But many had seen what had happened, and they marvelled at the courage of the Princess; and so the ceremony proceeded while the bridegroom turned his cynical smile upon his bride.

Now for the rejoicing, the feasting, the balls and the masques.

Coligny longed for the quiet of his home at Chatillon. How he wished that he might join his family, even while he knew he must stay in Paris! He reproached himself, reminding himself that he should be grateful that his influence with the King had been rekindled.

As soon as was possible he escaped from the tumult and the lavish shows to his apartment, there to write a letter to Jacqueline.

'Dearest and well-beloved Wife,' he wrote, 'today was completed the marriage of the King's sister with the King of Navarre. The next three days will be passed in pleasure, in banqueting, masques, ballets and tourneys; after which the King, so he assures me, will give up several days to the hearing of divers complaints which arise in many parts of his kingdom. I am therefore constrained to labour to the utmost of my power; and although I have the greatest wish to see you, I think we should both of us feel a strong remorse if I failed in my duty. But I shall get leave to go forth from the city next week. I would far rather be with you than sojourn at the court, but we mutt think of our people before our private happiness. I shall have other things to tell you when I see you, the which joy I desire night and day.

'And now dearest and well beloved, I pray God to have you in His keeping.

'Written at Paris this 18th day of August, 1572. Rest assured that amid all these feastings and gaiety, I shall not give offence to any-least of all to God.'

As he sat alone, he could hear the music from the palace, the laughter and the singing. From the streets he could hear the sounds of the roystering of the people, and the air seemed full of their shouting.

Catherine noticed the absence of Coligny. Our revels give such a pious man little delight, she thought. She knew that he was in his apartments writing-doubtless to his equally pious wife. That matter should be discovered later. It would be amusing to read the love letters of such a man. Well, let him write as long a letter as he pleased and as full of passion as he could manage. With luck it would be the last he would write.

She watched the ballet. Margot was dancing with the Duke of Guise, and Henry of Navarre with Charlotte de Sauves. Catherine could not help smiling cynically as she surveyed those four. Well, one thing was certain: neither bride nor bridegroom was in a position to blame the other for infidelity. The cynical pair! It was perfectly obvious that they were both considering the violation of their marriage vows on the very night of their wedding! It was a situation worthy of the pen of Boccaccio or of Margot's namesake, that other Queen of Navarre.

For a few days she could rest content. The marriage was effected. In the remote possibility of a Huguenot ascendancy over Catholics and a suppression of the House of Valois by that of Bourbon, she would have a daughter who was Queen of France. She had managed to get a foot in both camps-she would be the Queen Mother whether Catholic Valois or Huguenot Bourbon sat on the throne of France.

As for Philip, he must have Coligny. The Governor of Lyons had been instructed not only to let no mail into France, but to let no mail out. Philip and the Pope should not know that the wedding had taken place until she could also send the news of the Huguenot leader's death.

Imperceptibly, she lifted her eyebrows, for Coligny had entered the great hall.

Catherine made her way to him.

'Dear Admiral, how delighted I am to see you join our foolish revels. They are gay and a little silly, are they not? But I doubt not that you were amused by such things when you were the age of these young people-just as I was. It is pleasing to see our young pair so fond-so charming, is it not? And, Admiral'-she laid her delicate white hand on his arm-'Admiral, I know you pray with me that this marriage will bring to an end the strife in our land.'

'Amen, Madame,' said Coligny.

'I rejoice to see the influence you have with my son. His Majesty, I know, consults you in all things. Ah, my dear Admiral, you have a mother's gratitude. Promise me you will stay with us . . . stay long and use your benign influence to bring peace to our land.'

She looked up into the noble face, at the widely set eyes, the fine high brow, the firm lips and the clearly moulded features. It was, she thought lightly, his nobility of countenance which made the Admiral such a handsome man. I will send his head to Rome. It should arrive almost as soon as the news of the wedding.

They had been put to bed in royal state-the cynical groom and the indifferent bride. His Huguenot gentlemen had now retired; so had her Catholic ladies; and they were alone.

The candlelight flattered him, Margot thought; but she did not believe she could endure him near her. She did not wish those thick hands to touch her; the coarse hair reminded her of the soft natural curls of Henry of Guise by their very contrast. Why did he not use some perfume as he did not appear to be over-particular with his toilet?

He was watching her, determined to match her indifference with his own.

'Well, you see,' he said at length, 'the marriage did take place. I remember long ago, when we rode to Bayonne together, you pulled my hair and swore that you would die rather than marry me.'

'I am not sure,' she answered with a touch of melancholy, that I would not rather be dead than here at this moment.'

He laughed aloud. 'You . . . dead! And before the ceremonies are over!'

