Madame Dayelle glided into the royal chamber after scratching on the door,--a respectful custom, invented by Catherine de' Medici and adopted by the court of France.
"How is the weather, my dear Dayelle?" said Queen Mary, showing her fresh young face out of the bed, and shaking the curtains.
"Ah! madame--"
"What's the matter, my Dayelle? You look as if the archers of the guard were after you.""Oh! madame, is the king still asleep?"
"Yes."
"We are to leave the chateau; Monsieur le cardinal requests me to tell you so, and to ask you to make the king agree to it.
"Do you know why, my good Dayelle?"
"The Reformers want to seize you and carry you off.""Ah! that new religion does not leave me a minute's peace! I dreamed last night that I was in prison,--I, who will some day unite the crowns of the three noblest kingdoms in the world!""Therefore it could only be a dream, madame.""Carry me off! well, 'twould be rather pleasant; but on account of religion, and by heretics--oh, that would be horrid."The queen sprang from the bed and placed herself in a large arm-chair of red velvet before the fireplace, after Dayelle had given her a dressing-gown of black velvet, which she fastened loosely round her waist by a silken cord. Dayelle lit the fire, for the mornings are cool on the banks of the Loire in the month of May.
"My uncles must have received some news during the night?" said the queen, inquiringly to Dayelle, whom she treated with great familiarity.
"Messieurs de Guise have been walking together from early morning on the terrace, so as not to be overheard by any one; and there they received messengers, who came in hot haste from all the different points of the kingdom where the Reformers are stirring. Madame la reine mere was there too, with her Italians, hoping she would be consulted; but no, she was not admitted to the council.""She must have been furious."
"All the more because she was so angry yesterday," replied Dayelle.
"They say that when she saw your Majesty appear in that beautiful dress of woven gold, with the charming veil of tan-colored crape, she was none too pleased--""Leave us, my good Dayelle, the king is waking up. Let no one, even those who have the little /entrees/, disturb us; an affair of State is in hand, and my uncles will not disturb us.""Why! my dear Mary, already out of bed? Is it daylight?" said the young king, waking up.
"My dear darling, while we were asleep the wicked waked, and now they are forcing us to leave this delightful place.""What makes you think of wicked people, my treasure? I am sure we enjoyed the prettiest fete in the world last night--if it were not for the Latin words those gentlemen will put into our French.""Ah!" said Mary, "your language is really in very good taste, and Rabelais exhibits it finely.""You are such a learned woman! I am so vexed that I can't sing your praises in verse. If I were not the king, I would take my brother's tutor, Amyot, and let him make me as accomplished as Charles.""You need not envy your brother, who writes verses and shows them to me, asking for mine in return. You are the best of the four, and will make as good a king as you are the dearest of lovers. Perhaps that is why your mother does not like you! But never mind! I, dear heart, will love you for all the world.""I have no great merit in loving such a perfect queen," said the little king. "I don't know what prevented me from kissing you before the whole court when you danced the /branle/ with the torches last night! I saw plainly that all the other women were mere servants compared to you, my beautiful Mary.""It may be only prose you speak, but it is ravishing speech, dear darling, for it is love that says those words. And you--you know well, my beloved, that were you only a poor little page, I should love you as much as I do now. And yet, there is nothing so sweet as to whisper to one's self: 'My lover is king!'""Oh! the pretty arm! Why must we dress ourselves? I love to pass my fingers through your silky hair and tangle its blond curls. Ah ca!
sweet one, don't let your women kiss that pretty throat and those white shoulders any more; don't allow it, I say. It is too much that the fogs of Scotland ever touched them!""Won't you come with me to see my dear country? The Scotch love you;there are no rebellions /there/!"
"Who rebels in this our kingdom?" said Francois, crossing his dressing-gown and taking Mary Stuart on his knee.
"Oh! 'tis all very charming, I know that," she said, withdrawing her cheek from the king; "but it is your business to reign, if you please, my sweet sire.""Why talk of reigning? This morning I wish--""Why say /wish/ when you have only to will all? That's not the speech of a king, nor that of a lover.--But no more of love just now; let us drop it! We have business more important to speak of.""Oh!" cried the king, "it is long since we have had any business. Is it amusing?""No," said Mary, "not at all; we are to move from Blois.""I'll wager, darling, you have seen your uncles, who manage so well that I, at seventeen years of age, am no better than a /roi faineant/.
In fact, I don't know why I have attended any of the councils since the first. They could manage matters just as well by putting the crown in my chair; I see only through their eyes, and am forced to consent to things blindly.""Oh! monsieur," said the queen, rising from the king's knee with a little air of indignation, "you said you would never worry me again on this subject, and that my uncles used the royal power only for the good of your people. Your people!--they are so nice! They would gobble you up like a strawberry if you tried to rule them yourself. You want a warrior, a rough master with mailed hands; whereas you--you are a darling whom I love as you are; whom I should never love otherwise,--do you hear me, monsieur?" she added, kissing the forehead of the lad, who seemed inclined to rebel at her speech, but softened at her kisses.
