THE VALOIS SAGA: Queen Margot, Chicot de Jester & The Forty-Five Guardsmen (Historical Novels). Alexandre Dumas

were really you, I should ask Maître Réné to plunge me in some sulphurous pit rather than use such language to the daughter of King Henry II., to the sister of King Charles IX., to the wife of the King of Navarre. But shades are freed from all earthly pride and they are never angry when men love them. Therefore, pray your body, madame, to love the soul of this poor La Mole a little — a soul in trouble, if ever there was one; a soul first persecuted by friendship, which three times thrust into him several inches of cold steel; a soul burnt by the fire of your eyes — fire a thousand times more consuming than all the flames of hell. So have pity on this poor soul! Love a little what was the handsome La Mole; and if you no longer possess speech, ah! bestow a gesture, bestow a smile upon him. My friend’s soul is a very intelligent soul, and will comprehend everything. Be kind to him, then; or, by Heaven! I will run my sword through Réné‘s body in order that, by virtue of the power which he possesses over spirits, he may force yours, which he has already so opportunely evoked, to do all a shade so amiably disposed as yours appears to be should do.”

      At this burst of eloquence delivered by Coconnas as he stood in front of the queen like Æneas descending into Hades, Marguerite could not refrain from a hearty burst of laughter, yet, preserving the silence which on such an occasion may be the supposed characteristic of a royal shade, she presented her hand to Coconnas. He took it daintily in his, and, calling to La Mole, said:

      “Shade of my friend, come hither instantly!”

      La Mole, amazed, overcome, silently obeyed.

      “’T is well,” said Coconnas, taking him by the back of the head; “and now bring the shadow of your handsome brown countenance into contact with the white and vaporous hand before you.”

      And Coconnas, suiting the action to the word, raised the delicate hand to La Mole’s lips, and kept them for a moment respectfully united, without the hand seeking to withdraw itself from the gentle pressure.

      Marguerite had not ceased to smile, but Madame de Nevers did not smile at all; she was still trembling at the unexpected appearance of the two gentlemen. She was conscious that her awkwardness was increased by all the fever of a growing jealousy, for it seemed to her that Coconnas ought not thus to forget her affairs for those of others.

      La Mole saw her eyebrows contracted, detected the flashing threat of her eyes, and in spite of the intoxicating fever to which his delight was insensibly urging him to succumb he realized the danger which his friend was running and perceived what he should try to do to rescue him.

      So rising and leaving Marguerite’s hand in Coconnas’s, he grasped the Duchesse de Nevers’s, and bending his knee he said:

      “O loveliest — O most adorable of women — I speak of living women, and not of shades!” and he turned a look and a smile to Marguerite; “allow a soul released from its mortal envelope to repair the absence of a body fully absorbed by material friendship. Monsieur de Coconnas, whom you see, is only a man — a man of bold and hardy frame, of flesh handsome to gaze upon perchance, but perishable, like all flesh. Omnis caro fenum. Although this gentleman keeps on from morning to night pouring into my ears the most touching litanies about you, though you have seen him distribute as heavy blows as were ever seen in wide France — this champion, so full of eloquence in presence of a spirit, dares not address a woman. That is why he has addressed the shade of the queen, charging me to speak to your lovely body, and to tell you that he lays at your feet his soul and heart; that he entreats from your divine eyes a look in pity, from your rosy fingers a beckoning sign, and from your musical and heavenly voice those words which men can never forget; if not, he has supplicated another thing, and that is, in case he should not soften you, you will run my sword — which is a real blade, for swords have no shadows except in the sunshine — run my sword right through his body for the second time, for he can live no longer if you do not authorize him to live exclusively for you.” All the verve and comical exaggeration which Coconnas had put into his speech found their counterpart in the tenderness, the intoxicating vigor, and the mock humility which La Mole introduced into his supplication.

      Henriette’s eyes turned from La Mole, to whom she had listened till he ended, and rested on Coconnas, to see if the expression of that gentleman’s countenance harmonized with his friend’s ardent address. It seemed that she was satisfied, for blushing, breathless, conquered, she said to Coconnas, with a smile which disclosed a double row of pearls enclosed in coral:

      “Is this true?”

      “By Heaven!” exclaimed Coconnas, fascinated by her look, “it is true, indeed. Oh, yes, madame, it is true — true on your life — true on my death!”

      “Come with me, then,” said Henriette, extending to him her hand, while her eyes proclaimed the feelings of her heart.

      Coconnas flung his velvet cap into the air and with one stride was at the young woman’s side, while La Mole, recalled to Marguerite by a gesture, executed at the same time an amorous chassez with his friend.

      Réné appeared at the door in the background.

      “Silence!” he exclaimed, in a voice which at once damped all the ardor of the lovers; “silence!”

      And they heard in the solid wall the sound of a key in a lock, and of a door grating on its hinges.

      “But,” said Marguerite, haughtily, “I should think that no one has the right to enter whilst we are here!”

      “Not even the queen mother?” whispered Réné in her ear.

      Marguerite instantly rushed out by the exterior staircase, leading La Mole after her; Henriette and Coconnas almost arm-inarm followed them, all four taking flight, as fly at the first noise the birds seen engaged in loving parley on the boughs of a flowering shrub.

      Chapter 20.

       The Black Hens.

       Table of Contents

      It was time the two couples disappeared! Catharine was putting the key in the lock of the second door just as Coconnas and Madame de Nevers stepped out of the house by the lower entrance, and Catharine as she entered could hear the steps of the fugitives on the stairs.

      She cast a searching glance around, and then fixing her suspicious eyes on Réné, who stood motionless, bowing before her, said:

      “Who was that?”

      “Some lovers, who are satisfied with the assurance I gave them that they are really in love.”

      “Never mind them,” said Catharine, shrugging her shoulders; “is there no one else here?”

      “No one but your majesty and myself.”

      “Have you done what I ordered you?”

      “About the two black hens?”

      “Yes!”

      “They are ready, madame.”

      “Ah,” muttered Catharine, “if you were a Jew!”

      “Why a Jew, madame?”

      “Because you could then read the precious treatises which the Hebrews have written about sacrifices. I have had one of them translated, and I found that the Hebrews did not look for omens in the heart or liver as the Romans did, but in the configuration of the brain, and in the shape of the letters traced there by the all-powerful hand of destiny.”

      “Yes, madame; so I have heard from an old rabbi.”

      “There are,” said Catharine, “characters thus marked that reveal all the future. Only the Chaldean seers recommend”—

      “Recommend — what?” asked Réné, seeing the queen hesitate.

      “That the experiment shall be tried on the human brain, as more developed and more nearly sympathizing with the wishes of the consulter.”

      “Alas!” said Réné,