"Ah! here is my father, the admiral!" cried Charles, opening his arms. "We were speaking of battles, of gentlemen, of brave men—and he comes. It is like the loadstone, that attracts the iron. My brother-in-law of Navarre and my cousin of Guise were speaking of reinforcements they expect for your army. That was the subject of our conversation." "And these reinforcements are come," said the admiral. "Have you any intelligence of them, monsieur?" asked the Béarnais." "Yes, my son, and particularly of M. de la Mole; he was at Orleans yesterday, and will be in Paris to-morrow, or the day after." "The devil! You must be a sorcerer, M. l'amiral," said the duke de Guise, "to know what is passing at thirty or forty leagues' distance. For my part, I should like to know for a certainty what will happen, or what has happened, at Orleans." Coligny remained unmoved by this speech, which evidently alluded to the death of François de Guise, the duke's father, killed before Orleans, by Poltrot de Méré, and not without a suspicion of the admiral's having been concerned in the murder. "Sir," replied he, coldly, and with dignity, "I am a sorcerer whenever I wish to know anything that concerns my own affairs or those of the king. My courier arrived an hour ago from Orleans, having travelled, thanks to the post, thirty-two leagues in a day. As M. de la Mole only has his own horse, he rides but ten leagues a-day, and can only arrive in Paris on the 24th. Here is all my magic." "Bravo, my father!" cried Charles IX.; "teach these young men what the wisdom is, accompanied by age, which has whitened your hair and beard; so now we will send them to talk of love and tournaments, and we will ourselves discourse of our wars. Good councillors make good kings. Leave us, gentlemen; we would be alone." The two young men left the apartment; the king of Navarre first, then the duke de Guise; but outside the door they separated, after a formal salute. Coligny followed them with his eyes, not without disquietude; for he never saw these two men, who cherished so deadly a hate against each other, meet, without a dread that some spark would kindle a conflagration. Charles saw what was passing in his mind, and, laying his hand on his arm "Fear nothing, my father; I am here to preserve peace and obedience. I am really a king, now that my mother is no longer queen; and she is no longer queen, since Coligny became my father." 66 Oh, sire!" said the admiral, "the queen Catherine" "Is a quarrel-monger. Peace is impossible with her. These Italian catholics are furious, and will hear of nothing but extermination; now, for my part, I not only wish to pacify, but I wish to protect those of the reformed religion. The others are too dissolute, and scandalize me with their amours and their quarrels. Shall I speak frankly to you?" continued Charles, redoubling in energy. "I mistrust every one about me, except my new friends. I suspect the ambition of Tavannes; Vieilleville only cares for good wine, and would betray his king for a cask of Malvoisie; Montmorency only thinks of the chase, and lives amongst his dogs and falcons; the count de Retz is a Spaniard; the Guises are Lorraines. I think there are no true Frenchmen in France, except myself, my brother-in-law of Navarre, and yourself; but I am chained to the throne, and cannot command the army: it is as much as I can do to hunt at St. Germains or Rambouillet. My brother-in-law of Navarre is too young and too inexperienced; besides, he seems to me exactly like his father Antoine, ruined by women. There is but you, my father, who can be called, at the same time, brave as Cæsar and wise as Plato; so that I scarcely know what to do-keep you near me, as my adviser, or send you to the army, as its general. If you counsel me, who will command? If you command, who will counsel me?" "Sire," said Coligny, 66 we must conquer first, and then take counsel after the victory." "That is your advice-so be it: Monday you shall leave for Flanders, and I for Amboise." "Your majesty leaves Paris, then?" "Yes; I am weary of this confusion, and of these fêtes. I am not a man of action; I am a dreamer. be a king: I was horn to be a poet. I was not born to You shall form a council-as long as my mother has no influence there, all will go well. I have already sent word to Ronsard to meet me, and at this moment I must go and reply to a sonnet my dear and illustrious poet has sent me. I cannot, therefore, now give you the documents necessary to make you acquainted with the question now debating between Philip II. and myself. There is, besides, a plan of the campaign drawn up by my ministers. I will find it all for you, and give it to you to-morrow." "At what o'clock, sire?" "At ten o'clock; and if by chance I am busy making verses, or in my cabinet, writing, well-you will find all the papers in this red morocco portfolio. The colour is remarkable and