"Oh! we will make it a bargain. Well, then, let it be as you wish with monsieur there." And turning to me: "And harkee, Chevalier! Keep your sword in your scabbard, and put your Geneva books in the fire, now that you have a new start." "I thank you, sire!" said the Queen. "And your command----?" She stopped, awaiting the King's answer; but Henri hesitated, and at last, bending forward, whispered a few words in the Queen's ear. The effect was instant. She became white and red in turns, and began to nervously clasp and unclasp her hands. "Come!" said the King, with an affectation of gaiety; "it was a bargain, madame." There was a pause, and then, with a voice as hard as steel, Catherine de Medicis said to her favourite maid-of-honour: "Mademoiselle La Beauce--my jewel-casket--quick, please." La Beauce bowed, and slipped away, and we all looked on in wonder at the strange scene. Presently she returned with a small but heavy casket in her hands. Catherine opened it with a key she detached from a chain she wore at her neck, and as the lid fell back the glittering splendour of the Crown diamonds of France was disclosed to view. "They have been worn by a line of queens, sire," said Catherine as she placed the box in Henri's hands; "they ought well to become Madame Diane de Poitiers, and cure her megrims." With this she made a profound bow, and withdrew. When she had gone there was an absolute silence; and then the King laughed, an uneasy, foolish laugh. "And all this because I want to borrow a few stones for the masque!" he exclaimed as he thrust the box into the hands of one of his gentleman. "Take this, Carnavalet!" And swinging round on his heel he went as he had come, his suite clattering behind him. As he went we heard through the open doors the cries of "_Vive le Roi_!" from those in the gallery outside, and then all was still once more. The salon, but a short time before so bright and gay, emptied like magic. I stood where I was, leaning against a pillar, wondering at the scene through which I had passed, and hardly realising that I was alone. No, not alone, for mademoiselle stood before me, her hand outstretched. "Oh, monsieur, this is a horrible place! Why did I ever come?" I could say nothing, for she too had seen and heard all that had passed. "But it is not this I came to talk about. I waited so as to be able to congratulate M. Bertrand Broussel, the worthy citizen of Paris." And she laughed as she added: "I was sure of it from the first; I knew it could never be." "May I also say that I was sure that Cujus the furrier never had a niece?" She made a little impatient gesture with her hand. "I do not believe you will ever forget that, monsieur." "Never." "And you are not leaving Paris, then?" she asked after a moment's pause. "I cannot now," I answered. "Then," she laughed, "the furrier's niece and Monsieur Broussel will meet again. _Au revoir_, Chevalier!" And she was gone. CHAPTER XXI