CHAPTER XXXVI.
THE ANAGRAM.
The Rue Garnier sur l'Eau runs into the Rue Geoffroy Lasnier, and theRue des Barres lies at right angles to the former.
On the right, a short distance down the Rue de la Mortellerie, stands asmall house in the centre of a garden surrounded by a high wall, whichhas but one entrance. Charles drew a key from his pocket and insertedit into the lock. The gate was unbolted and immediately opened. TellingHenry and the lackey bearing the torch to enter, the King closed andlocked the gate behind him.
Light came from one small window which Charles smilingly pointed out toHenry.
"Sire, I do not understand," said the latter.
"But you will, Henriot."
The King of Navarre looked at Charles in amazement. His voice and hisface had assumed an expression of gentleness so different from usualthat Henry scarcely recognized him.
"Henriot," said the King, "I told you that when I left the Louvre I cameout of hell. When I enter here I am in paradise."
"Sire," said Henry, "I am happy that your Majesty has thought me worthyof taking this trip to Heaven with you."
"The road thither is a narrow one," said the King, turning to a smallstairway, "but nothing can be compared to it."
"Who is the angel who guards the entrance to your Eden, sire?"
"You shall see," replied Charles IX.
Signing to Henry to follow him noiselessly, he opened first one door,then another, and finally paused on a threshold.
"Look!" said he.
Henry approached and gazed on one of the most beautiful pictures he hadever seen.
A young woman of eighteen or nineteen lay sleeping, her head resting onthe foot of a little bed in which a child was asleep. The woman held itslittle feet close to her lips, while her long hair fell over hershoulders like a flood of gold. It was like one of Albane's pictures ofthe Virgin and the Child Jesus.
"Oh, sire," said the King of Navarre, "who is this lovely creature?"
"The angel of my paradise, Henriot, the only one who loves me."
Henry smiled.
"Yes," said Charles, "for she loved me before she knew I was King."
"And since she has known it?"
"Well, since she has known it," said Charles, with a smile which showedthat royalty sometimes weighed heavily on him, "since she has known itshe loves me still; so you may judge."
The King approached the woman softly and pressed a kiss as light as thatwhich a bee gives to a lily on her rosy cheek.
Yet, light as it was, she awakened at once.
"Charles!" she murmured, opening her eyes.
"You see," said the King, "she calls me Charles. The queen says 'sire'!"
"Oh!" cried the young woman, "you are not alone, my King."
"No, my sweet Marie, I wanted to bring you another king, happier thanmyself because he has no crown; more unhappy than I because he has noMarie Touchet. God makes compensation for everything."
"Sire, is it the King of Navarre?" asked Marie.
"Yes, my child; come here, Henriot." The King of Navarre drew near;Charles took him by the hand.
"See this hand, Marie," said he, "it is the hand of a good brother and aloyal friend. Were it not for this hand"--
"Well, sire?"
"Well, had it not been for this hand to-day, Marie, our child would haveno father."
Marie uttered a cry, fell on her knees, and seizing Henry's hand coveredit with kisses.
"Very good, Marie, very good," said Charles.
"What have you done to thank him, sire?"
"I have done for him what he did for me."
Henry looked at Charles in astonishment.
"Some day you will know what I mean, Henriot; meanwhile come here andsee." He approached the bed, on which the child still slept.
"Ah!" said he, "if this little fellow were in the Louvre instead of herein this little house in the Rue des Barres, many things would be changedfor the present as well as for the future perhaps."[13]
"Sire," said Marie, "if your Majesty is willing, I prefer him to stayhere; he sleeps better."
"Let us not disturb his slumber, then," said the King; "it is so sweetto sleep when one does not dream!"
"Well, sire," said Marie, pointing to a door opening out of the room.
"Yes, you are right, Marie," said Charles IX., "let us have supper."
"My well-beloved Charles," said Marie, "you will ask the king yourbrother to excuse me, will you not?"
"Why?"
"For having dismissed our servants, sire," continued Marie, turning tothe King of Navarre; "you must know that Charles wants to be served byme alone."
"_Ventre saint gris!_" said Henry, "I should think so!"
Both men entered the dining-room. The mother, anxious and careful, laida warm blanket over the little Charles, who, thanks to the sound sleepof childhood, so envied by his father, had not wakened.
Marie rejoined them.
"There are only two covers!" said the King.
"Permit me," said Marie, "to serve your majesties."
"Now," said Charles, "this is where you cause me trouble, Henriot."
"How so, sire?"
"Did you not hear?"
"Forgive me, Charles, forgive me."
"Yes, I will forgive you. But sit here, near me, between us."
"I will obey," said Marie.
She brought a plate, sat down between the two kings, and served them.
"Is it not good, Henriot," said Charles, "to have one place in the worldin which one can eat and drink without needing any one to taste themeats and wines beforehand?"
