Isolated thus in that hostile throng, Catherine and her sons became more and more uneasy, so that, as the Queen-Mother afterwards confessed, she was never in any place where her tarrying was attended by so much fear, or her departure thence by so much pleasure.
It was this fear that spurred her at last to put an end to that secret conference in the room beyond. She did it in characteristic manner. In the most complete outward composure, stifling a yawn as she went, she moved deliberately across to the door, her sons following, rapped shortly on the panel, and entered without waiting to be bidden.
The King, who was standing by the Admiral's side, wheeled sharply at the sound of the opening door. His eyes blazed with sudden anger when he beheld his mother, but she was the first to speak.
"My son," she said, "I am concerned for the poor Admiral. He will have the fever if you continue to permit him to weary himself with affairs at present. It is not to treat him as a friend to prolong this interview. Let business wait until he is recovered, which will be the sooner if he is given rest at present."Coligny stroked his white beard in silence, while the King flared out, striding towards her:
"Par la Mort Dieu! What is this sudden concern for the Admiral?""Not sudden, my son," she answered in her dull voice, her eyes intent upon him, with something magnetic in their sleepy glance that seemed to rob him of half his will. "None knows more accurately than I the Admiral's precise, value to France."Anjou behind her may have smiled at that equivocal phrase.
"God's Bowels! Am I King, or what am I?"
"It ill becomes a king to abuse the strength of a poor wounded subject," she returned, her eyes ever regarding him steadily.
"Come, Charles. Another day, when the Admiral shall have recovered more fully, you may continue this discourse. Come now."His anger was subdued to mere sullenness, almost infantile in its outward petulant expression. He attempted to meet her glance, and he was completely lost.
"Perhaps . . . Ah, Ventre Dieu, my mother is right! Let the matter rest, then, my father. We will talk of it again as soon as you are well."He stepped up to the couch, and held out his hand.
Coligny took it, and his eyes looked up wistfully into the weak young face of his King.
"I thank you, Sire, for coming and for hearing me. Another day, if I am spared, I may tell you more. Meanwhile, bear well in mind what I have said already. I have no interests in this world but your own, Sire." And he kissed the royal hand in farewell.
Not until they were back in the Louvre did the Queen attempt to break upon the King's gloomy abstraction, to learn - as learn she must - the subject of the Admiral's confidential communication.
Accompanied by Anjou, she sought him in his cabinet, nor would she be denied. He sat at his writing-table, his head sunken between his shoulders, his receding chin in his cupped palms. He glared at the pair as they entered, swore savagely, and demanded their business with him.
Catherine sat down with massive calm. Anjou remained standing beside and slightly behind her, leaning upon the back of her tall chair.
"My son," she said bluntly, "I have come to learn what passed between you and Coligny.""What passed? What concern is that of yours?""All your concerns are mine," she answered tranquilly. "I am your mother.""And I am your king!" he answered, banging the table. "And I mean to be king!""By the grace of God and the favour of Monsieur de Coligny," she sneered, with unruffled calm.
"What's that?" His mouth fell open, and his eyes stared. A crimson flush overspread his muddy complexion. "What's that?"Her dull glance met and held his own whilst calmly she repeated her sneering words.
"And that is why I have come to you," she added. "If you are unable to rule without guidance, I must at least do what I can so that the guidance shall not be that of a rebel, of one who guides you to the end that he may master you.""Master me!" he screamed. He rose in his indignation and faced her.
But his glance, unable to support her steady eyes, faltered and fell away. Foul oaths poured from his royal lips. "Master me!" he repeated.
"Aye - master you," she answered him. "Master you until the little remnant of your authority shall have been sapped; until you are no more than a puppet in the hands of the Huguenot party, a roi faineant, a king of straw.""By God, madame, were you not my mother - "
"It is because I am your mother that I seek to save you."He looked at her again, but again his glance faltered. He paced the length of the room and back, mouthing and muttering. Then he came to stand, leaning on the prie-dieu, facing her.
"By God's Death, madame, since you demand to know what the Admiral said, you shall. You prove to me that what he told me was no more than true. He told me that a king is only recognized in France as long as he is a power for good or ill over his subjects; that this power, together with the management of all State affairs, is slipping, by the crafty contrivances of yourself and Anjou there, out of my hands into your own; that this power and authority which you are both stealing from me may one day be used against me and my kingdom. And he bade me be on my guard against you both and take my measures. He gave me this counsel, madame, because he deemed it his duty as one of my most loyal and faithful servants at the point of death, and - ""The shameless hypocrite!" her dull, contemptuous voice interrupted him. "At the point of death! Two broken fingers and a flesh-wound in the arm and he represents himself as in articulo mortis that he may play upon you, and make you believe his lies."Her stolidity of manner and her logic, ponderous and irresistible, had their effect. His big, green eyes seemed to dilate, his mouth fell open.
"If - " he began, and checked, rapped out an oath, and checked again.
"Are they lies, madame?" he asked slowly.
She caught the straining note of hope in that question of his - a hope founded upon vanity, the vanity to be king in fact, as well as king in name. She rose.
