Catherine De Medici

V

THE COURT

The hope of gaining the crown was not the result of a premeditated plan in the minds of the restless Guises.  Nothing warranted such a hope or such a plan.  Circumstances alone inspired their audacity.  The two cardinals and the two Balafres were four ambitious minds, superior in talents to all the other politicians who surrounded them.  This family was never really brought low except by Henri IV.; a factionist himself, trained in the great school of which Catherine and the Guises were masters,—­by whose lessons he had profited but too well.

At this moment the two brothers, the duke and cardinal, were the arbiters of the greatest revolution attempted in Europe since that of Henry VIII. in England, which was the direct consequence of the invention of printing.  Adversaries to the Reformation, they meant to stifle it, power being in their hands.  But their opponent, Calvin, though less famous than Luther, was far the stronger of the two.  Calvin saw government where Luther saw dogma only.  While the stout beer-drinker and amorous German fought with the devil and flung an inkbottle at his head, the man from Picardy, a sickly celibate, made plans of campaign, directed battles, armed princes, and roused whole peoples by sowing republican doctrines in the hearts of the burghers —­recouping his continual defeats in the field by fresh progress in the mind of the nations.

The Cardinal de Lorraine and the Duc de Guise, like Philip the Second and the Duke of Alba, knew where and when the monarchy was threatened, and how close the alliance ought to be between Catholicism and Royalty.  Charles the Fifth, drunk with the wine of Charlemagne’s cup, believing too blindly in the strength of his monarchy, and confident of sharing the world with Suleiman, did not at first feel the blow at his head; but no sooner had Cardinal Granvelle made him aware of the extent of the wound than he abdicated.  The Guises had but one scheme, —­that of annihilating heresy at a single blow.  This blow they were now to attempt, for the first time, to strike at Amboise; failing there they tried it again, twelve years later, at the Saint-Bartholomew,—­on the latter occasion in conjunction with Catherine de’ Medici, enlightened by that time by the flames of a twelve years’ war, enlightened above all by the significant word “republic,” uttered later and printed by the writers of the Reformation, but already foreseen (as we have said before) by Lecamus, that type of the Parisian bourgeoisie.

The two Guises, now on the point of striking a murderous blow at the heart of the French nobility, in order to separate it once for all from a religious party whose triumph would be its ruin, still stood together on the terrace, concerting as to the best means of revealing their coup-d’Etat to the king, while Catherine was talking with her counsellors.

“Jeanne d’Albret knew what she was about when she declared herself protectress of the Huguenots!  She has a battering-ram in the Reformation, and she knows how to use it,” said the duke, who fathomed the deep designs of the Queen of Navarre, one of the great minds of the century.

“Theodore de Beze is now at Nerac,” remarked the cardinal, “after first going to Geneva to take Calvin’s orders.”

“What men these burghers know how to find!” exclaimed the duke.

“Ah! we have none on our side of the quality of La Renaudie!” cried the cardinal.  “He is a true Catiline.”

“Such men always act for their own interests,” replied the duke.  “Didn’t I fathom La Renaudie?  I loaded him with favors; I helped him to escape when he was condemned by the parliament of Bourgogne; I brought him back from exile by obtaining a revision of his sentence; I intended to do far more for him; and all the while he was plotting a diabolical conspiracy against us!  That rascal has united the Protestants of Germany with the heretics of France by reconciling the differences that grew up between the dogmas of Luther and those of Calvin.  He has brought the discontented great seigneurs into the party of the Reformation without obliging them to abjure Catholicism openly.  For the last year he has had thirty captains under him!  He is everywhere at once,—­at Lyon, in Languedoc, at Nantes!  It was he who drew up those minutes of a consultation which were hawked about all Germany, in which the theologians declared that force might be resorted to in order to withdraw the king from our rule and tutelage; the paper is now being circulated from town to town.  Wherever we look for him we never find him!  And yet I have never done him anything but good!  It comes to this, that we must now either thrash him like a dog, or try to throw him a golden bridge by which he will cross into our camp.”

