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Go to this meeting, although it is only a hawking party: out a good coat of mail under your doublet, your best sword oy your side, and ride the fleetest horse in your stable.

"About noon, when the sport is at its height, and the king is galloping after his falcon, get away alone, if you come alone: with the queen, if her majesty follow you.

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Fifty of our party will be concealed in the pavilion of François the First, of which we have the key; no one will know that they are there, for they will come at night, and the shutters will be closed.

"You will pass by the Allée des Violettes, at the end of which I shall be on the watch; at the right of this allée will be messieurs de la Mole and Coconnas, with two horses, intended to replace yours if they should be fatigued.

"Adieu, sire! be ready, as we shall be."

"Now then, sire,” said Marguerite, "be a hero; it is not difficult. You have but to follow the route indicated, and create for me a glorious throne," said the daughter of Henry II.

An imperceptible smile rose to the thin lips of the Béarnais, as he kissed Marguerite's lips, and went out to explore the passage, whistling the burthen of an old song—

"Cil qui mieux battit la muraille

N'entra point dedans le chasteau."

The precaution was good, for as he opened his bedchamberdoor, the duke d'Alençon opened that of his antechamber. Henry motioned to Marguerite with his hand, and then said aloud

"Ah, is it you, brother?-welcome!"

The queen understood her husband's meaning, and went quickly into a dressing-closet, in front of the door of which was a thick tapestry.

D'Alençon entered with a timorous step, and looking around him.

"Are we alone, brother?" he asked, in an under tone.
"Quite. But what ails you?-you seem greatly disturbed.'
"We are discovered, Henry!"

"How discovered?"

"De Mouy has been arrested!"

"I know it."

"Well, de Mouy has told the king all!"

"All what?"

"He said I was ambitious of the throne of Navarre, and had conspired to obtain it."

"The dunderhead!" said Henry. "So that you are com promised, my dear brother! How is it, then, that you are not under arrest?"

"I cannot tell; the king jested with me, and offered me the throne of Navarre, but I said nothing."

"And you did well, ventre-saint-gris!" said the Béarnais. "Stand firm, for our lives depend on that."

"Yes," said François, "our position is difficult, and that is why I came to ask your advice, my brother. Ought I to flee or remain?"

"You have seen the king, and he has spoken to you?" "Yes."

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'Well, you must have ascertained his thoughts: act from your own inspiration."

"I would rather remain," said François.

Master of himself as he was, yet Henry allowed a movement of joy to escape him, and François observed it.

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Remain, then," said Henry.

"And you?"

Why, if you remain I have no motive for going; I should go if you went, but stay if you stay."

"So, then," said d'Alençon, "there is an end of all our plans, and you give way at the first repulse."

"Thanks to my contented disposition," replied Henry, "I am happy anywhere and everywhere."

"Well, then," observed d'Alençon, "there's no more tɔ be said: only if you change your mind, let me know."

"Corbleu! I shall be sure to do that," replied Henry. "Have we not agreed to have no secrets for one another?" D'Alençon said no more, and withdrew full of thought, for he believed he had seen the tapestry move at a certain moment ; and indeed scarcely was d'Alençon gone than Marguerite re-appeared.

"What do you think of this visit?" inquired Henry.

"That there is something new and important; what it is, I will learn."

"In the meanwhile--?"

"In the meanwhile, fail not to come to my apartments tonorrow evening."

"I will not fail, be assured, madame," was the reply of Henry, kissing his wife's hand very gallantly.

With the same precaution she had used in coming, Marguerite returned to her own apartments.

CHAPTER XLIX.

THE BOOK OF VENERIE.

FIVE days had elapsed since the events we have related. The Louvre clock had just struck four, when d'Alençon, who, with all the rest of the court had risen early to prepare for the hunt, entered his mother's apartment.

The queen was not in her chamber, but she had left orders that if her son came he was to wait.

At the end of a few minutes she came out of a cabinet where she carried on her chemical studies, and into which no one ever entered.

As she opened the door, a strong odour of some acrid perfume pervaded the room, and looking through the door of the cabinet he perceived a thick white vapour, like that of some aromatic substance, floating in the air.

"Yes," said Catherine, "I burnt some old parchments, and their smell was so offensive that I cast some juniper into the brasier."

D'Alençon bowed.

"Well," continued the queen, concealing beneath the sleeves of her robe-de-chambre her hand stained with large reddish spots" anything new?"

"Nothing."

"Have you seen Henry?"
"Yes."

'Will he go?"

"He refuses positively."

"The knave!"

"What say you, madame?"

"That he will go."

"You think so?"

"I am sure of it."
"Then he escapes us?"
"Yes," said Catherine.

“And you let him depart?”

"I not only suffer him, but, I tell you, it is necessary he should leave the court."

"I do not understand you."

"Listen: a skilful physician, the same who gave me the book of venerie you are about to present to the king of Navarre, has told me that he is on the point of being attacked with consumption-an incurable disease; so that if he be doomed to die, it were better that he should die away from us than at the court."

"That would be too painful for us."

"Especially for Charles; whereas, if he die, after having betrayed him, he will look upon his death as a punishment from Heaven.""

"You are right: it were better he should depart. But are you sure he will go?"

"All my measures are taken. The place of rendezvous is in the forest of St.-Germain's; fifty huguenots are to escort him to Fontainebleau, where five hundred others await him." "And does Margot accompany him?" asked d'Alençon. "Yes, but upon Henry's death she returns to court." "Are you sure that Henry will die?"

"The physician who gave me this book assured me of it." "And where is this book?"

Catherine entered her cabinet, and returned instantly with the book in her hand.

"Here it is," said she.

Alençon looked at it, not without a certain feeling of terror. "What is this book?" asked he, shuddering.

"I have already told you. It is a treatise on the art of rearing and training falcons, goshawks, and ger-falcons, written for the Italian prince, Castruccio Castracani, of Lucca." "What am I to do with it?"

"Give it to Henry, who has asked you for a book of the kind. As he is going to hawk this morning with the king he will not fail to read it; but be sure to give it to him."

"Oh, I dare not!" said d'Alençon, shuddering.

"Why not?" replied the queen; "it is a book like any other, except it has lain by so long that the leaves stick together. Do not attempt to read it, for it can only be read by wetting the finger, and turning over each leaf, which occasions a great loss of time."

"So that it will only be read by a man who is anxious to learn the art of hawking?"

Exactly so, my son-you understand?"

"Oh," said d'Alençon, "I hear Henry in the court; give it to me, and I will avail myself of his absence to place it in his room."

"I had rather you gave it to him; it is more certain." "I have already told you, I dare not."

"At least place it where it can be easily seen."

"I will place it where he must see it. Will it be better to open it?"

"Yes, open it."

“Give it me, then."

D'Alençon took with a trembling hand the book Catherine held out to him.

"Take it," said she. "There is no danger; besides, you have your gloves on."

D'Alençon wrapped the book in his mantle, as if still fearful.

"Make haste," continued the queen; "I expect Henry will enter every moment."

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Madame, I go."

And the duke left the apartment, trembling with emotion. We have often introduced our readers into the apartments of the king of Navarre, and have made them witnesses of the events that have passed there, but never did the walls of the room see a face so pale as the duke d'Alençon's, when he entered the apartment, the book in his hand.

On the wall hung Henry's sword. Some links of mail were scattered on the floor, a well-filled purse and a poniard lay on the table, and the light ashes in the grate showed d'Alençon that Henry had put on a shirt of mail, collected what money he could, and burnt all papers that might compromise him.

"My mother was right," thought d'Alençon. "He would betray me."

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