They are come!’ Madame de Curton rushed into Margot’s apartment all in a flurry to inform her mistress of this stupendous news. Pausing only long enough to catch her breath, she continued, ‘The bridegroom comes riding into Paris, attended by the Prince de Condé and eight hundred Huguenot gentlemen. They are all in deep mourning for his late mother, the Queen of Navarre.’ Margot stared at her beloved companion, transfixed with horror, scarcely registering the excited gasps from her ladies-in-waiting. ‘Then it is going to happen?’ ‘It would seem so. The Prince – or rather the King of Navarre – is even now being received with great honour by King Charles, and by the Queen your mother.’ Margot put her hands to her face and let out a low groan. ‘Oh, Lottie, do they not believe that I am a sincere Catholic? Are they so determined to punish me for my transgression in loving Guise that they would force me to spend the remainder of my life in the most remote corner of France they can find?