She laughed suddenly. 'Well, perhaps I should have said immediately after.'

Some understanding seemed to be established between them at that moment. She betrayed a humour which matched his, a humour so strong that she had been unable to suppress it and to play the role which she had planned for herself.

'I never saw one less melancholy than you in the dance this night.'

'I have learned to play many a part which has been forced upon me. Your pursuit of Madame de Sauves was disgraceful. It was noted, I assure you, by many. That is not a seemly manner in which to behave on your wedding night, Monsieur. At least not in Paris. Perhaps in your remote state of Bearn . . .'

'Which is now your state, Madame.'

'Perhaps in our remote state of Beam, courtesy, elegance and the manners of a courtier do not count; but here in Paris, I would have you treat me with respect. I have become your wife.'

'Most reluctantly,' he reminded her.

'And Queen of Navarre.'

'Less reluctantly,' he put in, and she permitted herself to smile.

'I would have you know that this marriage ceremony of ours was, as far as I am concerned, performed but to please the King and my mother, and it is my wish that it should be a marriage of state only . . . by which I mean . .

'Your meaning is perfectly clear to me,' he said, resting on his elbow to look at her.

'I trust that you will respect my wishes.'

'Have no fear on that score, Madame. May I wish you goodnight?'

'Goodnight,' she said.

She was angry with him. He might at least have shown some sign of regret, even if he had made no attempt at persuasion; he had no manners; he was an oaf, a provincial. It was an insult to have married her to such a man even though he was a King. She looked at the ornate curtains of the bed while she trembled with anger.

He said, after a pause: 'I perceive your inability to remain still, Madame. Should I attribute this to anger at my unworthiness to occupy this place in the bed, or may I put it down to your desire for me?'

'You may certainly not put it down to the latter,' she said sharply; but she was glad he had started to talk again.

'Do not be too harsh with me, I beg of you,' he pleaded. 'We of royal blood cannot choose our wives and husbands, and it is well to make the best of what are chosen for us.'

'Make the best! What do you mean?'

'To smile instead of fume. To enjoy friendship, since love is out of the question.'

'So you feel friendship for me?'

'If you will but extend the hand of friendship, I shall not refuse it.'

'That,' she agreed, 'would, I suppose, be better than being enemies. But is friendship possible between us? We are of different faiths.'

He lay back on his satin pillow and folded his arms behind his head. 'Faith?' he said with a laugh. 'What has faith to do with us?'

She sat up startled. 'I do not understand you, Monsieur. You are a Huguenot, are you not?'

'I am a Huguenot,' he said.

'Then you know what I mean by faith.'

'I am a Huguenot,' he continued, 'because I am my mother's son. My dear Marguerite, had you been her daughter, you would have been a Huguenot. Had I been your father's son I should have been a Catholic. It is as simple as that.'

'No,' she said, 'some change their faiths. Your mother did. Why, even Gaspard de Coligny was a Catholic once.'

'These fanatics may change their faiths; but, my dear wife, such as you and I were not meant to be fanatics. We are not unlike in our love of life. We mean to enjoy it, and faith can stand in the way of enjoyment. So our faith is a little thing. You are a Catholic; I am a Huguenot. What of it? You know what you want from life and you get it. I am the same. Our faiths are not our lives, Marguerite. They are things apart.'

'I have never in the whole of my life heard any talk thus!' she declared. 'Is this the Huguenot way?'

He laughed. 'You know better than that. Why, they are more fanatical than the Catholics, if that be possible. It is just my way . . . and perhaps yours.'

'But I had thought you . . . as the son of your mother . .

'I am many men, Marguerite. I am one man to the King, another to your mother, and yet another to Monsieur de Coligny; and ready to be yet another to you, my friendly wife. You see, when I was a baby I had eight different nurses and was reared on eight different kinds of milk. There are eight different men inside this body, which alas! does not find favour in your sight. I am sorry for your sake that I am not as tall and handsome as Monsieur de Guise.'

'And I am sorry I do not possess the blue eyes and golden hair of Madame de Sauves.'

'It is true yours are black,' he said with mock regret. 'Yet,' he added maliciously, 'they are not unattractive. But we stray from the point. We talk of lovers and I would speak of friends.'

'You are suggesting that as I cannot love you as a husband I might as a friend?'

'I am suggesting that it would be folly for us to work against each other. I am the King of Navarre; you are the Queen. We should be allies. You, as a good wife, should watch my interests; as a wise wife you should do this, because, my dear Margot, my interests happen to be yours from this day on.'

'Interests?'

'Oh, come! You know we live in a web of intrigue. Why, have your brothers and mother brought me here?'

'In order that you might marry me.'

'And why should they wish for this marriage?'