“Bretagne, Languedoc, in fact the whole kingdom is in league to deal us a mortal blow,” said the cardinal.  “After the fete was over yesterday I spent the rest of the night in reading the reports sent me by the monks; in which I found that the only persons who have compromised themselves are poor gentlemen, artisans, as to whom it doesn’t signify whether you hang them or let them live.  The Colignys and Condes do not show their hand as yet, though they hold the threads of the whole conspiracy.”

“Yes,” replied the duke, “and, therefore, as soon as that lawyer Avenelles sold the secret of the plot, I told Braguelonne to let the conspirators carry it out.  They have no suspicion that we know it; they are so sure of surprising us that the leaders may possibly show themselves then.  My advice is to allow ourselves to be beaten for forty-eight hours.”

“Half an hour would be too much,” cried the cardinal, alarmed.

“So this is your courage, is it?” retorted the Balafre.

The cardinal, quite unmoved, replied:  “Whether the Prince de Conde is compromised or not, if we are certain that he is the leader, we should strike him down at once and secure tranquillity.  We need judges rather than soldiers for this business—­and judges are never lacking.  Victory is always more certain in the parliament than on the field, and it costs less.”

“I consent, willingly,” said the duke; “but do you think the Prince de Conde is powerful enough to inspire, himself alone, the audacity of those who are making this first attack upon us?  Isn’t there, behind him—­”

“The king of Navarre,” said the cardinal.

“Pooh! a fool who speaks to me cap in hand!” replied the duke.  “The coquetries of that Florentine woman seem to blind your eyes—­”

“Oh! as for that,” exclaimed the priest, “if I do play the gallant with her it is only that I may read to the bottom of her heart.”

“She has no heart,” said the duke, sharply; “she is even more ambitious than you and I.”

“You are a brave soldier,” said the cardinal; “but, believe me, I distance you in this matter.  I have had Catherine watched by Mary Stuart long before you even suspected her.  She has no more religion than my shoe; if she is not the soul of this plot it is not for want of will.  But we shall now be able to test her on the scene itself, and find out then how she stands by us.  Up to this time, however, I am certain she has held no communication whatever with the heretics.”

“Well, it is time now to reveal the whole plot to the king, and to the queen-mother, who, you say, knows nothing of it,—­that is the sole proof of her innocence; perhaps the conspirators have waited till the last moment, expecting to dazzle her with the probabilities of success.  La Renaudie must soon discover by my arrangements that we are warned.  Last night Nemours was to follow detachments of the Reformers who are pouring in along the cross-roads, and the conspirators will be forced to attack us at Amboise, which place I intend to let them enter.  Here,” added the duke, pointing to three sides of the rock on which the chateau de Blois is built; “we should have an assault without any result; the Huguenots could come and go at will.  Blois is an open hall with four entrances; whereas Amboise is a sack with a single mouth.”

“I shall not leave Catherine’s side,” said the cardinal.

“We have made a blunder,” remarked the duke, who was playing with his dagger, tossing it into the air and catching it by the hilt.  “We ought to have treated her as we did the Reformers,—­given her complete freedom of action and caught her in the act.”

The cardinal looked at his brother for an instant and shook his head.

“What does Pardaillan want?” said the duke, observing the approach of the young nobleman who was later to become celebrated by his encounter with La Renaudie, in which they both lost their lives.

“Monseigneur, a man sent by the queen’s furrier is at the gate, and says he has an ermine suit to convey to her.  Am I to let him enter?”

“Ah! yes,—­the ermine coat she spoke of yesterday,” returned the cardinal; “let the shop-fellow pass; she will want the garment for the voyage down the Loire.”

“How did he get here without being stopped until he reached the gate?” asked the duke.

“I do not know,” replied Pardaillan.

