"This gentleman must have mistaken the Louvre for the Gloriette."
Le Brusquet plucked my sleeve in warning; but I was cool enough, and had no intention of again laying myself open to the law. I gave Simon stare for stare. "Yes; it is I," I answered coldly; and then, turning to De Ganache: "Monsieur, it was from the Vidame d'Orrain that I had the good fortune to rescue Mademoiselle de Paradis. I thought you knew of this. If not, you know now with whom your arm is linked."
"By God!" Simon burst out, "if I did not remember where I was——"
"Tush!" I broke in, "there are a hundred other places where we can settle our differences. I have no time to be brawling here."
With this I pushed past, and left them looking at each other as, followed by Le Brusquet, I gained the door to the Queen's apartment. As we came up De Lorgnac himself appeared, and passed us into the anteroom. I well remembered that cheerless tomb through which I had passed a month ago; but now it was all glittering bright. The door of the Queen's cabinet was closed; but to the right folding doors—that I had not observed before—were open, giving a glimpse, through the half-drawn curtains, of a crowded salon beyond. In the ante-room itself there were about a dozen or so of ladies-in-waiting and pages, all talking and laughing; and as we followed De Lorgnac I felt a light touch at my elbow, and turning met a merry face that smiled up at me. It was little Mademoiselle Davila, the same who with Madame de Montal had met us at Longpont.
"Eh bien! So you have come, monsieur. I can tell you that you have been expected. Oh! we have heard about you at last—heard twice over—and we are all thinking of playing truant and running away to the forest of Vincennes or Monceaux. That last is better, for it is nearer Paris——" But here her breathless chatter was cut short by a "Hush!" from the salon, and then we heard the strings of a harp being touched.
"'Tis belle Marie, the little Queen of Scotland!" And moving forward a couple of steps we were able to see into the next room. I looked round in vain for mademoiselle, and then my glance was arrested by a tall, fair-haired girl who was before a harp; and even I, who should have had no eyes but for one face, stood as if spellbound. As her fingers ran over the harp strings a low, wailing melody filled the room, and then with a voice of strange sweetness she sang a sad little song—a bergerelle of my own country. Harp and voice together died away in inexpressible sorrow at the last words, and a strange stillness filled the room, but was broken at last by a half-suppressed sob. Then in a moment all was changed. There came a bright little flourish, and she sang, joyous and blithe as a lark:
"Si le roi m'avait honné
Paris sa grand'ville,
Et qu'il m'eut fallu quitter
L'Amour de m'amie;
J'aurais dit au Roi Henri
Reprenez votre Paris,
J'aime mieux m'amie
O gai!
J'aime mieux m'amie
O gai!"
"O gai!" burst the chorus, almost unconsciously, from those around her, and with a flush on her face and a smile on her lips Mary of Scotland moved from the harp, and was immediately lost to view in the circle of those who crowded around her. I looked for my companions. Mademoiselle Davila had found a lanky page to flirt with; Le Brusquet seemed to have vanished; but De Lorgnac was at hand.
"Come now!" he said, and I followed him across the crowded room to where the Queen sat, amidst a group of her ladies, with the Dauphin—a small, ill-formed boy of thirteen or fourteen—at her knees. She received me graciously; and on my delivering my packet she broke the seals, glanced at the contents with apparent carelessness, and then handed it—all open as it was—to a lady who stood behind her.