VII

A DRAMA IN A SURCOAT

The young reformer intended to study Catherine’s face, all the while affecting a natural embarrassment at finding himself in such a place; but his proceedings were much hastened by the eagerness with which the younger queen darted to the cartons to see her surcoat.

“Madame,” said Christophe, addressing Catherine.

He turned his back on the other queen and on Dayelle, instantly profiting by the attention the two women were eager to bestow upon the furs to play a bold stroke.

“What do you want of me?” said Catherine giving him a searching look.

Christophe had put the treaty proposed by the Prince de Conde, the plan of the Reformers, and the detail of their forces in his bosom between his shirt and his cloth jacket, folding them, however, within the bill which Catherine owed to the furrier.

“Madame,” he said, “my father is in horrible need of money, and if you will deign to cast your eyes over your bill,” here he unfolded the paper and put the treaty on the top of it, “you will see that your Majesty owes him six thousand crowns.  Have the goodness to take pity on us.  See, madame!” and he held the treaty out to her.  “Read it; the account dates from the time the late king came to the throne.”

Catherine was bewildered by the preamble of the treaty which met her eye, but she did not lose her head.  She folded the paper quickly, admiring the audacity and presence of mind of the youth, and feeling sure that after performing such a masterly stroke he would not fail to understand her.  She therefore tapped him on the head with the folded paper, saying:—­

“It is very clumsy of you, my little friend, to present your bill before the furs.  Learn to know women.  You must never ask us to pay until the moment when we are satisfied.”

“Is that traditional?” said the young queen, turning to her mother-in-law, who made no reply.

“Ah, mesdames, pray excuse my father,” said Christophe.  “If he had not had such need of money you would not have had your furs at all.  The country is in arms, and there are so many dangers to run in getting here that nothing but our great distress would have brought me.  No one but me was willing to risk them.”

“The lad is new to his business,” said Mary Stuart, smiling.

It may not be useless, for the understanding of this trifling, but very important scene, to remark that a surcoat was, as the name implies (sur cotte), a species of close-fitting spencer which women wore over their bodies and down to their thighs, defining the figure.  This garment protected the back, chest, and throat from cold.  These surcoats were lined with fur, a band of which, wide or narrow as the case might be, bordered the outer material.  Mary Stuart, as she tried the garment on, looked at herself in a large Venetian mirror to see the effect behind, thus leaving her mother-in-law an opportunity to examine the papers, the bulk of which might have excited the young queen’s suspicions had she noticed it.