“I’ll ask to see him when he is with the queen,” thought the Balafre.  “Let him wait in the salle des gardes,” he said aloud.  “Is he young, Pardaillan?”

“Yes, monseigneur; he says he is a son of Lecamus the furrier.”

“Lecamus is a good Catholic,” remarked the cardinal, who, like his brother the duke, was endowed with Caesar’s memory.  “The rector of Saint-Pierre-aux-Boeufs relies upon him; he is the provost of that quarter.”

“Nevertheless,” said the duke, “make the son talk with the captain of the Scotch guard,” laying an emphasis on the verb which was readily understood.  “Ambroise is in the chateau; he can tell us whether the fellow is really the son of Lecamus, for the old man did him good service in times past.  Send for Ambroise Pare.”

It was at this moment that Queen Catherine went, unattended, toward the two brothers, who hastened to meet her with their accustomed show of respect, in which the Italian princess detected constant irony.

“Messieurs,” she said, “will you deign to inform me of what is about to take place?  Is the widow of your former master of less importance in your esteem than the Sieurs Vieilleville, Birago, and Chiverni?”

“Madame,” replied the cardinal, in a tone of gallantry, “our duty as men, taking precedence of that of statecraft, forbids us to alarm the fair sex by false reports.  But this morning there is indeed good reason to confer with you on the affairs of the country.  You must excuse my brother for having already given orders to the gentlemen you mention,—­orders which were purely military, and therefore did not concern you; the matters of real importance are still to be decided.  If you are willing, we will now go the lever of the king and queen; it is nearly time.”

“But what is all this, Monsieur le duc?” cried Catherine, pretending alarm.  “Is anything the matter?”

“The Reformation, madame, is no longer a mere heresy; it is a party, which has taken arms and is coming here to snatch the king away from you.”

Catherine, the cardinal, the duke, and the three gentlemen made their way to the staircase through the gallery, which was crowded with courtiers who, being off duty, no longer had the right of entrance to the royal apartments, and stood in two hedges on either side.  Gondi, who watched them while the queen-mother talked with the Lorraine princes, whispered in her ear, in good Tuscan, two words which afterwards became proverbs,—­words which are the keynote to one aspect of her regal character:  “Odiate e aspettate”—­“Hate and wait.”

Pardaillan, who had gone to order the officer of the guard at the gate of the chateau to let the clerk of the queen’s furrier enter, found Christophe open-mouthed before the portal, staring at the facade built by the good king Louis XII., on which there was at that time a much greater number of grotesque carvings than we see there to-day, —­grotesque, that is to say, if we may judge by those that remain to us.  For instance, persons curious in such matters may remark the figurine of a woman carved on the capital of one of the portal columns, with her robe caught up to show to a stout monk crouching in the capital of the corresponding column “that which Brunelle showed to Marphise”; while above this portal stood, at the time of which we write, the statue of Louis XII.  Several of the window-casings of this facade, carved in the same style, and now, unfortunately, destroyed, amused, or seemed to amuse Christophe, on whom the arquebusiers of the guard were raining jests.

“He would like to live there,” said the sub-corporal, playing with the cartridges of his weapon, which were prepared for use in the shape of little sugar-loaves, and slung to the baldricks of the men.

“Hey, Parisian!” said another; “you never saw the like of that, did you?”

“He recognizes the good King Louis XII.,” said a third.

Christophe pretended not to hear, and tried to exaggerate his amazement, the result being that his silly attitude and his behavior before the guard proved an excellent passport to the eyes of Pardaillan.

“The queen has not yet risen,” said the young captain; “come and wait for her in the salle des gardes.”

Christophe followed Pardaillan rather slowly.  On the way he stopped to admire the pretty gallery in the form of an arcade, where the courtiers of Louis XII. awaited the reception-hour when it rained, and where, at the present moment, were several seigneurs attached to the Guises; for the staircase (so well preserved to the present day) which led to their apartments is at the end of this gallery in a tower, the architecture of which commends itself to the admiration of intelligent beholders.

