The King was adequately disguised in the armour of Perseus; wits of cloth of silver instead of mail. His graying hair was hidden and his eyes peered out through slits in his silken visor.
He was enjoying the masque more than he had enjoyed anything since Diane had lain sick at Anet; and even his sorrow at his mistress’s sickness was not so great, for the last few days had brought better news of her.
Andromeda pressed close to him. He was excited because he knew whose enticing form was beneath the costume of Andromeda; he had seen a red ringlet beneath her wig; moreover, that halting French of hers was unmistakable. The Scottish governess spoke the language of his country with some difficulty and great charm.
Catherine had chosen the music― Italian music. It was soft music, deeply sensuous; it was the sort of music to put ideas into a head that was usually a sober head.
Andromeda flirted gaily, pretending not to know who her partner was. He found himself responding― awkwardly, it was true― and enjoying it. After all, it was very enjoyable to be foolish, incognito.
‘How happy I am that I was chosen to be Andromeda,’ she murmured, ‘since you are Perseus.’
She pressed against him as they danced. He felt younger than he had for a long time. He was reminded of a charming young girl in Piedmont; he was experiencing all he had experienced there― the same violent feelings, the same uncontrollable desire to kiss the woman and make love to her.
The image of Diane was fading, although it could never fade entirely.
This was nothing, he hastened to explain to himself.
Diane would understand. This was just a frivolous masque which the Queen had arranged because he was so melancholy since his little son had died and his mistress was sick. It was nothing but an evening’s frivolity.
Andromeda, warm and clinging, chattered on merrily. Her fingers clung to his, and she lifted her face, obviously expecting him to kiss her. He found himself doing so― while he explained to Diane:
This is nothing, Diane. Just a silly masque. The Queen arranged it because I was so wretched― anxious on your account. Andromeda whispered: ‘The wine I have taken would seem to have gone to my head. What of you― Perseus?’
‘To mine also,’ he answered.
That was true, he supposed. Catherine had most assiduously arranged that his cupbearer should keep his goblet replenished.
Andromeda called his attention to a laughing Daphne who went by with Apollo.
‘Did it not seem to you that Apollo had a look of de Guise?’ whispered Andromeda.
‘It did indeed.’
‘There are some who cannot hide themselves whatever the disguise,’
laughed Andromeda. She added quickly: ‘And if we are right, and Apollo is Francis de Guise, I greatly doubt whether that Daphne will turn into a laurel before her Apollo has had his will.’
Henry laughed, and wondered what had happened tonight.
Diane’s image was growing fainter. When he did think of her, he was sure that she would fully understand that flirtation with the gay little Scot was not of the slightest importance. He was indulging in it merely because, missing Diane, he wished to lighten the melancholy of one evening without her. He refused to remember that he had reasoned similarly during his infidelity at Piedmont.
‘Let us dance no more,’ said Andromeda. ‘I am weary of dancing.’
She drew him from the throng, and it was comforting knowledge that no one would know that the King had left the dancers In the cool of an antechamber off the main hall, Lady Fleming turned to the King suddenly, and throwing her arms about him, kissed him passionately on the lips. The silk of his vizor was in her way and, laughing, she lifted it.
‘That― was very forward of me, was it not?’ she murmured coquettishly, waiting for his response.
‘Indeed not!’ said the King haltingly; and he returned her kiss.
He realized now that he had always been attracted by the Scottish governess, not because of her interest in the education but because of her red hair, her white skin, and her pretty foreign ways. He knew too that she had been attracted by him and the reverent glances she had sent his way had also been inviting.
Her small white hands stroked his face, and he felt his blood racing. This was Piedmont all over again.
She said: ‘I know where we can be quite alone― for an hour or so―’
In and out among the sweating dancers went the Queen, her alert eyes missing nothing. She saw them leave the ballroom, and, in spirit, she was with them, every passionate moment.
Her eyes were hard and angry. Hatred, jealousy, and cunning battled in her heart. Was she right to have done this thing? Did it not hurt as much to picture him with the sly Scot as with Madame de Valentinois?
But patience! He will soon tire of that silly creature. One must be grateful for the small blessing. Remember, Diane cannot keep him faithful.
All these people were watching her, wondering at her. What a fool she was, they were thinking. She had organized the most amusing masque the reign had known, and she herself was taking no part in it. Why had she not played Psyche to the King’s Cupid or some such role? That was what Madame d’Etampes would have done in her day. Surely, Queen Catherine did not enjoy being humiliated and now the monster Valentinois was out of the way, here was her chance.
They did not know how little her husband cared for her, thought Catherine.
Thank the Virgin that none but herself witnessed those embarrassing moments of his when he visited her.
Her head ached. She hated this masque. She longed for midnight.
What a fool she was to have put the love potion in his wine that he might become enamoured of the governess! But was it the love potion, or was it the governess’s red hair and white skin? How many love potions had she used in vain endeavour to win him for herself?
Again and again she asked herself why he should want this silly woman’s love-making and turn from her own which would be given with her heart and soul instead of in a drunken frolic.
She could never find the answer to that question.
Midnight came.
She was glad that they had returned to the ballroom. It had happened already. That much she sensed from their demeanour. She felt bitterly humiliated, for with Diane, who was clever and beautiful, it was understandable; but with this red-haired slut with her parted lips and lascivious eyes― But― it had happened; and Catherine guessed, by the look of them both, that it would happen again.
‘Unmask!’ She gave the order; she listened to the gasps of surprise. ‘So it was you!’ The giggles. ‘I had no idea!’
Perseus and Andromeda were looking at each other as though they were intoxicated with something other than the wine they had both taken.
Montmorency’s plan had succeeded admirably, thought the Queen.
Moreover, tonight would not see the end of the King’s indiscretion.
‘I wish Lady Fleming to come here,’ she announced.
The woman started; she blushed to the roots of her red hair which was loose about her shoulders now that she had removed Andromeda’s wig with her mask.
All eyes were on Lady Fleming. Catherine’s glittered coldly.
She knows, thought the guilty Lady Fleming. She is going to denounce me now― here― before them all. I shall be banished― I shall never be allowed to see him again. She looks so strange. She frightens me. Her eyes are like a serpent’s eyes. ‘Lady Fleming, you have given a very good performance this night.’