And so it happened: in less than ten minutes, the boar coming to an open spot, placed his back against a rock, and prepared himself for a desperate struggle.

The most interesting moment of the chase was come: the dogs, though well-nigh- breathless with a chase of more than three hours, rushed upon the boar.

All the hunters ranged themselves in a circle—the king a little in advance, the duke d'Alençon behind him with his arquebuse, and Henry, who had only his hunting-knife.

The duke d'Alençon lighted the match of his arquebuse; Henry loosened his knife in its sheath.

The Duke de Guise, who despised all such sports, remained in the background with his party.

At some distance was a piqueur, who with difficulty held back the king's two huge boar-hounds, which, struggling and baying, awaited anxiously the moment when they should be let loose upon their prey.

The animal fought most gallantly; attacked at once by forty dogs surrounding him like a raging sea, he, at every stroke of his tusk, hurled into the air one of the gallant creatures, torn and dying. In ten minutes, twenty dogs were killed or disabled.

"Let loose the hounds," cried the king.

The piqueur opened the swivels of the leashes, and the two huge animals, protected by their coats of mail, dashed through the thickest of the fray, and seized the boar each by

an ear.

"Bravo, Risque-tout! bravo, Dure-Dent!" cried Charles. "A boar-spear! a boar-spear!"

"Will you have my arquebuse?" said d'Alençon.

"No, no!" cried the king, "there is no pleasure in shooting him; but 'tis delicious to feel the spear going in. A spear! a spear!"

One was presented to him.

"Take care, Charles," said Marguerite.

"To him! to him!"

"Do not miss him, sire. Pierce the heretic through and through!" cried the duchess de Nevers.

"Never fear!" replied the king; and levelling his spear, he rushed at the boar. But at the sight of the glittering steel, the animal made so sudden a movement, that the spear

glanced off his shoulder, and broke against the rock. "Milles noms d'un diable! I have missed!" cried Charles, impatiently. "Another spear!"

And backing his steed, like the knights of old in a tournament, he cast away the broken weapon.

A piqueur advanced, to offer him another.

But as if he foresaw his fate, and sought to avoid it, the boar, by a violent effort, burst from the dogs, and, his hair bristling, his mouth foaming with rage, and clashing his tusks together, he rushed at Charles.

The king was too good a sportsman not to have foreseen this attack. Pulling hard on the rein, he made his horse rear; but either from the curb being too tightly pressed, or from fear, the animal fell back upon his rider.

A cry burst from every one-the king's thigh was caught between the saddle and the ground.

"Let the bridle go, sire," cried Henry.

The king abandoned his hold of the rein, seized the saddle with his left hand, and with his right strove to draw his hunting-knife, but in vain; the sheath was so tightly pressed by his body, as to render that impossible.

"The boar! the boar!" cried Charles.

d'Alençon."

"Help, help,

The horse, as if he comprehended the danger of his master, rose on his fore-feet, when Henry saw D'Alençon turn ghastly pale as he placed his arquebuse to his shoulder and fired. The ball, instead of hitting the boar, struck the foreleg of the king's horse, which instantly fell again.

"Oh!" murmured d'Alençon, his lips blanched with fear, "I think that d'Anjou is king of France, and I king of

Poland!"

And, in fact, the boar's tusk already grazed Charles' thigh, when the king felt his arm raised, and saw a bright blade flash before his eyes, and bury itself up to the hilt behind the boar's shoulder, while a hand, gloved in iron, was dashed against the mouth of the monster.

Charles had by this time freed himself from his struggling horse, and rose with difficulty; when he saw his dress streaming with blood, he grew still paler than before.

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Sire," said Henry, who, still on one knee, kept his knife in the boar's breast, 66 you are not hurt; I turned the tusk

aside in time."

He then rose, leaving the knife in the boar, which turned over dead, bleeding still more profusely from the mouth even than from the wound.

Charles, surrounded by a crowd of courtiers, all sending forth cries of terror, seemed for a moment about to fall by the dead boar; but recovering himself, he turned to the king of Navarre, with his eyes beaming with the first ray of sensibility that had touched his heart for full four-and-twenty years. "Thanks! Harry," said he.

'My poor brother," said d'Alençon, coming up to him. "Ah, is that you, d'Alençon!" cried the king. "Well, famous marksman that you are, where is your ball ?"

"It must have flattened upon the boar, no doubt."

