Except for the lace ruff at her neck, she was all in black, and at the golden girdle round her waist hung a small poniard, the handle inlaid with gems, a string of _têtes-de-mort_, and an ebony crucifix. She came toward us with a firm but slow step, bending slightly to our bow, and appearing not to recognize either Marcilly or myself, looked at our companions, as she said in a quiet, even voice: “Messieurs! The hour is late. It must be a matter of urgency that brings you here.” “It is, madame,” replied Sancerre; “we bring you news, and in connection with that news monsieur, the Captain of Orleans, and I require the orders of the King.” “Indeed! And the news?” As she spoke she took the violets from the holder Marcilly had laid down, and held them idly in her slender, delicate hand. “The Admiral has written to the Constable urging him to move at once on Orleans, and Montmorenci is in strong force now at Yvoy le Marron.” They looked at each other steadily as Sancerre spoke, each with the same thought in their hearts, each trying to conceal that thought from the other. How much Sancerre knew I am not sure; it was only in after years I discovered that it was Catherine herself who had prompted the sending of the Admiral’s letter. In her desperate attempt to free herself from the Guise, she was willing to take any step, however humiliating, though it must have been gall and wormwood to have been compelled to seek aid from Anne de Montmorenci. Perhaps it was to hide some expression of this on her features that she suddenly turned, and with a quick movement of her hand cast the violets into the fire; then she faced Sancerre again, saying: “I know all this and more. I know, too, that the Princess of Condé is close to Orleans, on her way here--here!” she repeated, with a slight laugh. “Ah! This was the news Richelieu brought!” It was Cipierre who spoke, and Catherine laughed again. “Perhaps! But I know even more. Monsieur of Arles writes to say that certain men of his guard have been attacked and slain by the following of the Princess, and”--here she glanced at us--“I know, moreover, that swords have been drawn on my captain of Chenonceaux in broad day, by those who call themselves faithful servants of the King.” “Madame,” answered Sancerre, “if those swords had not been drawn, the Admiral’s letter would never have reached.” She began to play with the poniard at her girdle, and to bite her under lip. Cipierre stood grim and silent, and Sancerre watched her with an odd smile on his face, half-amused, half-sarcastic, as he waited for his reply; but, none coming, he continued: “Would your Majesty prefer our taking our orders on these matters from the Duke of Guise, or the Cardinal of Lorraine?” “_Mille démons!_” muttered Cipierre, and the Queen said, in an icy voice: “As the matter is urgent I will deal with it now. The Princess must not come to Orleans, you understand, and the Constable should be warned that he comes at his peril.”