“Well, well! did you come here to study the carving of images?” cried Pardaillan, as Christophe stopped before the charming sculptures of the balustrade which unites, or, if you prefer it, separates the columns of each arcade.

Christophe followed the young officer to the grand staircase, not without a glance of ecstasy at the semi-Moorish tower.  The weather was fine, and the court was crowded with staff-officers and seigneurs, talking together in little groups,—­their dazzling uniforms and court-dresses brightening a spot which the marvels of architecture, then fresh and new, had already made so brilliant.

“Come in here,” said Pardaillan, making Lecamus a sign to follow him through a carved wooden door leading to the second floor, which the door-keeper opened on recognizing the young officer.

It is easy to imagine Christophe’s amazement as he entered the great salle des gardes, then so vast that military necessity has since divided it by a partition into two chambers.  It occupied on the second floor (that of the king), as did the corresponding hall on the first floor (that of the queen-mother), one third of the whole front of the chateau facing the courtyard; and it was lighted by two windows to right and two to left of the tower in which the famous staircase winds up.  The young captain went to the door of the royal chamber, which opened upon this vast hall, and told one of the two pages on duty to inform Madame Dayelles, the queen’s bedchamber woman, that the furrier was in the hall with her surcoat.

On a sign from Pardaillan Christophe placed himself near an officer, who was seated on a stool at the corner of a fireplace as large as his father’s whole shop, which was at the end of the great hall, opposite to a precisely similar fireplace at the other end.  While talking to this officer, a lieutenant, he contrived to interest him with an account of the stagnation of trade.  Christophe seemed so thoroughly a shopkeeper that the officer imparted that conviction to the captain of the Scotch guard, who came in from the courtyard to question Lecamus, all the while watching him covertly and narrowly.

However much Christophe Lecamus had been warned, it was impossible for him to really apprehend the cold ferocity of the interests between which Chaudieu had slipped him.  To an observer of this scene, who had known the secrets of it as the historian understands it in the light of to-day, there was indeed cause to tremble for this young man,—­the hope of two families,—­thrust between those powerful and pitiless machines, Catherine and the Guises.  But do courageous beings, as a rule, measure the full extent of their dangers?  By the way in which the port of Blois, the chateau, and the town were guarded, Christophe was prepared to find spies and traps everywhere; and he therefore resolved to conceal the importance of his mission and the tension of his mind under the empty-headed and shopkeeping appearance with which he presented himself to the eyes of young Pardaillan, the officer of the guard, and the Scottish captain.

The agitation which, in a royal castle, always attends the hour of the king’s rising, was beginning to show itself.  The great lords, whose horses, pages, or grooms remained in the outer courtyard,—­for no one, except the king and the queens, had the right to enter the inner courtyard on horseback,—­were mounting by groups the magnificent staircase, and filling by degrees the vast hall, the beams of which are now stripped of the decorations that then adorned them.  Miserable little red tiles have replaced the ingenious mosaics of the floors; and the thick walls, then draped with the crown tapestries and glowing with all the arts of that unique period of the splendors of humanity, are now denuded and whitewashed!  Reformers and Catholics were pressing in to hear the news and to watch faces, quite as much as to pay their duty to the king.  Francois II.’s excessive love for Mary Stuart, to which neither the queen-mother nor the Guises made any opposition, and the politic compliance of Mary Stuart herself, deprived the king of all regal power.  At seventeen years of age he knew nothing of royalty but its pleasures, or of marriage beyond the indulgence of first passion.  As a matter of fact, all present paid their court to Queen Mary and to her uncles, the Cardinal de Lorraine and the Duc de Guise, rather than to the king.

