Marguerite de Valois. Dumas Alexandre

François?" said Marguerite, changing color.

      "Yes, madame, with the Duc d'Alençon; and then after you went out I heard what Gillonne and Madame de Sauve said."

      "And these two conversations" —

      "Yes, madame; married scarcely a week, you love your husband; your husband will come, in his turn, in the same way that the Duc d'Alençon and Madame de Sauve came. He will confide his secrets to you. Well, then, I must not overhear them; I should be indiscreet – I cannot – I must not – I will not be!"

      By the tone in which La Mole uttered these last words, by the anxiety expressed in his voice, by the embarrassment shown in his eyes, Marguerite was enlightened as by a sudden revelation.

      "Aha!" said she, "so you have heard everything that has been said in this room?"

      "Yes, madame."

      These words were uttered in a sigh.

      "And you wish to depart to-night, this evening, to avoid hearing any more?"

      "This moment, if it please your majesty to allow me to go."

      "Poor fellow!" said Marguerite, with a strange accent of tender pity.

      Astonished by such a gentle reply when he was expecting a rather forcible outburst, La Mole timidly raised his head; his eyes met Marguerite's and were riveted as by a magnetic power on their clear and limpid depths.

      "So then you feel you cannot keep a secret, Monsieur de la Mole?" said Marguerite in a soft voice as she stood leaning on the back of her chair, half hidden in the shadow of a thick tapestry and enjoying the felicity of easily reading his frank and open soul while remaining impenetrable herself.

      "Madame," said La Mole, "I have a miserable disposition: I distrust myself, and the happiness of another gives me pain."