He darted across the room, and throwing open an inner door, called gently, “Mademoiselle!”

“Yes, Sire,” she answered, coming to the threshold.

The peasant lass was gone forever.  The great lady, regal in satins, stood before us.  She bent on the king a little, eager, questioning glance; then she caught sight of her lover.  Faith, had the sun gone out, the room would have been brilliant with the light of her face.

M. Etienne sprang up and toward her.  And she, pushing by the king as if he had been the door-post, went to him.  They stood before each other, neither touching nor speaking, but only looking one at the other like two blind folk by a heavenly miracle restored to sight.

“How now, children?  Am I not a model monarch?  Do you swear by me forever?  Do you vouch me the very pattern of a king?”

Answer he got none.  They heard nothing, knew nothing, but each other.  The slighted king chuckled and, beckoning me, withdrew to his cabinet.

So here an end.  For if Henry of France leave them, you and I may not stay.