She took off his cap and cloak, passing her hands through his hair as though she combed it with her fingers. Charles let her do as she pleased, but made no answer. Surprised at this, Marie knelt down to study the pale face of her royal master, and then saw the signs of a dreadful weariness and a more consummate melancholy than any she had yet consoled. She repressed her tears and kept silence, that she might not irritate by mistaken words the sorrow which, as yet, she did not understand. In this she did as tender women do under like circumstances. She kissed that forehead, seamed with untimely wrinkles, and those livid cheeks, trying to convey to the worn-out soul the freshness of hers,--pouring her spirit into the sweet caresses which met with no response. Presently she raised her head to the level of the king's, clasping him softly in her arms; then she lay still, her face hidden on that suffering breast, watching for the opportune moment to question his dejected mind.
"My Charlot," she said at last, "will you not tell your poor, distressed Marie the troubles that cloud that precious brow, and whiten those beautiful red lips?""Except Charlemagne," he said in a hollow voice, "all the kings of France named Charles have ended miserably.""Pooh!" she said, "look at Charles VIII."
"That poor prince!" exclaimed the king. "In the flower of his age he struck his head against a low door at the chateau of Amboise, which he was having decorated, and died in horrible agony. It was his death which gave the crown to our family.""Charles VII. reconquered his kingdom."
"Darling, he died" (the king lowered his voice) "of hunger; for he feared being poisoned by the dauphin, who had already caused the death of his beautiful Agnes. The father feared his son; to-day the son dreads his mother!""Why drag up the past?" she said hastily, remembering the dreadful life of Charles VI.
"Ah! sweetest, kings have no need to go to sorcerers to discover their coming fate; they need only turn to history. I am at this moment endeavoring to escape the fate of Charles the Simple, who was robbed of his crown, and died in prison after seven years' captivity.""Charles V. conquered the English," she cried triumphantly.
"No, not he, but du Guesclin. He himself, poisoned by Charles de Navarre, dragged out a wretched existence.""Well, Charles IV., then?"
"He married three times to obtain an heir, in spite of the masculine beauty of the children of Philippe le Bel. The first house of Valois ended with him, and the second is about to end in the same way. The queen has given me only a daughter, and I shall die without leaving her pregnant; for a long minority would be the greatest curse I could bequeath to the kingdom. Besides, if I had a son, would he live? The name of Charles is fatal; Charlemagne exhausted the luck of it. If Ileft a son I would tremble at the thought that he would be Charles X.""Who is it that wants to seize your crown?"
"My brother d'Alencon conspires against it. Enemies are all about me.""Monsieur," said Marie, with a charming little pout, "do tell me something gayer.""Ah! my little jewel, my treasure, don't call me 'monsieur,' even in jest; you remind me of my mother, who stabs me incessantly with that title, by which she seems to snatch away my crown. She says 'my son'
to the Duc d'Anjou--I mean the king of Poland.""Sire," exclaimed Marie, clasping her hands as though she were praying, "there is a kingdom where you are worshipped. Your Majesty fills it with his glory, his power; and there the word 'monsieur,'
means 'my beloved lord.'"
She unclasped her hands, and with a pretty gesture pointed to her heart. The words were so /musiques/ (to use a word of the times which depicted the melodies of love) that Charles IX. caught her round the waist with the nervous force that characterized him, and seated her on his knee, rubbing his forehead gently against the pretty curls so coquettishly arranged. Marie thought the moment favorable; she ventured a few kisses, which Charles allowed rather than accepted, then she said softly:--"If my servants were not mistaken you were out all night in the streets, as in the days when you played the pranks of a younger son.""Yes," replied the king, still lost in his own thoughts.
"Did you fight the watchman and frighten some of the burghers? Who are the men you brought here and locked up? They must be very criminal, as you won't allow any communication with them. No girl was ever locked in as carefully, and they have not had a mouthful to eat since they came. The Germans whom Solern left to guard them won't let any one go near the room. Is it a joke you are playing; or is it something serious?""Yes, you are right," said the king, coming out of his reverie, "last night I did scour the roofs with Tavannes and the Gondis. I wanted to try my old follies with the old companions; but my legs were not what they once were; I did not dare leap the streets; though we did jump two alleys from one roof to the next. At the second, however, Tavannes and I, holding on to a chimney, agreed that we couldn't do it again.
If either of us had been alone we couldn't have done it then.""I'll wager that you sprang first." The king smiled. "I know why you risk your life in that way.""And why, you little witch?"
"You are tired of life."
"Ah, sorceress! But I am being hunted down by sorcery," said the king, resuming his anxious look.
"My sorcery is love," she replied, smiling. "Since the happy day when you first loved me, have I not always divined your thoughts? And--if you will let me speak the truth--the thoughts which torture you to-day are not worthy of a king.""Am I a king?" he said bitterly.
