Catherine left hurriedly without understanding the sardonic laughter of the king, and as she went out Marguerite appeared.
"Oh, sire--sire," cried Marguerite, "you know what she says is false. It is terrible to accuse anyone's own mother, but she only lives to persecute the man who is devoted to you, Henry--your Henry--and I swear to you that what she says is false!"
"I think so, too, Margot. But Henry is safe. Safer in disgrace in Vincennes than in favour at the Louvre."
"Oh, thanks, thanks! But there is another person in whose welfare I am interested, whom I hardly dare mention to my brother, much less to my king."
"M. de la Mole, is it not? But do you know that a figure dressed in royal robes and pierced to the heart was found in his rooms?"
"I know it; but it was the figure of a woman, not of a man."
"And the needle?"
"Was a charm not to kill a man, but to make a woman love him."
"What was the name of this woman?"
"Marguerite!" cried the queen, throwing herself down and bathing the king's hand in her tears.