"Sire," said Henry, smiling, and by the smile replying to the constantfear in his own mind, "believe me, I appreciate your happiness more thanany one."
"And tell her, Henriot, that in order for us to live happily, she mustnot mingle in politics. Above all, she must not become acquainted withmy mother."
"Queen Catharine loves your Majesty so passionately that she would bejealous of any other love," replied Henry, finding by a subterfuge themeans of avoiding the dangerous confidence of the King.
"Marie," said the latter, "I have brought you one of the finest and thewittiest men I know. At court, you see, and this is saying a great deal,he puts every one in the shade. I alone have clearly understood, not hisheart, perhaps, but his mind."
"Sire," said Henry, "I am sorry that in exaggerating the one as you do,you mistrust the other."
"I exaggerate nothing, Henriot," said the King; "besides, you will beknown some day."
Then turning to the young woman:
"He makes delightful anagrams. Ask him to make one of your name. I willanswer that he will do it."
"Oh, what could you expect to find in the name of a poor girl like me?What gentle thought could there be in the letters with which chancespelled Marie Touchet?"
"Oh! the anagram from this name, sire," said Henry, "is so easy thatthere is no great merit in finding it."
"Ah! ah! it is already found," said Charles. "You see--Marie."
Henry drew his tablets from the pocket of his doublet, tore out a paper,and below the name _Marie Touchet_ wrote _Je charme tout_. Then hehanded the paper to the young woman.
"Truly," she cried, "it is impossible!"
"What has he found?" asked Charles.
"Sire, I dare not repeat it."
"Sire," said Henry, "in the name Marie Touchet there is, letter forletter, by changing the 'i' into a 'j,' as is often done, _Je charmetout_." (I charm all.)
"Yes," exclaimed Charles, "letter for letter. I want this to be yourmotto, Marie, do you hear? Never was one better deserved. Thanks,Henriot. Marie, I will give it to you written in diamonds."
The supper over, two o'clock struck from Notre-Dame.
"Now," said Charles, "in return for this compliment, Marie, you willgive the king an armchair, in which he can sleep until daybreak; but letit be some distance from us, because he snores frightfully. Then if youwaken before I do, you will rous
e me, for at six o'clock we have to beat the Bastille. Good-night, Henriot. Make yourself as comfortable aspossible. But," he added, approaching the King of Navarre and laying hishand on his shoulder, "for your life, Henry,--do you hear? for yourlife,--do not leave here without me, especially to return to theLouvre."
Henry had suspected too many things in what still remained unexplainedto him to disobey such advice. Charles IX. entered his room, and Henry,the sturdy mountaineer, settled himself in an armchair, in which he soonjustified the precaution taken by his brother-in-law in keeping at adistance.
At dawn he was awakened by Charles. As he had not undressed, it did nottake him long to finish his toilet. The King was more happy and smilingthan he ever was at the Louvre. The hours spent by him in that littlehouse in the Rue des Barres were his hours of sunshine.
Both men went out through the sleeping-room. The young woman was stillin bed. The child was asleep in its cradle. Both were smiling.
Charles looked at them for a moment with infinite tenderness.
Then turning to the King of Navarre:
"Henriot," said he, "if you ever hear what I did for you last night, orif misfortune come to me, remember this child asleep in its cradle."
Then kissing both mother and child on the forehead, without giving Henrytime to question him:
"Good-by, my angels," said he, and went out.
Henry followed, deep in thought. The horses were waiting for them at theBastille, held by the gentlemen to whom Charles IX. had given the order.
Charles signed to Henry to mount, sprang into his own saddle, and ridingthrough the garden of the Arbalite, followed the outside highways.
"Where are we going?" asked Henry.
"We are going to see if the Duc d'Anjou returned for Madame de Condealone," replied Charles, "and if there is as much ambition as love inhis heart, which I greatly doubt."
Henry did not understand the answer, but followed Charles in silence.
They reached the Marais, and as from the shadow of the palisades theycould see all which at that time was called the Faubourg Saint Laurent,Charles pointed out to Henry through the grayish mist of the morningsome men wrapped in great cloaks and wearing fur caps. They were onhorseback, and rode ahead of a wagon which was heavily laden. As theydrew near they became outlined more clearly, and one could see anotherman in a long brown cloak, his face hidden by a French hat, riding andtalking with them.
"Ah! ah!" said Charles, smiling, "I thought so."
"Well, sire," said Henry, "if I am not mistaken, that rider in the browncloak is the Duc d'Anjou."
"Yes," said Charles IX. "Turn out a little, Henriot, I do not want himto see us."
"But," asked Henry, "who are the men in gray cloaks with fur caps?"
"Those men," said Charles, "are Polish ambassadors, and in that wagon isa crown. And now," said he, urging his horse to a gallop, and turninginto the road of the Porte du Temple, "come, Henriot, I have seen allthat I wanted to see."
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