'Surely you know . . . to unite Huguenots and Catholics.' 'Is that the only reason?'

'I know of no other.'

'And if you did, would you tell me?'

'That would depend.'

'Yes. It would depend on whether it was to another's interest that I should be told. But your interest is my interest now, my Queen. If I lose my kingdom, you lose yours.'

'That is true.'

'Then you will help me to preserve that which you share with me?'

'Well,' she said, 'I think I might.'

'You will find me a lenient husband. It is necessary, of course, that we should stay together this night-the etiquette of your royal house demands it-or, in my leniency I should leave you. But it is only one night in our married life. You understand me?'

'You mean that I shall not interfere with you nor you with me. That seems sound enough.'

'Ha,' said the King of Navarre, 'if all people were as sensible there would be many more happy marriages in the land. I will make no attempt to stop your friendship with Monsieur de Guise, but you, while so fondly admiring his handsome person, his charming manners, and his elegance, will remember, will you not, that the gentleman, while the friend of the Princess Marguerite, might well be the enemy of the Queen of Navarre?'

She answered coldly: 'Madame de Sauves has beautiful eyes; she has charming golden hair; but you know, do you not, that she is my mother's chief and most trusted spy?'

He took her hand and pressed it. 'I see that we understand each other, my dear wife.'

The candles guttered as she murmured: 'That is a great consolation.'

He answered: 'There might be other consolations.'

She was silent and he leaned over her to kiss her.

'I would rather you did not,' she said.

'Believe me, it was merely a matter of etiquette.'

Margot laughed. 'Some of the candles have gone out,' she said. 'In the dimmer light you seem different.'

'And you, my love,' he told her.

They were silent for a while and he moved closer.

'On my part,' she told him, It would merely be because we are a King and Queen and etiquette makes its demands upon us.'

'And for mine,' he replied, 'it would be because I find it so ungallant to be in bed with a lady and resist . . . the demands of gallantry, you understand?'

She moved away, but he had caught her.

He whispered: 'The gallantry of Beam and the etiquette of France . . . together, my love, they are irresistible.'

IN THE LOUVRE THE BALLETS AND MASQUEScontinued. Outside the common people gathered in groups. They looked up at the lighted windows and said: 'What does it mean? Huguenots and Catholics dance together; they join hands; they sing; they watch the same tourneys, the same nymphs and shepherds. They are joined in amity . . . and yet, what does it mean?'

The days were hot; there was not a breath of wind. When it was dark the stars seemed big in the sky; and all through the night the sounds of revelry could be heard throughout the city. People danced in the streets and when they were exhausted lay on the cobbles, since Paris could not provide beds for so many visitors. It was all gaiety and celebration and yet there was hardly a person in the city who did not feel that there was something false, a little unreal, about these wedding festivities.

Least concerned of any was perhaps the bride. She danced wildly; she seemed more fascinating than ever, more alluring; the reluctant bride enjoying her role, too absorbed in her own affairs to think of anything that might be happening about her.

She was the most enchanting figure in that ballet which Henry of Guise with his two brothers and sisters had devised for the entertainment of the court., 'The Mystery of the Three Worlds' they called it, and it was a brilliant charade into which they had infused a certain mockery, a certain defiance of their enemies. Henry of Navarre and that other Henry, the Prince of Conde, had been dressed as knights and had been shown as entering Paradise, where they found among others such beauteous nymphs as Marguerite, the bride, and Charlotte de Sauves. They danced together rapturously to the applause of the onlookers; but it seemed that this was not the end of the ballet, for quite unexpectedly the King and his brother Anjou appeared, more richly dressed than Navarre and Conde, and there was a mock battle between the four knights which Navarre and Conde realized they must lose, for none-even in play-must overcome the King of France. And so Navarre and Conde were driven from the women; and there appeared numbers of courtiers dressed as devils who made sport with Navarre and Conde and drove them into the company of more courtiers in similar dress; curtains were parted to show a great fire, and it was understood immediately that the Huguenot Princes had been driven to Hell.

The Catholics cheered wildly as the King and Anjou danced with the ladies while the 'devils' pranced wildly about the bewildered Navarre and Conde, prodding them towards the fire.

The Huguenots watched in silence and with apprehension. Only the King of Navarre seemed to be enjoying himself, having a riotous time in Hell, trying to fight his way back to Paradise and almost succeeding in wresting Madame de Sauves from Anjou and carrying her to Hell with him.

Afterwards, dancing with Henry of Guise, Margot said to him: 'You spoil the fun with such masques as that.'

'Nay,' said Guise. 'All enjoyed it.'

'The Catholics jeered,' said Margot, 'but the Huguenots were uneasy: 'Then perhaps they will change their ways before they are driven to Hell in very truth.'