He smiled at her. She wished that he would not smile in that way. She remembered those smiles too well.

'I was looking for you,' he said.

She was silent, her eyebrows raised, her eyes haughty, her expression cold.

'I wanted to warn you,' he went on. 'Come in here.'

He took her by the arm and drew her into a small chamber close by. She felt angry because she could not stop herself recalling other occasions when he and she had been together in other small rooms.

He closed the door quietly and said: 'The King is angry with you. Your mother is furious with you. Do not go to her yet. Let her anger cool for a while.'

'It is good of you, Monsieur de Guise,' she said, 'to concern yourself with my affairs.'

'I would always do that,' he answered. 'I shall always hope that you will allow me to help you when your affairs go not well.'

She laughed. 'How could that be? You have no place in my affairs.'

'Alas! That is a matter of deep regret to me. Nevertheless, I can warn you when I see that you are in danger. That is a privilege I may still enjoy, though others are denied me. I ask you not to go to your mother now. You remember that occasion when your mother and Charles between them almost killed you?'

'That is an occasion, Monsieur, which I have taught myself to forget, being deeply ashamed of it.'

'But you should remember it-even if you forget your partner in that adventure. You should profit by it. And you should profit by it now.'

She wished he would not speak to her in that tender voice. She knew that she had only to fling herself into his arms to join together the broken strands of that wild and passionate affair. What is the use of pretending, said his eyes, that any man can please you as I do, that any woman could please me as you do? Have done with this folly. Come back to me. Even now it may not be too late for that divorce. We will marry and rule France together.

Now she saw his meaning clearly. Ambition first, love second, with Monsieur de Guise. What had she that Charlotte de Sauves had not? The answer was simple: royalty. She was a Princess of France.

Bussy was a fine man, a very fine man, she assured herself, He was amusing, virile, passionate-a good lover; if he was not so completely devoted as Monsieur de la Mole had been, he was more amusing than the melancholy gentleman whose head she had forgotten even to look at for many months. She was happy with Bussy. She would never again love as she had loved Henry. of Guise perhaps, neither would she suffer again as she had suffered through him.

She laughed. 'Oh, come, Monsieur de Guise, why do you pretend to be sorry? My brother is angry with me. My mother wishes to punish me. My younger brother hates my elder brother. We are a family working against itself. We are not like the family of Guise, are we? We have our passions, our jealousies, our loves, our hates. We lack the overpowering ambition of the House of Guise and Lorraine. Do you think I have not noticed you during these terrible weeks? Do not look so delighted with yourself. It was not your beauty that I, admired; it was your cunning. You strut through Paris-the King of Paris. The people almost kiss the hem of your robes.I have seen them. You are restrained. When they cry, "Vive le bon Duc de Guise!" you urge them to cry, "Vive le Roi!" But I know you well. I know what goes on in your mind. I know why you are so anxious for these poor people. I know why you offer them sympathy and alms. I have seen you shake a dirty hand with tears in your eyes. It is said that the great Duke of Guise never fails to take a man by the hand, be he Prince or beggar. He is familiar with all-a friend of the poor, yet the greatest aristocratin France.I have heard them. "Ah," they say, "there is a true gentleman, before whom these Valois striplings are like strolling players!"And they weep for the great gentleman. They more than weep. They look up to him . . . hopefully, and they wonder when he is going to make himself the King in very truth.'

'Margot!' he cried in horror. 'What do you mean? This is madness!'

'Madness? You are right. Curb your madness, Monsieur, before it is too late. You aim too high, my lord Duke . . . in politics and in matrimony. Now, pray let me pass.'

She went out smiling. She had alarmed him. She had left him wondering whether he had been too rash. Had others noticed his little game?

Then she wanted to weep, and she whispered to herself: 'No, others have not noticed. You have been very clever, my darling; and it is only Margot who notices, Margot who understands you so well that she is aware of everything you do while she pretends to ignore you.'

She went to her mother's apartment. Catherine dismissed her attendants and began to attack her daughter-not physically this time, but with words, which could not hurt; and in any case Margot was not listening; she could think only of Henry of Guise.

Du Guast was not satisfied with Catherine's single reprimand. He wished Margot to be completely discredited, and to be recognized at the court as a loose woman who could bring only dishonour to any party she favoured. He wished everyone to know-and in particular the Queen Mother-that when he asked a favour of the King it must always be granted.

There must therefore, du Guast assured the King, be more open reprimands.

Henry went to his mother.

