"Child, he died"--and the King lowered his voice--"of starvation, in the dread of being poisoned by the Dauphin, who had already caused the death of his fair Agnes. The father dreaded his son. Now, the son dreads his mother!" "Why look back on the past?" said she, remembering the terrible existence of Charles VI. "Why not, dear heart? Kings need not have recourse to diviners to read the fate that awaits them; they have only to study history. I am at this time engaged in trying to escape the fate of Charles the Simple, who was bereft of his crown, and died in prison after seven years' captivity." "Charles V. drove out the English!" she cried triumphantly. "Not he, but du Guesclin; for he, poisoned by Charles of Navarre, languished in sickness." "But Charles IV.?" said she. "He married three times and had no heir, in spite of the masculine beauty that distinguished the sons of Philip the Handsome. The first Valois dynasty ended in him. The second Valois will end in the same way. The Queen has only brought me a daughter, and I shall die without leaving any child to come, for a minority would be the greatest misfortune that could befall the kingdom. Besides, if I had a son, would he live?--Charles is a name of ill-omen, Charlemagne exhausted all the luck attending it. If I could be King of France again, I would not be called Charles X." "Who then aims at your crown?" "My brother d'Alençon is plotting against me. I see enemies on every side----" "Monsieur," said Marie, with an irresistible pout. "Tell me some merrier tales." "My dearest treasure," said the King vehemently, "never call me _Monsieur_, even in jest. You remind me of my mother, who incessantly offends me with that word. I feel as if she deprived me of my crown. She says 'My son' to the Duc d'Anjou, that is to say, the King of Poland." "Sire," said Marie, folding her hands as if in prayer, "there is a realm where you are adored, which your Majesty fills entirely with glory and strength; and there the word Monsieur means my gentle lord." She unclasped her hands, and with a pretty action pointed to her heart. The words were so sweetly musical--_musiquées_, to use an expression of the period, applied to love songs--that Charles took Marie by the waist, raised her with the strength for which he was noted, seated her on his knee, and gently rubbed his forehead against the curls his mistress had arranged with such care. Marie thought this a favorable moment; she ventured on a kiss or two, which Charles allowed rather than accepted; then, between two kisses, she said: "If my people told the truth, you were scouring Paris all night, as in the days when you played the scapegrace younger son?" "Yes," said the King, who sat lost in thought.