One day he entered Gabrielle’s apartment, and dismissing his attendants sank into a chair without saying a word. He heaved a deep sigh. Gabrielle looked up at him, wondering at his silence--she perceived that he was weeping. Surprised at his emotion, she asked him, with an offended air, if the sight of her had caused those tears, for if such were the case she would go back to the Castle of Cœuvres, if it so pleased his Majesty. “_Mignonne_,” replied Henry very gravely, taking her hand and kissing it, “it is indeed you who are partly the cause of my grief, but not because you are here. Seeing you makes me envy the happiness of the poorest peasant in my dominions, living on bread and garlic, who has the woman he loves beside him, and is his own master. I am no king, I am nothing but a miserable slave, jostled between Calvinists and Catholics, who both distrust me.” “Come, come, Sire, dismiss these fancies, at least while you are with me,” answered she. “On the contrary, Gabrielle, it is the sight of you that recalls them. You have escaped from the control of a father to live with me, while my chains press about me tighter than ever. I cannot, I dare not break them,--and be wholly yours. You gain and I lose--that is all.” “Sire,” said she, sadly, “I am not sure of that. Women, I believe, are best in the chains you speak of. I shall see. If I have gained, you will keep your promise to me. I am not so certain of it; all I know is, whatever has been or is to be, that I love you,” and she turned her languishing blue eyes full upon him. “Gabrielle, I swear I will keep my promise. Does not every act of my life prove my devotion?” “Well then, Sire, succeed in putting down that odious League, march on to Paris, and I shall be happy. To see you crowned and anointed at Rheims I would give my life!” “Never fear, sweet; this will come about shortly. I am certain. There, are, however, more difficulties than you are aware of. If I become a Catholic, as all my nobles wish me to do--and beautiful France is well worth a mass--then the Calvinists will at once reorganise this cursed League; and, if I persist in my faith, which my poor mother reared me up to love sincerely--why then I shall be forsaken by all the Catholics; a fact they take care to remind me of every day of my life. _Vrai Dieu!_ I only wish I were once again Prince of Navarre, free and joyous, fighting and hunting, dancing and jousting, without an acre of land, as I was formerly.” “Sire, all will be well; be more sanguine, I entreat you. If my poor words have any power over you,” she added, encouragingly, “dismiss such gloomy thoughts. Believe me, the future has much in store for you and for me.” “Ah! dear Gabrielle, when I am far away over mountains and valleys, separated from those lovely eyes that now beam so brightly on me, I feel all the torments of jealousy. Away from you, happiness is impossible.”