'I cannot allow my sister to behave as she does. The whole of Paris talks of her wantonness. She should be banished from court.'

'Paris has always talked,' said Catherine. 'They talk of you in pads, my son, and they talk in the same treacherous way as they do of your sister. Why, they even talk of a poor weak woman such as myself.'

'You must speak to her again.'

But Catherine was not going to do that even. to please Henry. Margot was no longer merely an impetuous girl. Margot was involved in the plots of her younger brother and her husband; she was shrewd and clever and must be treated with the respect such shrewdness and cleverness demanded.

'Firebrands have inflamed your mind, my son,' she said. 'I do not understand people today. When I was young we talked freely with all the world, and all the well-bred men who followed your father and your uncles were seen in my rooms every day. Bussy sees my daughter in your presence and in her husband's. What harm is there in this? You are unwise in this matter, my son. You have already offered her an insult which she will not readily forget.'

Henry was astonished that she could appear to work for Margot against him. 'I only say what others tell me,' he said.

'Who are these others?' she asked. 'People who wish to set you and your family by the ears!'

That was said while there were attendants present; when Catherine was alone with her son, she had more to say on the subject.

'It is not your sister's morals that worry you. It is that swaggering lover of hers. He goads Alencon and feeds your brother's ambition. It would be wiser to dismiss Bussy from court than your sister.'

'I will do it. He shall go.'

Catherine caught his arm and brought her face closer to his. 'Use my sublety, my son. There are more ways of banishment than one. It would be easy for an assassin to pick Bussy out from a group. You know that because of a recent wound he wears his arm in a sling, and the sling is of beautiful silk, the colour of the columbine flower. That sling would make of him an easy target.'

'You are right,' said the King. 'When there is a question of removing a nuisance, you always have the right ideas.'

'Always remember that I work for you, my darling.'

She thought: once I have rid myself of that odious du Guast he will be all mine once more.

Catherine waited for news. What would follow the death of Bussy? It must be the death of du Guast, for all would believe that man to be behind the assassination, and Bussy had too many friends to allow his murderer to escape. No one would guess that the Queen Mother had anything to do with the affair, and she would enjoy comforting her beloved son when he mourned the death of his favourite.

But matters did not go quite according to her plan.

That night du Guast sent three hundred men of his Sardinian regiment to wait along the route which Bussy must take from his lodgings to the palace; these men were divided into groups so that it would be impossible for Bussy to escape detection by some of them. Bussy was with a few friends when a group of the soldiers attacked him; but Bussy was one of the finest swordsmen in Paris, and even through his arm was in a sling, he gave a good account of himself and left many of the soldiers dead. The scene was lighted only by flambeaux and, as one of Bussy's followers had also hurt his arm and was wearing a sling of the same columbine shade, though not so elaborately embroidered as his master's, it was an easy matter for the soldiers to mistake the one for the other; and when Bussy's man had been run through and lay dead on the cobbles, they thought their work was done, and retired.

Meanwhile the Louvre had been aroused by the return of one of Bussy's men who had escaped at the beginning of the battle. Alencon was furious, and was preparing to go to the support of Bussy, when Bussy himself, wounded but by no means fatally, came running into the palace.

Margot was there with Catherine and her brother, and, impetuously, before them all, Margot embraced her lover.

'It was nothing,' said Bussy. 'Little more than a joust. They have killed some of us, but we have pinked twice as many.'

This affair brought matters into the open. The King ordered the arrest of Bussy, and Alencon himself was put under closer restraint.

Catherine now began to play her game very carefully. She offered sympathy and advice to Alencon. 'The King is ruled by his favourite,' she said, 'and it is this favourite who is responsible for the trouble. You can guess that he is no more my friend than yours, for while he seeks to plague you, he leads the King away from me.'

It seemed reasonable to Alencon and Margot that their mother might wish to help them, as she must hate du Guast as much as they did.

To the King, Catherine said: 'It was unfortunate that Monsieur du Guast's men were not more careful. But at least you have Bussy and your brother under control. It would be better to banish Bussy. I will persuade Alencon to let him go, so that there shall be no more trouble between you and your brother.'

She conveyed this to Alencon and he, guessing that if his friend remained in Paris some means of murdering him would be found. agreed to Bussy's temporary banishment, although the loss of such a friend weakened his position considerably. As for Margot, she was furious to be robbed of her lover, and she blamed du Guast; she was determined that he should suffer for what he had done to her.