This stir took place before Christophe, who watched the arrival of each new personage with natural eagerness.  A magnificent portiere, on either side of which stood two pages and two soldiers of the Scotch guard, then on duty, showed him the entrance to the royal chamber, —­the chamber so fatal to the son of the present Duc de Guise, the second Balafre, who fell at the foot of the bed now occupied by Mary Stuart and Francois II.  The queen’s maids of honor surrounded the fireplace opposite to that where Christophe was being “talked with” by the captain of the guard.  This second fireplace was considered the chimney of honor.  It was built in the thick wall of the Salle de Conseil, between the door of the royal chamber and that of the council-hall, so that the maids of honor and the lords in waiting who had the right to be there were on the direct passage of the king and queen.  The courtiers were certain on this occasion of seeing Catherine, for her maids of honor, dressed like the rest of the court ladies, in black, came up the staircase from the queen-mother’s apartment, and took their places, marshalled by the Comtesse de Fiesque, on the side toward the council-hall and opposite to the maids of honor of the young queen, led by the Duchesse de Guise, who occupied the other side of the fireplace on the side of the royal bedroom.  The courtiers left an open space between the ranks of these young ladies (who all belonged to the first families of the kingdom), which none but the greatest lords had the right to enter.  The Comtesse de Fiesque and the Duchesse de Guise were, in virtue of their office, seated in the midst of these noble maids, who were all standing.

The first gentleman who approached the dangerous ranks was the Duc d’Orleans, the king’s brother, who had come down from his apartment on the third floor, accompanied by Monsieur de Cypierre, his governor.  This young prince, destined before the end of the year to reign under the title of Charles IX., was only ten years old and extremely timid.  The Duc d’Anjou and the Duc d’Alencon, his younger brothers, also the Princesse Marguerite, afterwards the wife of Henri IV. (la Reine Margot), were too young to come to court, and were therefore kept by their mother in her own apartments.  The Duc d’Orleans, richly dressed after the fashion of the times, in silken trunk-hose, a close-fitting jacket of cloth of gold embroidered with black flowers, and a little mantle of embroidered velvet, all black, for he still wore mourning for his father, bowed to the two ladies of honor and took his place beside his mother’s maids.  Already full of antipathy for the adherents of the house of Guise, he replied coldly to the remarks of the duchess and leaned his arm on the back of the chair of the Comtesse de Fiesque.  His governor, Monsieur de Cypierre, one of the noblest characters of that day, stood beside him like a shield.  Amyot (afterwards Bishop of Auxerre and translator of Plutarch), in the simple soutane of an abbe, also accompanied the young prince, being his tutor, as he was of the two other princes, whose affection became so profitable to him.

Between the “chimney of honor” and the other chimney at the end of the hall, around which were grouped the guards, their captain, a few courtiers, and Christophe carrying his box of furs, the Chancellor Olivier, protector and predecessor of l’Hopital, in the robes which the chancellors of France have always worn, was walking up and down with the Cardinal de Tournon, who had recently returned from Rome.  The pair were exchanging a few whispered sentences in the midst of great attention from the lords of the court, massed against the wall which separated the salle des gardes from the royal bedroom, like a living tapestry backed by the rich tapestry of art crowded by a thousand personages.  In spite of the present grave events, the court presented the appearance of all courts in all lands, at all epochs, and in the midst of the greatest dangers.  The courtiers talked of trivial matters, thinking of serious ones; they jested as they studied faces, and apparently concerned themselves about love and the marriage of rich heiresses amid the bloodiest catastrophes.

“What did you think of yesterday’s fete?” asked Bourdeilles, seigneur of Brantome, approaching Mademoiselle de Piennes, one of the queen-mother’s maids of honor.

“Messieurs du Baif et du Bellay were inspired with delightful ideas,” she replied, indicating the organizers of the fete, who were standing near.  “I thought it all in the worst taste,” she added in a low voice.

“You had no part to play in it, I think?” remarked Mademoiselle de Lewiston from the opposite ranks of Queen Mary’s maids.

