Navarre parry her mother's inquisitorial inquiries, that although replying with apparent openness and candour to each, she contrived to throw a still greater mystery over the affair than it was before involved in.

The Florentine had thus no guide through the labyrinth of her thoughts but the spirit of intrigue she had brought with her from Tuscany; and the first conclusion she came to was, that as the hated Béarnais derived the principal part of his strength from his alliance with the duke d'Alençon, it would be expedient to separate them as speedily as possible.

From the instant in which she formed this resolution, Catherine continued to beset her son with a patience and ability worthy of the most indefatigable angler, who, having dropped his bait near the prey he desires to secure, insensibly draws it ashore, till his victim is unconsciously lured into his power.

Duke François was conscious of the increased affection shown him by his mother, whose advances he received with every manifestation of pleasure. As for Henry, he affected to know nothing of what was going on, but he kept a more watchful eye on his ally than he had hitherto done.

Everybody seemed to await some great event by which to shape their course. During this state of things it was, that one fine summer day, when the sun had risen with even more than wonted splendour, and the rich balmy air was filled with the odour of a thousand flowers, a pale and sickly-looking man came forth from a small house situated behind the Arsenal, and feebly dragged his way, supporting himself by a staff, towards the Rue de Petit-Musc.

Having reached the Porte St.-Antoine, he diverged from the Boulevard and entered the Archery Garden; the man who kept the gate receiving him with every demonstration of respect.

No person was in the garden, which (as its name expressed, belonged to a society called the Toxopholites), but had there been ever so many spectators, the pale stranger would have well merited their commiseration and sympathy; for his long moustache and military air and step, though some what weakened by sickness and suffering, sufficiently indicated that he was some officer recently wounded, and now seeking to regain his strength by essaying to take exercise in

the open air. Yet strange to say, when the cloak with which (spite of the increasing warmth) the apparently harmless visitant was clad flew open, it displayed a pair of long pistols hanging to the silver clasps of his belt, which also sustained a dagger and a sword of colossal size, the latter of which hung heavily at his side, and, with its ponderous sheath, clattered against his shrunken and trembling legs.

Arrived in the garden, the individual selected for his resting place a sort of small covered arbour looking on to the Boulevards, from which it was only separated by a thick hedge and by a small ditch, which formed as it were a second enclosure. Extending his weary limbs on a turfy bank, within reach of a table, he beckoned the porter, who, in addition to the duties of concierge, exercised also the vocation of a vintner, and saying a few words, was quickly supplied with what appeared to be a species of cordial.

The invalid had been about ten minutes in his shady retreat, slowly discussing the draught brought to him by the concierge, when suddenly his countenance, spite of its interesting pallor, assumed a fearful expression. He had just detected the approach of a cavalier, who, turning quickly round the corner of a street, advanced, wrapped in a large cloak, and stopped just before his eyes. Scarcely had the pale stranger in the arbour (who was no other than Maurevel) a little recovered from the agitation occasioned by the unexpected presence of the cavalier, than he observed that the latter was joined by a second person dressed in the garb of a page.

Concealed beneath his leafy bower, Maurevel could see and hear all that passed in a conversation, the importance of which may be imagined, when it is known that the cavalier in the cloak was de Mouy, and the young man Orthon the page.

Both looked carefully around them, while Maurevel held his breath, lest a sound should escape him.

"You may speak now in safety," said the younger and more confident of the two-"we are quite secure here; none can either see or hear us."

""Tis well!" answered de Mouy. "Now attend! you are to go to madame de Sauve's, and should she be at home, give this into her own hands; but if she be not in her apartments,

then place the letter where the king is accustomed to deposit his-behind the mirror. Wait at the Louvre; and if any reply is sent, bring it, you know where. Should you not be charged with an answer, then meet me to-night, with a petronel, at the spot I pointed out to you, and which I have just left."

"Enough!" said Orthon-"I understand."

"I must now leave you," continued de Mouy: "I have much to do during the day. It will be useless for you to go to the Louvre till he is there; and I have every reason to believe he will be engaged all day studying hawking; so be gone, my boy, and execute your bidding: fear not to show yourself at the Louvre; you can say that, being now quite recovered, you come to thank madame de Sauve for the kind care she took of you during your illness."

Maurevel, with fixed gaze, continued to listen till the perspiration gathered in large drops on his forehead. His first impulse had been to detach one of the pistols from his belt, and take deadly aim at de Mouy, but at that instant the sudden opening of the latter's cloak displayed a cuirass firm and solid enough to resist all such futile attempts.

