The heart of Marie was moved; and as her favourite knelt before her she pressed her to her bosom, and bade her be of good cheer, for that all was forgiven.  Leonora, unprepared for such an admission, wept abundantly; and it was long ere she could recover her composure, while the Queen on her side was scarcely less distressed.

“I cannot part from you, mia cara, mia dolce” pursued Marie passionately; “you are my good angel, the friend and sister of my happy years—­for we were happy then, Leonora mia, before a crown and a court came between us.  You have said truly that you have been my guardian spirit, and we do not part with our best security in the hour of peril.  No, Leonora, no; I will listen no more to the evil accusations of those who would fain separate us.  You shall not quit the Louvre.”

Madame d’Ancre pressed her hand forcibly upon her heart as if to control its tumultuous throbbings; and then, fixing her large dark eyes earnestly upon those of her royal mistress, she said in a low deep accent of earnest emotion, “And thus you love me still—­you, the proud daughter of the Medici, the wife and the mother of kings—­you love me still, and I have not lived in vain!  Did you hear those words, Countess?” she asked, suddenly springing to her feet, and addressing Madame du Fargis, who was standing in the recess of one of the tall windows, with the tears falling fast over her fair cheeks; “the Regent will not suffer me to leave France—­the Regent will not allow me to wither away my life an alien from her presence.  Now I am once more calm and strong—­calm in the security of my happiness, strong in the consciousness of my honesty.  Let them accuse me now, I defy their malice, for my royal mistress believes in me, and loves me.”

“Compose yourself, Leonora,” said the Queen-mother affectionately; “your feeble frame is unequal to these bursts of passion.  Come hither, child, and pillow your aching head upon my knees, as you were wont to do long, long ago, when we sang together the beloved songs of our fair Florence, or indulged in day-dreams which were never destined to be realized.  Let Madame de Conti beware in her turn:  higher heads than hers have been brought low; and from this day I will teach a bitter lesson to her and to her kinsmen.  I have borne much, but I am still a Medicis; I can be as firm as Catherine, although I shall endeavour to act with greater justice, and to be in all things worthy of the name I bear.”

“Ha, Madame!” exclaimed the favourite, “you have already proved that however others may endeavour to forget that you are the widow of Henry the Great the fact is ever present to yourself.”  And as she spoke, Leonora buried her face in the lap of her royal foster-sister, while her long black hair, which had become unfastened by the energy of her movements, fell to the floor and covered her like a pall.

Little did either the Queen or the Marquise at that moment anticipate how soon a deeper and a denser pall would replace those luxuriant and gleaming tresses!  Happy was it for both that no prophetic glance into the future darkened the joy of that bright hour of reconciliation!