"What does your majesty do when, in the chase, the wounded boar turns on you?"

"Mordieu, sir, I await him, with firm foot and hand," replied Charles, "and stab him in the throat with my good sword."

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Simply, that he may not hurt you," remarked Catherine. "And to amuse myself," said the king, with a smile which indicated courage pushed even to ferocity; "but I will not amuse myself with killing my subjects; for, after all, the huguenots are my subjects as well as the catholics."

"Then, sire," said Catherine, "your subjects, the huguenots, will do like the wild boar who escapes the sword-thrust at his throat: they will bring down the throne."

"Bah! Do you really think so, madame?" said Charles IX., with an air which denoted that he did not place great faith in his mother's predictions.

"But have you not seen M. de Mouy and his party today?"

"Yes, I have seen them, and indeed just left them. But what does he ask for that is not just? He has requested the death of the murderer of his father and the assassin of the admiral. Did we not punish M. de Montgommery for the death of my father and your husband, although that death was a simple accident?"

more.

""Tis well, sir," said Catherine, piqued; "let us say no Your majesty is under the protection of that God who gives strength, wisdom, and confidence. But I, a poor woman, whom God abandons, no doubt, on account of my sins, fear, and give way."

And Catherine again courtsied and left the room, making a sign to the duke de Guise, who had at that moment entered, to remain in her place, and try a last effort.

Charles IX. followed his mother with his eye, but this time did not recal her. He then began to caress his dogs, whistling a hunting air.

He suddenly paused.

"My mother," said he, "is a right royal spirit, and doubts of nothing. Really, now, it is a cool proposal to kill off some dozens of huguenots, because they come to demand justice, as if it were not their right?"

"Some dozens!" murmured the duke de Guise.

"Ah! are you there, sir?" said the king, appearing to see him for the first time. "Yes, some dozens. A tolerable waste of life! Ah! if any one came to me and said: 'Sire, you shall be rid of all your enemies at once, and to-morrow there shall not remain one to reproach you with the death of the others,' why, then, I do not say

"Well, sire!"

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"Tavannes," said the king, you will tire Margot; put her back on her perch. It is no reason, because she bears the name of my sister, the queen of Navarre, that all the world should caress her."

Tavannes put the hawk on her perch, and amused himself by playing with a greyhound's ears.

"But, sire, if any one should say to your majesty: 'Sire, your majesty shall be delivered from all your enemies tomorrow?"

"And by the intercession of what saint would this great miracle be effected?"

"Sire, we are to-day at the 24th of August, and it will therefore be by the interposition of Saint Bartholomew."

"A worthy saint," replied the king, "who allowed himself to be skinned alive!"

"So much the better; the more he suffered, the more he ought to have felt a desire for vengeance on his executioners."

"And is it you, my cousin," said the king—" is it you, with your pretty little gold-hilted sword, who will to-morrow slay ten thousand huguenots? Ah, ah! mort de ma vie! you are very amusing, M. de Guise!" And the king burst into loud laughter, but a laughter so forced that the room echoed with its sinister sound.

"Sire, one word—and one only," continued the duke, shuddering in spite of himself at the sound of this laugh, which had nothing human in it-" one sign, and all is ready. I have the Swiss and eleven hundred gentlemen; I have the light horse and the citizens on my side; your majesty has your guards; your friends, the catholic nobility. We are twenty

to one.

Well, then, cousin of mine, since you are so strong, why the devil do you come to fill my ears with all this! Act with

And the king turned again to his dogs.

Then the tapestry suddenly moved aside, and Catherine reappeared.

"All goes well," she said to the duke; "

will yield."

urge him, and he

And the tapestry fell on Catherine, without the king seeing, or at least appearing to see her.

"But yet," continued De Guise, "it is necessary I should know, if, in acting as I desire, I shall act agreeably to your majesty's views."

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Really, cousin Henry, you put your knife to my throat! But I shall resist. Mordieu! am I not the king?"

66

No, not yet, sire; but, if you will, you shall be so to

morrow.

"Ah - what!" continued Charles, “ "you would kill the king of Navarre, the prince de Condé, in my Louvre-ah!" Then he added, in a voice scarcely audible- "Without the walls, I do not say—

"Sire," cried the duke," they are going out this evening, to join in a revel with your brother, the duke d'Alençon."

