“Who is it that wants to seize your crown?”

“My brother d’Alencon conspires against it.  Enemies are all about me.”

“Monsieur,” said Marie, with a charming little pout, “do tell me something gayer.”

“Ah! my little jewel, my treasure, don’t call me ‘monsieur,’ even in jest; you remind me of my mother, who stabs me incessantly with that title, by which she seems to snatch away my crown.  She says ‘my son’ to the Duc d’Anjou—­I mean the king of Poland.”

“Sire,” exclaimed Marie, clasping her hands as though she were praying, “there is a kingdom where you are worshipped.  Your Majesty fills it with his glory, his power; and there the word ‘monsieur,’ means ‘my beloved lord.’”

She unclasped her hands, and with a pretty gesture pointed to her heart.  The words were so musiques (to use a word of the times which depicted the melodies of love) that Charles IX. caught her round the waist with the nervous force that characterized him, and seated her on his knee, rubbing his forehead gently against the pretty curls so coquettishly arranged.  Marie thought the moment favorable; she ventured a few kisses, which Charles allowed rather than accepted, then she said softly:—­

“If my servants were not mistaken you were out all night in the streets, as in the days when you played the pranks of a younger son.”

“Yes,” replied the king, still lost in his own thoughts.

“Did you fight the watchman and frighten some of the burghers?  Who are the men you brought here and locked up?  They must be very criminal, as you won’t allow any communication with them.  No girl was ever locked in as carefully, and they have not had a mouthful to eat since they came.  The Germans whom Solern left to guard them won’t let any one go near the room.  Is it a joke you are playing; or is it something serious?”

“Yes, you are right,” said the king, coming out of his reverie, “last night I did scour the roofs with Tavannes and the Gondis.  I wanted to try my old follies with the old companions; but my legs were not what they once were; I did not dare leap the streets; though we did jump two alleys from one roof to the next.  At the second, however, Tavannes and I, holding on to a chimney, agreed that we couldn’t do it again.  If either of us had been alone we couldn’t have done it then.”

“I’ll wager that you sprang first.”  The king smiled.  “I know why you risk your life in that way.”

“And why, you little witch?”

“You are tired of life.”

“Ah, sorceress!  But I am being hunted down by sorcery,” said the king, resuming his anxious look.

“My sorcery is love,” she replied, smiling.  “Since the happy day when you first loved me, have I not always divined your thoughts?  And—­if you will let me speak the truth—­the thoughts which torture you to-day are not worthy of a king.”

“Am I a king?” he said bitterly.