“Frank and loyal,” was the answer.

At the door Henry turned and said softly, “Thanks, Marguerite; thanks!  You are a true daughter of France.  Lacking your love, your friendship will not fail me.  I rely on you, as you, for your part, may rely on me.  Adieu, madame.”

He kissed his wife’s hand; and then, with a quick step, the king went down the corridor to his own apartment.  “I have more need of fidelity in politics than in love,” he said to himself.

If on both sides there was little attempt at fidelity in love, there was an honourable alliance, which was maintained unbroken and saved the life of Henry of Navarre from his enemies on more than one occasion.

On the day of the St. Bartholomew massacre, while the Huguenots were being murdered throughout Paris, Charles IX., instigated by his mother, summoned Henry of Navarre to the royal armoury, and called upon him to turn Catholic or die.

“Will you kill me, sire—­me, your brother-in-law?” exclaimed Henry.

Charles IX. turned away to the open window.  “I must kill someone,” he cried, and firing his arquebuse, struck a man who was passing.

Then, animated by a murderous fury, Charles loaded and fired his arquebuse without stopping, shouting with joy when his aim was successful.

“It’s all over with me!” said Henry to himself.  “When he sees no one else to kill, he will kill me!”

Catherine de Medici entered as the king fired his last shot.  “Is it done?” she said, anxiously.

“No,” the king exclaimed, throwing his arquebuse on the floor.  “No; the obstinate blockhead will not consent!”

Catherine gave a glance at Henry which Charles understood perfectly, and which said, “Why, then, is he alive?”

“He lives,” said the king, “because he is my relative.”

Henry felt that it was with Catherine he had to contend.

“Madame,” he said, addressing her, “I can see quite clearly that all this comes from you and not from brother-in-law Charles.  It was you who planned this massacre to ensnare me into a trap which was to destroy us all.  It was you who made your daughter the bait.  It has been you who have separated me now from my wife, that she might not see me killed before her eyes!”

“Yes; but that shall not be!” cried another voice; and Marguerite, breathless and impassioned, burst into the room.

“Sir,” said Marguerite to Henry, “your last words were an accusation, and were both right and wrong.  They have made me the means for attempting to destroy you, but I was ignorant that in marrying me you were going to destruction.  I myself owe my life to chance, for this very night they all but killed me in seeking you.  Directly I knew of your danger I sought you.  If you are exiled, sir, I will be exiled too; if they imprison you they shall imprison me also; if they kill you, I will also die!”

She gave her hand to her husband and he seized it eagerly.