“What are you reading there, madame?” asked Amyot of the Comtesse de Fiesque.

“‘Amadis de Gaule,’ by the Seigneur des Essarts, commissary in ordinary to the king’s artillery,” she replied.

“A charming work,” remarked the beautiful girl who was afterwards so celebrated under the name of Fosseuse when she was lady of honor to Queen Marguerite of Navarre.

“The style is a novelty in form,” said Amyot.  “Do you accept such barbarisms?” he added, addressing Brantome.

“They please the ladies, you know,” said Brantome, crossing over to the Duchesse de Guise, who held the “Decamerone” in her hand.  “Some of the women of your house must appear in the book, madame,” he said.  “It is a pity that the Sieur Boccaccio did not live in our day; he would have known plenty of ladies to swell his volume—­”

“How shrewd that Monsieur de Brantome is,” said the beautiful Mademoiselle de Limueil to the Comtesse de Fiesque; “he came to us first, but he means to remain in the Guise quarters.”

“Hush!” said Madame de Fiesque glancing at the beautiful Limueil.  “Attend to what concerns yourself.”

The young girl turned her eyes to the door.  She was expecting Sardini, a noble Italian, with whom the queen-mother, her relative, married her after an “accident” which happened in the dressing-room of Catherine de’ Medici herself; but which the young lady won the honor of having a queen as midwife.

“By the holy Alipantin!  Mademoiselle Davila seems to me prettier and prettier every morning,” said Monsieur de Robertet, secretary of State, bowing to the ladies of the queen-mother.

The arrival of the secretary of State made no commotion whatever, though his office was precisely what that of a minister is in these days.

“If you really think so, monsieur,” said the beauty, “lend me the squib which was written against the Messieurs de Guise; I know it was lent to you.”

“It is no longer in my possession,” replied the secretary, turning round to bow to the Duchesse de Guise.

“I have it,” said the Comte de Grammont to Mademoiselle Davila, “but I will give it you on one condition only.”

“Condition! fie!” exclaimed Madame de Fiesque.

“You don’t know what it is,” replied Grammont.

“Oh! it is easy to guess,” remarked la Limueil.

The Italian custom of calling ladies, as peasants call their wives, “la Such-a-one” was then the fashion at the court of France.

“You are mistaken,” said the count, hastily, “the matter is simply to give a letter from my cousin de Jarnac to one of the maids on the other side, Mademoiselle de Matha.”

“You must not compromise my young ladies,” said the Comtesse de Fiesque.  “I will deliver the letter myself.—­Do you know what is happening in Flanders?” she continued, turning to the Cardinal de Tournon.  “It seems that Monsieur d’Egmont is given to surprises.”

“He and the Prince of Orange,” remarked Cypierre, with a significant shrug of his shoulders.

“The Duke of Alba and Cardinal Granvelle are going there, are they not, monsieur?” said Amyot to the Cardinal de Tournon, who remained standing, gloomy and anxious between the opposing groups after his conversation with the chancellor.

“Happily we are at peace; we need only conquer heresy on the stage,” remarked the young Duc d’Orleans, alluding to a part he had played the night before,—­that of a knight subduing a hydra which bore upon its foreheads the word “Reformation.”

Catherine de’ Medici, agreeing in this with her daughter-in-law, had allowed a theatre to be made of the great hall (afterwards arranged for the Parliament of Blois), which, as we have already said, connected the chateau of Francois I. with that of Louis XII.

