where should have nestled the love and confidence which her only son denied her; and if her visits of mercy did not bring her a full measure of consolation, they at least won her a wide popularity, which shed an intermittent glow of happiness into her clouded life.
It was only natural that she should try to-day the specific her womanly heroism had taught her. She drove to a village which lay before the furthest gate of the Royal Park. The people were all assembled on the green, and she could see they were eagerly watching a rude stage which some wandering players had set up under the spreading shelter of an ancient acacia. They gave her a ringing shout of greeting as she passed by, oblivious of the sorrows of the highly rouged lady who raved before them. Nor would they give the stage another glance till the Queen's stately coach had rolled by out of sight.