Then, again, he reflected, that merely separated by so slight a barrier, one spring would bring de Mouy on him; and what chance could a poor wounded, enfeebled being like himself, have with so powerful an assailant?-with a sigh, therefore, he drew back the weapon, mentally exclaiming

"How unfortunate that I cannot stretch him dead on the spot, without any other witness than that young varlet, who would have served as a capital mark for my second pistol!"

Then, on the other hand, it occurred to him that the billet sent by the page to madame de Sauve might probably be better worth taking than the life of the huguenot chief.

"Well," said he, "be it so, then: you escape me this morning, but to-morrow I will settle all scores with you, if I pursue you to that hell from which you have sprung to ruin me, unless I first destroy you!"

At this instant, de Mouy, folding his cloak around him, and concealing his features in its large folds, departed in the direction of the Temple, while Orthon took the road that conducted to the banks of the river.

Then Maurevel, rising with more of energy and vigour

than he had ventured to reckon on, regained the Rue de la Cerisaie, caused a horse to be saddled, and, weak as he was, and at the risk of again opening his newly-closed wounds, he set off at full gallop towards the Rue Saint-Antoine, reached the quays, and darted into the Louvre.

Five minutes after he had passed the wicket, Catherine was in full possession of all that had transpired, and Maurevel had received the thousand golden crowns promised him for the arrest of the king of Navarre.

"Yes-yes!" exclaimed Catherine, exultingly, "either I am much deceived, or de Mouy will turn out the black spot discovered by René in the horoscope of this detested Béarnais.”

A quarter of an hour after de Maurevel, Orthon reached the Louvre, and having fearlessly shown himself, as directed by de Mouy, proceeded, unmolested, to the apartments of madame de Sauve, where he found only Dariole, who informed him that her lady was occupied, by the queen's orders, in transcribing letters for her majesty, who had summoned her for that purpose within the last five minutes.

"It does not signify," replied Orthon; "I can wait:" then profiting by the freedom he had always been permitted to observe, he went into the adjoining chamber, which was the sleeping-room of the baroness, and after assuring himself that he was unobserved, carefully deposited the billet behind the looking-glass. Just as he was withdrawing his hand from the mirror, Catherine entered the room. Orthon changed colour, for he fancied the quick, searching glance of the queen-mother was first directed to the glass.

"What are you doing here, my little fellow?" asked Catherine-seeking for madame de Sauve, I suppose?"

"Yes, indeed, your majesty; it is a long time since I saw her, and if I delay returning her my grateful thanks, I fear she will think me ungrateful."

"You love madame de Sauve, then, very much, do you not?"

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Oh, that I do, with all my heart! I can never forget the kindness madame de Sauve condescended to bestow on a humble servitor like myself."

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"And upon what occasion was it that she showed you this care and attention?" inquired Catherine, feigning to be ignorant of what had befallen the youth.

"When I was wounded, madame, the night that they tried to arrest the king of Navarre. I was so terrified at the sight of the soldiers, that I called out for help, upon which one of them gave me a blow on the head, and I fell senseless to the ground."

"Poor child! and you are now quite recovered?"

"Oh, quite, madame!"

"And that being the case," continued Catherine, "I suppose you are trying to get back into the service of the king of Navarre?"

"No, indeed, madame; when the king of Navarre learned that I had presumed to resist your majesty's orders, he dismissed me in heavy displeasure.”

"Really!" said Catherine, with a tone expressive of the deepest interest. "Well, I will take the arrangement of that affair into my own hands; but if you are looking for madame de Sauye, you will do so in vain; she is at this moment busily occupied in my apartments, and likely to be detained much longer over her employment."

Then, thinking that Orthon might not have had time to place his billet behind the glass previous to her entrance, returned to the adjoining chamber, in order to afford the requisite opportunity for his so doing.

But just as Orthon, uneasy at the unexpected arrival of the queen-mother, was asking himself whether the circumstance did not in some way forebode evil to his master, he heard three gentle taps against the ceiling, the very signal he was in the habit of using to warn his master of the approach of danger during his visits to madame de Sauve. He started at the sound: a sudden light seemed to break in upon his mind, and he appropriated the warning to himself—danger was near, doubtless; and hastily springing towards the mirror, he withdrew the paper he had previously placed there.

Through a rent in the tapestried hangings, Catherine watched every movement of the youth's; she saw him dart forwards to the mirror, but whether to take away or to conceal the coveted paper, she could not detect. Returning to the apartment, with a smiling countenance, she said

What, here still, my little man? What can you be