Catherine offered sympathy to Margot as well as to Alencon.

'Bussy is a fine man,' she said. 'A most amusing gentleman. He is the best swordsman in Paris.' To Alencon she said: 'He would have been a good friend to you, my son, if you could have kept him with you. You know whom you have to blame for his banishment.'

'Du Guast!' said Alencon and Margot simultaneously.

He grows too important,' said Catherine. 'He has cast a spell over the King. There will be no releasing His Majesty from the spell while that man lives.'

'It would be well,' said Margot, 'if someone shot him as tried to shoot poor Bussy.'

'Yes,' agreed Catherine. 'But such affrays often fail. Remember Monsieur de Coligny. And there is this affair of Bussy him_ self. There are better methods. Let us hope that one day this man will be strangled in his bed. There would be no mistake then. An assassin . . . secreted in his bedchamber, and while he sleeps . . . Why, it would not be known who had done the deed, and that is important when a man is such a favourite of a King.'

Margot and Alencon were silent. They both understood. Catherine wanted du Guast out of the way, but, in view of the King's devotion to the man and Catherine's desire not to offend her beloved, she wished it to seem that she had had no hand in this murder.

'It would assuredly be a pleasure to hear that he had been strangled in his bed,' said Margot.

Catherine left them together, to talk over, as she thought, this idea she had given them. She did not know that her son and daughter were busy with another plan.

Alencon was not going to endure being kept in semi-captivity. He was impatient. Margot called in Navarre, and the three of them talked together.

'It is very necessary,' said Margot, 'that you two sink your differences. Madame de Sauves is very beautiful, I grant you; but she is far more fond of Messieurs de Guise and du Guast than of either of you. Moreover, do you not see that du Guast has become her intimate so that he can discover all that he wishes to know about you? You are fools, both of you. You let that woman lead you by the nose.'

'Love, I fancy, has led you by the nose more than once,' retorted Navarre.

'In my youthful folly that may have been so. But I grow up, Monsieur. I profit from experience. But . . . to this matter which is of such great importance: you must bestir yourselves. You must escape. While you stay here the King will continue to insult you both; he will kill your men, as he nearly killed Bussy. This is my plan: you, my brother, are not kept in such restraint that you cannot visit your mistress; so we will use that woman as she has been using you. You will go to visit her in your coach. When you arrive at her house she will be engaged with my husband, and'-Margot shot a glance at Navarre-'she will not have time to tell anybody that she is spending the evening with him. He will detain her while you, my brother, make your way to the back of the house, where horses will be waiting with a few of your trusted friends. It will be simple if only you two will do your best to make it so.'

Navarre gave her a heavy slap on the back. 'What a wise woman I have married!' he said. 'I admire in particular the way in which she arranges my assignation with your mistress, Alencon.'

Alencon scowled at his rival in love; but they both realized the wisdom of Margot's plan and determined to carry it out.

When he heard of his brother's escape, the King flew into a passion of rage, and the first person he sent for was his sister.

'Do not think you shall thus flout me!' he cried. 'Where is Alencon?'

'I do not know, Sire,' answered Margot calmly.

'You shall tell me. I will have you whipped. Do not think that I will endure your insolence. When did you last see him?'

'I have not seen him this day.'

'After him!' cried the King to his men. 'Bring him back. By God, teach him what it means to flout me.'

Catherine was beside him. 'Calm yourself, my dear. You can do no good by flying into such rages. He shall be found, never fear.'

My sister shall tell me what she knows. She has aided him in this. They have been great friends . . . more than friends, if I can believe reports . . . and I do believe reports. There is nothing too immoral for those two to indulge in.'

'Now, my son! There are always evil reports about us. I recollect similar reports about you and your sister. Do you remember the time when you and she were so fond of each other?'

'I was foolish ever to be fond of her. She is a sly, deceitful wanton.'

'We learn by our mistakes,' said Catherine. 'Sometimes we turn our backs on our real friends and trust our enemies . . .' 'Mother, what shall I do? I must find him.'

She smiled tenderly. 'Have no fear. This is not such a ca. lamity as some of your friends ask you to believe it to be. I will see that nothing ill comes of it. As for your sister . . .' She smiled at Margot as though to say: 'We must soothe him, for I declare his passions resemble those of our poor mad Charles.' 'As for your sister,' she went on, 'I have no doubt that she knows nothing of this. Why, had she helped anyone to escape, surely it would have been her husband.'

'Keep Navarre under control.'