"Tavannes," said the king, with well affected impatience, "do not you see that you annoy Actæon? Here, boy— here!"

And Charles IX. quitted the apartment, without waiting to hear more, and leaving Tavannes and the duke de Guise almost as uncertain as before.

Another scene was passing in Catherine's apartments, who, after she had given the duke de Guise her counsel to remain firm, had returned to her rooms, where she found assembled the persons who usually assisted at her going to bed.

Her face was now as full of joy as it had been downcast when she set out. One by one she dismissed her women, and there only remained madame Marguerite, who, seated on a coffer near the open window, was looking at the sky, absorbed in thought.

Two or three times, when she thus found herself alone with her daughter, the queen-mother opened her mouth to speak, but each time a gloomy thought withheld the words ready to escape her lips.

Suddenly the tapestry moved, and Henry of Navarre entered.

The little greyhound, which was asleep on a sofa, leaped towards him at a bound.

"You here, my son!" said Catherine, starting.

sup in the Louvre to-night?"

"Do you

"No, madame," replied Henry, "we are going into the city to-night, with messieurs d'Alençon and de Condé. I almost expected to find them here."

Catherine smiled.

"Ah! you men are so happy to have such liberty! Are they not, dear daughter?"

"Yes," replied Marguerite, "liberty is so glorious, so sweet a thing."

"Would you imply that I restrict you, madame?" inquired Henry, bowing to his wife.

“No, sir, it is not for myself that I complain, but for women in general."

"Who goes there?" asked Catherine, suddenly, and at the same moment the tapestry was raised, and Madame de Sauve showed her lovely head.

"Madame," she said, "it is René, the perfumer, whom your majesty sent for."

Catherine cast a glance as quick as lightning at Henry of Navarre. The young prince turned slightly red, and then fearfully pale. The name of his mother's assassin had been mentioned in his presence; he felt that his face betrayed his emotion, and he leaned against the bar of the window.

The little greyhound growled.

At the same moment, two persons entered; the one announced, and the other having no need to be so.

The first was René, the perfumer, who approached Catherine with all the servile obsequiousness of Florentine servants. He held in his hand a box, which he opened, and all the compartments were seen filled with powders and flasks.

The second was madame de Lorraine, the eldest sister of Marguerite. She entered by a small private door, which led from the king's closet, and, all pale and trembling, and hoping not to be observed by Catherine, who was examining, with madame de Sauve, the contents of the box brought by René, seated herself beside Marguerite, near whom the king of Navarre was standing, with his hand on his

brow, like one who tries to rouse himself from some sudden shock.

At this instant Catherine turned round.

"Daughter," she said to Marguerite, "you may retire to your chamber. My son, you may go and recreate yourself in the city."

Marguerite rose, and Henry turned half round.

Madame de Lorraine seized Marguerite's hand.

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Sister," she whispered, with great quickness, "in the name of the duke de Guise, who now saves you, as you saved him, do not go hence-do not go to your apartments." "Eh! what say you, Claude?" inquired Catherine, turning round.

"What did you whisper to Marguerite?"

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Only a message from the duchess de Nevers."

"And where is the lovely duchess?"

"With her brother-in-law, M. de Guise."

Catherine looked suspiciously at her two daughters, and frowned.

"Come here, Claude," said the

queen-mother. Claude obeyed, and the queen seized her hand. "What have you said to her, indiscreet girl that you are?" she murmured, squeezing her daughter's wrist until she nearly shrieked with pain.

Madame," said Henry to his wife, he having lost nothing of the movements of the queen, Claude, or Marguerite—“ Madame, will you allow me the honour of kissing your hand?" Marguerite extended her trembling hand.

"What did she say to you?" murmured Henry, as he stooped to imprint a kiss on her hand.

"Not to go out. In the name of Heaven, therefore, do not you go out either!"

This was but a slight gleam, but by its light, rapid as it was, Henry at once saw through the whole plot.

"This is not all," added Marguerite; "here is a letter, which a country gentleman brought."

"M. de la Mole?"

"Yes."

"Thanks," he said, taking the letter, and putting it under