you cannot mistake it. I am now going to write to Ronsard." “Adieu, sire!" "Adieu, my father!" "Your hand" "What, my hand? In my arms, in my heart, there is your place! Come, my old soldier, come!" And Charles, drawing Coligny towards him as he inclined himself before him, pressed his lips to his forehead. The admiral wiped a tear from his eyes, as he left the room. Charles followed him with his eyes as long as he could see, and listened as long as he could catch a sound; and when he could no longer hear or see anything, he turned and entered his small armory. This armory was the favourite apartment of the king. It was there he took his fencing lessons with Pompée, and his lessons of poetry with Ronsard. He had assembled there all the most costly arms he had been able to collect. The walls were hung with axes, shields, spears, halberds, pistols, and muskets, and that day a famous armorer had brought him a magnificent arquebuse, on the barrel of which were encrusted, in silver, these four verses, composed by the royal poet himself: "Pour maintenir la foy, Charles entered, as we have said, this room, and after having shut the door by which he had entered, he raised the tapestry that masked a passage leading into a little chamber where a female, kneeling, was saying her prayers. As this movement was executed noiselessly, and the footsteps of the king were deadened by the thick carpet, the female heard no sound, and continued to pray. Charles stood for a moment pensively looking at her. She was a woman of thirty-four or thirty-five years of age, whose masculine beauty was set off by the costume of the peasants of Caux. She wore the high cap, so much the fashion at the court of France during the time of Isabel of Bavaria, and her bodice was red and embroidered with gold, like those of the contadine of Nettuno and Sora. The apartment which she had for nearly twenty years occupied, was close to the bedchamber of the king, and presented a singular mixture of elegance and rusticity. The palace had encroached upon the cottage, and the cottage upon the palace, so that the chamber was between the simplicity of the peasant and the luxury of the court lady. The prie-dieu on which she knelt was of oak, beautifully carved, covered with velvet, and embroidered with gold, whilst the Bible (for she was of the reformed religion), from which she was reading, was very old and torn, like those found in the poorest cottages. "Eh, Madelon!" said the king. The kneeling female lifted her head smilingly at the wellknown voice, and rising from her knees,— "Ah! it is you, my son," said she. "Yes, nurse; come here." Charles IX. let fall the curtain, and sat down on the arm of a large chair. The nurse appeared. "What do you want with me, Charles?" "Is the person I sent for there?" "He has been there half-an-hour." Charles rose from his seat, approached the window, looked to assure himself there were no eavesdroppers, went towards the door, and looked out there also, shook the dust from his trophies of arms, patted a large greyhound, which followed him wherever he went, stopping when he stopped, and moving when he moved then returning to his nurse. "Let him come in, nurse," said he. The nurse disappeared by the same passage by which she had entered, whilst the king went and leaned against a table on which were scattered arms of every kind. Scarcely had he done so when the tapestry was again lifted, and the whom he expected entered. person He was a man of about forty, his large grey eyes full of treachery and falsehood, his nose curved like the beak of a screech-owl, his cheek bones prominent. His face in vain sought to assume an expression of respect, but nought but fear appeared on his blanched lips. Charles gently put his hand behind him, and grasped the butt of a pistol, of a new construction, that was discharged, not by a match, as formerly, but by a flint brought in contact with a wheel of steel. He fixed his eyes steadily on the new comer, whilst he whistled with the most perfect precision one of his favourite hunting airs. After a pause of some minutes, during which the expression of the stranger's visage grew more and more discomposed"You are the person," said the king, "called François de Louviers Maurevel? "Yes, sire." "Captain of musqueteers?" "Yes, sire." "I wished to see you." Maurevel inclined himself profoundly. "You know," continued Charles, laying a stress or each word, "that I love all my subjects equally?" "I know," stammered Maurevel, "that your majesty is the father of your people." "And that the huguenots and catholics are equally my children?" Maurevel remained silent, but his agitation was manifest to the piercing eyes of the king, although he was almost concealed in the obscurity. "This displeases you," said the king, an enemy to the huguenots." Maurevel fell on his knees. 66 Sire," stammered he, "believe that "who are so great |