As Henry led Catherine back to their apartments, she also was thinking of the change that had come over her life. Her face was impassive; she gave no sign that the scene she had just aroused any emotion in her. Henry looked yellowish-green. He had seen death before; he had seen even such cruel death; but this touched him more deeply than anything he had ever seen before. He wished he had not so much to gain from his brother’s death.
Catherine turned to him as soon as they were alone. ‘How glad I am that it is over!’
He did not speak, but went to the window and looked out.
Surely, thought Catherine, he must be glad. A short while ago a Duke, now a Dauphin― with the crown almost within reach. He must be secretly rejoicing.
She went to him and laid a hand on his arm. She was sure he did not notice her touch, since he did not draw away from it.
She said: ‘Now it is avenged, we must try to forget.’
Then he turned and looked into her eyes. ‘ I cannot forget,’ he said. ‘He was my brother. We were together― in prison. We loved each other. I could never forget him.’
His lips trembled, and, seeing him softened by his memories she sought to turn the situation to her advantage. ‘Oh, Henry, I know. He was your dear brother. But you must not grieve, Henry, my love. You have your life before you. Your wife who loves you― and longs to be a wife in very truth.’
She saw at once her mistake. She who was sly in intrigue, was clumsy in love; intrigue was natural to her, but love, coming suddenly, she did not understand its ways.
He disengaged himself. ‘I would I knew who had killed him,’ he said; and his eyes glowed as they looked straight into hers. She flinched and he saw her flinch.
He turned from her quickly as though he wished to put great a distance between them as possible, as though when was near her he could not rid his mind of a terrible suspicion.
‘Henry― Henry― where are you going?’ She knew where he was going, and the knowledge enflamed her, robbing her again of that control which she had learned was her strongest weapon.
He said coldly: ‘I do not think it necessary that I should keep you informed of my movements.’
‘You are going to her again― again. You desert your wife on such a day― to go and make sport with your mistress.’ She saw the hot colour creep up under his skin; she saw his mouth set in the prim line she knew so well.
‘You forget yourself,’ he said. ‘I have told you that Madame la Grande Sénéchale is not my mistress. She is my greatest friend whose calm good sense gives me great relief from the tantrums of others which I must endure from time to time.’
He was gone. She stared after him. He lied! She was his mistress. How like him to lie on such a matter, because he would think it was the noble and chivalrous thing to do! But he was noble and chivalrous in very truth.
So on this day, when she found herself the Dauphine of France, being in love, could forget her new exalted rank and must concern herself solely with the relationship of Henry and Diane.
I will find out if he speaks truth! she vowed. If I have to hide in her apartments, I will find out. ――――――― Diane, leaving the pavilion, accompanied by her women, was considering her new importance.
When they reached her apartments, she made her women kneel and offer prayers for the soul of the Count. She knelt with them, and when the prayers were over, she bade them disrobe her; she said the spectacle had made her feel a little ill, and she wished to be left to rest awhile.
She watched these women of hers closely. Annette, Marie, and Thérèse had always shown her the utmost respect, but did she now notice in their eyes something more? Perhaps they were realizing the change that had come into her life, for indeed they would be stupid if they were not.
‘Bring me a cushion here, Thérèse. Thank you.’ She was always courteous to them and she knew that they would have loved her if they had not been a little afraid of her. They believed her to be a sorceress. ‘Just put that rug lightly over me, Annette. I do not wished to be disturbed.’
They hesitated.
‘Yes?’ Diane studied her long white fingers, sparkling with jewels. On the first finger of the right hand, she wore a ruby, a present of Henry’s.
‘If it should be Monsieur d’Orléans, Madame?’
Diane raised her eyebrows and Annette blushed hotly. ‘Forgive me,’
muttered Annette, I meant Monsieur le Dauphin.’
‘If it should be the Dauphin,’ said Diane, ‘you may come and let me know.
Then I will tell you whether or not I will see him. For anyone else, remember, I am not to be disturbed.’
They left her, and she smiled to think how they would be whispering about her, awed because she made no difference in her treatment of her lover now that he was the heir to throne.
Little had she thought when, at the King’s command, she had held out the hand of friendship to his son that she would one day, become the most powerful woman in France. The King was far from well; and when he was gone, Henry, her Henry, would triumphantly mount the throne; and it would be for her to see who was at his elbow then, for her to say who should have a strong hand in the management of affairs.
Madame d’Etampes, that insolent harlot, should be banned from the court; she should pay for all the insults she had dared to throw at Diane de Poitiers. All that pleasure was to come. Diane, closing her eyes, saw herself beside the young King receiving the homage of his subjects in place of the pale-faced insignificant Italian girl. What a mercy the child was meek. Some wives might have made themselves very unpleasant.
At whose command had Montecuccoli poisoned young Francis? Was it true that he had received instructions from the Imperial generals? It was possible.
People thought that Henry’s Italian wife had a hand in the matter; but they were ready blame any Italian and they did not know the self-effacing child. They had heard stories of poisoning and violence in Italy, so they were ready to look upon all Italians as murderers.
The expected knock intruded on her thoughts.
‘Madame, Monsieur le Dauphin is here.’
‘Bring him to me in five minutes,’ she instructed.
Her women marvelled together. She did not hesitate to keep the Dauphin waiting― the Dauphin who was almost the King!
Diane took a mirror and looked at herself. She was wonderful. She was not surprised that they thought her a sorceress. No sign of fatigue; her skin as fresh as ever; her dark eyes clear.
She threw back her long hair and put down the mirror, as, the five minutes up, the door opened and Henry came in.
He came to the bed and knelt.
‘My dear!’ she said.
He kissed her hands in the eager way he had never lost. He was, though, no longer the quiet boy; he was an impatient lover. But he did forget that, though he had been raised to a dizzy eminence, she was still his goddess.
He rose and sat beside her on the bed. She took his face in her hands and kissed it.
‘You may be the Dauphin of France,’ she said, ‘but never forget you are my Henry.’
‘The Dauphin of France,’ he said, ‘what is that? But when you say I am yours, I am the happiest man in France.’
She laughed softly. ‘Ah! So I have taught you to make gallant speeches then?’
He turned his face to hers, and with a gesture which reminded her of the boy he had been such a short while ago, he buried his face against the soft white satin of her gown.
There was a short silence before he said: ‘Diane, who instructed that young man to kill my brother? I would I knew.’