The cardinal made no answer to Amyot’s question, but resumed his walk through the centre of the hall, talking in low tones with Monsieur de Robertet and the chancellor.  Many persons are ignorant of the difficulties which secretaries of State (subsequently called ministers) met with at the first establishment of their office, and how much trouble the kings of France had in creating it.  At this epoch a secretary of State like Robertet was purely and simply a writer; he counted for almost nothing among the princes and grandees who decided the affairs of State.  His functions were little more than those of the superintendent of finances, the chancellor, and the keeper of the seals.  The kings granted seats at the council by letters-patent to those of their subjects whose advice seemed to them useful in the management of public affairs.  Entrance to the council was given in this way to a president of the Chamber of Parliament, to a bishop, or to an untitled favorite.  Once admitted to the council, the subject strengthened his position there by obtaining various crown offices on which devolved such prerogatives as the sword of a Constable, the government of provinces, the grand-mastership of artillery, the baton of a marshal, a leading rank in the army, or the admiralty, or a captaincy of the galleys, often some office at court, like that of grand-master of the household, now held, as we have already said, by the Duc de Guise.

“Do you think that the Duc de Nemours will marry Francoise?” said Madame de Guise to the tutor of the Duc d’Orleans.

“Ah, madame,” he replied, “I know nothing but Latin.”

This answer made all who were within hearing of it smile.  The seduction of Francoise de Rohan by the Duc de Nemours was the topic of all conversations; but, as the duke was cousin to Francois II., and doubly allied to the house of Valois through his mother, the Guises regarded him more as the seduced than the seducer.  Nevertheless, the power of the house of Rohan was such that the Duc de Nemours was obliged, after the death of Francois II., to leave France on consequence of suits brought against him by the Rohans; which suits the Guises settled.  The duke’s marriage with the Duchesse de Guise after Poltrot’s assassination of her husband in 1563, may explain the question which she put to Amyot, by revealing the rivalry which must have existed between Mademoiselle de Rohan and the duchess.

“Do see that group of the discontented over there?” said the Comte de Grammont, motioning toward the Messieurs de Coligny, the Cardinal de Chatillon, Danville, Thore, Moret, and several other seigneurs suspected of tampering with the Reformation, who were standing between two windows on the other side of the fireplace.

“The Huguenots are bestirring themselves,” said Cypierre.  “We know that Theodore de Beze has gone to Nerac to induce the Queen of Navarre to declare for the Reformers—­by abjuring publicly,” he added, looking at the bailli of Orleans, who held the office of chancellor to the Queen of Navarre, and was watching the court attentively.

“She will do it!” said the bailli, dryly.

This personage, the Orleans Jacques Coeur, one of the richest burghers of the day, was named Groslot, and had charge of Jeanne d’Albret’s business with the court of France.

“Do you really think so?” said the chancellor of France, appreciating the full importance of Groslot’s declaration.

“Are you not aware,” said the burgher, “that the Queen of Navarre has nothing of the woman in her except sex?  She is wholly for things virile; her powerful mind turns to the great affairs of State; her heart is invincible under adversity.”

“Monsieur le cardinal,” whispered the Chancellor Olivier to Monsieur de Tournon, who had overheard Groslot, “what do you think of that audacity?”

“The Queen of Navarre did well in choosing for her chancellor a man from whom the house of Lorraine borrows money, and who offers his house to the king, if his Majesty visits Orleans,” replied the cardinal.

The chancellor and the cardinal looked at each other, without venturing to further communicate their thoughts; but Robertet expressed them, for he thought it necessary to show more devotion to the Guises than these great personages, inasmuch as he was smaller than they.

“It is a great misfortune that the house of Navarre, instead of abjuring the religion of its fathers, does not abjure the spirit of vengeance and rebellion which the Connetable de Bourbon breathed into it,” he said aloud.  “We shall see the quarrels of the Armagnacs and the Bourguignons revive in our day.”

“No,” said Groslot, “there’s another Louis XI. in the Cardinal de Lorraine.”

“And also in Queen Catherine,” replied Robertet.

At this moment Madame Dayelle, the favorite bedchamber woman of Queen Mary Stuart, crossed the hall, and went toward the royal chamber.  Her passage caused a general commotion.

“We shall soon enter,” said Madame de Fisque.

“I don’t think so,” replied the Duchesse de Guise.  “Their Majesties will come out; a grand council is to be held.”