Catherine did not allow her expression to change in the smallest degree.
‘Well, Monsieur le Cardinal, that seems a very satisfactory match. The House of Clèves, I think, is worthy – or as worthy as any could be – of the House of Guise and Lorraine. I am sure my son, the King, will have nothing to say against such a match.’
‘Then I have your consent? He may make his arrangements with the lady?’
‘With all speed, Monsieur le Cardinal. With all speed.’
The Cardinal bowed low.
Catherine went on: ‘Let the wedding take place at once. I wish to honour our visiting royalty with as many ceremonies as we can give him. I think that the marriage of the Duke of Guise and the Princess of Clèves should provide us with an excellent occasion for making merry.’
‘So be it,’ said the Cardinal.
And Catherine dismissed him.
She was pleased. Ruggieri and René were slothful when it came to employing their arts against the great. They could never get rid of the thoughts of torture-chambers; and such thoughts were not conducive to the best work.
And once Henry of Guise was the husband of Catherine of Clèves, this little trouble would be over; and she was the first to admit that one should always take the easiest way out of a difficulty.
The marriage should take place in a few days’ time, and all she had to concern herself with now was to make sure that there was no meeting between Margot and Henry of Guise until after the marriage ceremony. That was not difficult. Margot was too sick and wounded to leave her bed just yet. Catherine must warn the girl’s attendants – in her own special way of warning – that anyone who whispered to Margot that her lover was about to be married would wish they had not been so rash – if they lived long enough to make such a wish!
A very satisfactory conclusion to a difficult affair!
Catherine came into her daughter’s apartment and signified that she wished to be left alone with her.
‘Margot,’ she said, ‘you will make your reappearance today, and you are looking as well as ever after your indisposition; but I am afraid that I have news which will be a shock to you, and I feel that it would be better if you learned it through me than in any other way.’
Margot lifted her great dark eyes to her mother’s face and waited in apprehension.
‘Monsieur de Guise was married a few days ago.’
Margot stared. ‘But … that is not possible.’
‘Quite possible, my daughter.’
‘But … who?’
‘To your friend … Catherine … the Princess of Clèves.’
Margot was stunned. It could not be. After everything that had happened between them, after all their protestations! She had trusted Henry completely, and he had said that he would never marry anyone but her.
‘My child, this is a shock to you. I know your feelings for this young man – indeed, they were most unmaidenly, and they carried you far, I fear, along the road of impropriety. Well, Henry of Guise knows when he must obey the wishes of his family – as you know that you must obey yours – and so he married the lady. By his attentions to her, I should say that he is not displeased. She is a good-looking young woman and as madly in love with him as … others have been.’
Margot lay still.
‘Now, my daughter,’ said Catherine, ‘you must not show your feelings or you will have the whole court laughing at you. You have been fooled as far as Monsieur de Guise is concerned. You gave yourself too easily. Now you must show your pride. When you appear to-night, remember that you are a Princess of France. There must be no more retirement, for I have let it be known that you are recovered. See how brave you can be. Show the court that you can snap your fingers at a faithless lover.’
When her mother had gone, Margot called her women to her. Was it true, she demanded, that Monsieur de Guise was married? Then why had she not been told?
They hung their heads. They dared not say. Margot stormed at them; she raged; but she did not weep.
She insisted that they dress her with the utmost care; she had grown thin in the last week or so, but she was none the less beautiful for that. Bitterness, anger, bewilderment had given a new wildness to her beauty.
She was gay to-night, and her mother watched her with approval.
Catherine knew – and Margot knew – that everywhere sly eyes were on her. In the banqueting hall, in the salle du bal, all were hoping for some excitement from the inevitable encounter between the Princess and the Duke.
Margot received his wife calmly; she complimented her on her looks and congratulated her on her marriage. Catherine of Clèves was a little frightened of those wild, glittering black eyes, but at the same time she was so happy to have married the man she had loved for so long that she could not care even if the Princess Margot hated her.
Margot coquetted gaily – first with one noble gentleman and then with another. Those wild, provocative glances, which until now had all been for Henry of Guise, were evenly distributed among the handsomest and most eligible of the noblemen.
They were enchanted by Margot, for Margot was completely sensuous; that overwhelming sex consciousness, that adoration of physical love, that promise of what she and she alone could give were irresistible.
Margot knew that Henry of Guise was watching her; and she was glad of that, since the whole performance was for him. She was desperately trying to put hate where love had been, loathing in the place of longing.
In the dance he came near enough to speak to her.
‘Margot, I must talk to you.’
She turned her head.
‘If you only knew, my love, my darling! If only you would listen to what I have to tell you.’
She shrugged her shoulders. ‘I have no wish to speak to you.’
‘Margot, darling, give me five minutes alone with you.’
‘I have no wish to speak to you.’
‘I will wait in the first of the green alleys. Our old meeting-place … do you remember?’
‘You may wait, for all I care.’
But her voice had broken and he could hear the sob in her throat.
‘In half an hour,’ he begged.
She could not trust herself to speak, so she turned her head away and shrugged her shoulders.
‘I will wait,’ he said, ‘all night if necessary.’
‘Wait all through to-morrow – if you care for such things.’
‘Margot,’ he implored; and the sound of her name on his lips was more than she could bear. She moved away from him.
She thought of his waiting. Was he waiting? He had said he would wait. But could she trust him to keep his word? He had said he would marry her, that nothing should stand in the way of their love; and, only a few days after that wonderful night they had spent together, he had married the Princess of Clèves.
She must go to see if he waited. I hate him now, she told herself, and it will be just to see if he really is waiting.
She saw him at once – the tall, familiar figure, the handsomest man at the court of France. He came forward with a lover’s eagerness. ‘Margot, my love, you came. I knew you would.’
She would not give him her hands; she was afraid to let him touch her. She knew her own weakness; and her desire, she knew, would be stronger than her pride.
‘Well, traitor,’ she said, ‘what do you want?’
‘To put my arms about you.’
‘Shame! And you a husband … of a week, is it?’
‘Margot, it had to be.’
‘I know. You had sworn to marry me, but it had to be Catherine of Clèves. I wish you joy of her – that silly, simpering creature! You could have done better than that, Henry.’
He had her by the shoulders, but she wrenched herself free at once.