'That shall be done. My daughter, you may go now. Your brother is sorry that he misjudged you.'

Margot was glad to escape. She felt gleeful. Alencon was gone. Next it would be the turn of Navarre.

Catherine went to her daughter's apartment. Navarre was with her.

'It is that favourite of the King's who works him up into these rages,' said Catherine. 'It surprises me that du Guast is allowed to live. There must be many who would like to see him out of the way. There is much crime in our country. Innocent men are murdered for a few francs, they tell me; and yet Monsieur du Guast is allowed to live! The ways of God are strange indeed.'

'Perhaps,' said Navarre, 'the gentleman will not live much longer, for although the good God works in a mysterious manner, the ways of men-and women-are more transparent.'

Catherine felt uncomfortable under that shrewd scrutiny.

She went to the apartment which her son had recently vacated. There she found some of his most intimate friends. She looked sadly about her and wiped her eyes.

'You must forgive me, my friends,' she said, 'for you are my friends, since you love my son. It is a worried mother whom you see before you. I pray the saints will preserve Monsieur d'Alencon.'

'Is is true, Madame,' asked one, 'that the King has threatened his life?'

Nay. That is the kind of tale that is bruited abroad. My son is surrounded by evil advisers, I fear. I would God would free him from all evil men. Perhaps He may, for the mignons have their enemies. It surprises me that he-and you know, my friends, that I refer to the greatest and most destructive of them all-it amazes me that he has not been murdered in his bed, for such murder would be easy, and who would be able to name the murderer? I am sure Monsieur d'Alencon would be safer than he is now if that deed were committed; I am sure he would be ready to reward with his favours the one who should rid him of such a menace. But I talk too much. I know, my friends, that you will pray with me this night for my younger son's safety.'

She left them, wiping her eyes as she went.

Du Guast lay in his bed. It was ten o'clock and he was tired. He could hear the first of the October gales stripping the leaves off the trees and rustling the hangings at the windows of his bedchamber.

He was well content with life, for he considered that the King was ready to be swayed whither he, du Guast, intended. The King adored his favourite and du Guast was growing richer every day. His latest acquisitions had been some rich bishoprics, which he had been able to sell for vast sums. He could, he believed, call himself the uncrowned King of France. It amused him to think of. all the arrogant princes-men like Guise and Navarre-who were of little account when compared with Louis Berenger du Guast. But it was more gratifying to contemplate the Queen Mother than any of those others in this connexion.

He was tired and preferred sleep even to such contented contemplation.

He dozed, but was almost immediately awakened by the sound of groans close to his bed. He opened his eyes, startled, and peered into the darkness. He thought that he must have been dreaming.

He had closed his eyes again, but the sound of his bed- curtains being pulled apart made him open them quickly. He could make out the shadowy shapes of several men who stood about his bed. One of them clapped a hand over his mouth as he opened it to scream.

He did not have time to think with regret of the great wealth he had amassed, to ask himself whether the Princes of Navarre and Guise were not better off than he was; nor was there time to wonder whether, after all, the power of the Queen Mother was as great as it had ever been.

There was no time to do anything but to die.

Catherine had quietly assumed control of the King, who, stricken with grief, declared nothing could compensate him for the death of his favourite. Epernon, Joyeuse and Caylus tried to arouse his interest in clothes and jewels, while they vied with each other in trying to win the place of first favourite which had become vacant by du Guast's death. The King's lap-dogs seemed to comfort him more than anything, and he and his wife the Queen, rode together round Paris looking for new ones which they might add to their collection; but everywhere he went, the King complained, he was reminded of his lost darling; and the people called out unkind and obscene remarks after his carriage as he drove about.

He blamed Margot for the murder of du Guast, and his hatred of his sister was intense. Catherine, fearing that he might have her murdered, suggested that she be kept a prisoner, a hostage for Alencon. 'If we keep her under lock and key,' she said, 'we shall know that she is not helping Alencon; besides, he is fond of her, and he will not be too rash if he knows that she may have to answer for his misdeeds.'

Henry nodded. 'You are right. Let us lock her up.'

It was like old times, thought Catherine; she had only had to rid herself of du Guast, and she and Henry resumed their old relationship. How foolish she had been-and how unlike herself-to lose heart as she had done! She could always gain control over her sons by careful action.

Henry grew a little brighter; he was grieving less, and he was beginning to bestow a great deal of attention on Epernon. She must watch that young man and be certain that he did not become too influential; it would not be so easy to remove another favourite.