"Eh, mon Dieu," said Henry, with an air of surprise, admirably feigned, "your ball has broken the leg of the king's horse. How very singular!"

"Ah! is that so?" said the king.

"Perhaps," replied the duke, all consternation; "my hand trembled so."

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Humph! for a first-rate marksman you made a most curious shot, d'Alençon," said Charles, frowning; "once more, Harry, thanks!"

Marguerite advanced to congratulate the king, and thank her husband.

"Oh, by my faith, Margot, you may well thank him, heartily," said Charles; "but for him, the king of France would be Henry III."

“Alas, madame," returned Henry, "M. d'Anjou, who is already my enemy, will be more than ever so, now; but every one does what he can. Ask M. de Alençon else

And, stooping down, he withdrew his knife from the body of the boar, and plunged it several times into the earth to cleanse it from the blood.

"And now, ladies and gentlemen," said the king, "home." ward! I have had enough for one day."

CHAPTER XXXII.

FRATERNITY.

IN saving the life of Charles, Henry had done more than save the life of a man, he had prevented three kingdoms from changing sovereigns.

Had Charles IX. been killed, the duke d'Anjou would have been king of France, and the duke d'Alençon most probably king of Poland. As to Navarre, as the duke d'Anjou was enamoured of madame de Condé, that crown would in all probability have paid the husband for the complaisance of his wife.

In all this confusion, nothing beneficial would have arisen for Henry. He would have changed his master, that was all; and instead of Charles IX. who tolerated him, he would have seen the duke d'Anjou on the throne, who, having but one head and one heart with his mother Catherine, had sworn his death, and would have kept his oath.

These were the ideas that floated through his brain when the wild boar had rushed on king Charles, and we have seen the result of this reflection, rapid as lightning, that the life of Charles IX. was bound up with his own existence.

Charles IX. then, was saved by a devotion, whose spring and action he could not comprehend. Marguerite, however, had comprehended it fully, and had admired the strange courage of Henry, which like lightning shone only in the dark.

Henry, as he returned to Bondy, reflected deeply on his situation, and when he reached the Louvre, he had resolved on his plan of action. Without taking off his boots, but all dusty and covered with blood as he was, he went to the duke d'Alençon, whom he found greatly agitated, and pacing hastily up and down his chamber.

The prince started when he saw him.

"Yes," said Henry, to him, taking both his hands, "yes, I understand, my good brother, you are angry with me, because I was the first to call the king's attention to the fact of your ball having struck his horse's leg instead of the boar, as was your aim. But I could not repress an exclamation of surprise--and besides, the king had perceived it."

I

"Doubtless, doubtless!" muttered d'Alençon; " yet I cannot but attribute to a bad intention your pointing out this fact, which you must have seen has made my brother Charles suspicious of my purpose, and thrown a cloud between us."

"We will talk of this anon; and as to my good or bad intention, I have come now to make you a judge of that." "Humph," said d'Alençon.

"My brother, your interests are too dear to me to allow me to keep from you that the huguenots have made me certain proposals.

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Proposals? what sort of proposals ?"

"One of the leaders, M. de Mouy de Saint-Phale, and son of the brave de Mouy, assassinated by Maurevel, has been with me at the risk of his life, to prove to me that I was in captivity."

"Ah, indeed, and what reply did you make?"

"My brother, you know how tenderly I love Charles, who saved my life; and that the queen-mother has been a mother to me. I have therefore refused all the offers he made me." "And what were these offers."

"The huguenots wished to reconstitute the throne of Navarre; and as in reality this throne belonged to me by inheritance, they offered it to me."

"Yes, and M. de Mouy, instead of the adhesion he had entreated, received your refusal ?"

"Most decidedly; but since," continued Henry

"You have repented, my brother?" interrupted d'Alençon. "No; but I have found that M. de Mouy, enraged at my refusal, has cast his eyes in another direction."

"Whither?" asked François, quickly.

"I do not know; on the prince de Condé, perchance." "Very probably," was the reply.

"I have, however, a certain means of ascertaining the chief he has selected."

François became very pale.

"But," continued Henry, "the huguenots are divided amongst themselves; and de Mouy, brave and loyal as he is, represents but one half the party. Now, the other half, which is not to be despised, has not lost all hope of seeing on the throne that Henry of Navarre, who, after having hesitated in the first instance, may have reflected afterwards.”