“The guilty!  Ah! that makes me think of the letter again.”

“How so?”

“Guilty is ‘nocens,’ is it not?”

“Yes.”

“Well, there was that word in the letter—­’Margota cum Turennio, ambo nocentes, conveniunt in castello nomine Loignac.’  Mon Dieu! how I regret that my knowledge is not as great as my memory is good.”

“Ambo nocentes,” repeated Marguerite, in a low voice, and turning very pale, “he understood it all.”

“Margota cum Turennio, ambo nocentes,” repeated Henri.  “What the devil could my brother mean by ‘ambo!’ Ventre St. Gris, ma mie, it is astonishing that you who know Latin so well have not yet explained it to me.  Ah! pardieu! there is ‘Turennius’ walking under your windows, and looking up as if he expected you.  I will call to him to come up; he is very learned, and he will explain it to me.”

“Sire, sire, be superior to all the calumniators of France.”

“Oh! ma mie, it seems to me that people are not more indulgent in Navarre than in France; you, yourself, were very severe about poor Fosseuse just now.”

“I severe?”

“Yes; and yet we ought to be indulgent here, we lead such a happy life, you with your balls, and I with my chase.”

“Yes, yes, sire; you are right; let us be indulgent.”

“Oh!  I was sure of your heart, ma mie.”

“You know me well, sire.”

“Yes.  Then you will go and see Fosseuse?”

“Yes, sire.”

“And separate her from the others?”

“Yes, sire.”

“And send her your doctor?”

“Yes, sire.”

“And if, unluckily, what you say were true, and she had been weak, for women are frail—­”

“Well, sire, I am a woman, and know the indulgence due to my sex.”

“All! you know all things, ma mie; you are in truth a model of perfection, and I kiss your hands.”

“But believe, sire, that it is for the love of you alone that I make this sacrifice.”

“Oh! yes, ma mie, I know you well, madame, and my brother of France also, he who speaks so well of you in this letter, and adds, ’Fiat sanum exemplum statim, atque res certior eveniet.’  Doubtless, ma mie, it is you who give this good example.”

And Henri kissed the cold hand of Marguerite.  Then, turning on the threshold of the door, he said: 

“Say everything kind from me to Fosseuse, and do for her as you have promised me.  I set off for the chase; perhaps I shall not see you till my return, perhaps never—­these wolves are wicked beasts.  Come, and let me embrace you, ma mie.”

Then he embraced Marguerite, almost affectionately, and went out, leaving her stupefied with all she had heard.

CHAPTER XLVIII.

The Spanish ambassador.

The king rejoined Chicot, who was still agitated with fears as to the explanation.