“Cannot you be one?  What did Charles VII. do?  He listened to his mistress, monseigneur, and he reconquered his kingdom, invaded by the English as yours is now by the enemies of our religion.  Your last coup d’Etat showed you the course you have to follow.  Exterminate heresy.”

“You blamed the Saint-Bartholomew,” said Charles, “and now you—­”

“That is over,” she said; “besides, I agree with Madame Catherine that it was better to do it yourselves than let the Guises do it.”

“Charles VII. had only men to fight; I am face to face with ideas,” resumed the king.  “We can kill men, but we can’t kill words!  The Emperor Charles V. gave up the attempt; his son Philip has spent his strength upon it; we shall all perish, we kings, in that struggle.  On whom can I rely?  To right, among the Catholics, I find the Guises, who are my enemies; to left, the Calvinists, who will never forgive me the death of my poor old Coligny, nor that bloody day in August; besides, they want to suppress the throne; and in front of me what have I?—­my mother!”

“Arrest her; reign alone,” said Marie in a low voice, whispering in his ear.

“I meant to do so yesterday; to-day I no longer intend it.  You speak of it rather coolly.”

“Between the daughter of an apothecary and that of a doctor there is no great difference,” replied Touchet, always ready to laugh at the false origin attributed to her.

The king frowned.

“Marie, don’t take such liberties.  Catherine de’ Medici is my mother, and you ought to tremble lest—­”

“What is it you fear?”

“Poison!” cried the king, beside himself.

“Poor child!” cried Marie, restraining her tears; for the sight of such strength united to such weakness touched her deeply.  “Ah!” she continued, “you make me hate Madame Catherine, who has been so good to me; her kindness now seems perfidy.  Why is she so kind to me, and bad to you?  During my stay in Dauphine I heard many things about the beginning of your reign which you concealed from me; it seems to me that the queen, your mother, is the real cause of all your troubles.”

“In what way?” cried the king, deeply interested.

“Women whose souls and whose intentions are pure use virtue wherewith to rule the men they love; but women who do not seek good rule men through their evil instincts.  Now, the queen made vices out of certain of your noblest qualities, and she taught you to believe that your worst inclinations were virtues.  Was that the part of a mother?  Be a tyrant like Louis XI.; inspire terror; imitate Philip II.; banish the Italians; drive out the Guises; confiscate the lands of the Calvinists.  Out of this solitude you will rise a king; you will save the throne.  The moment is propitious; your brother is in Poland.”