Chapter 8

"Dieu nous soit doux et favorable,Nous bénissant par sa bonté,Et de son visage adorableNous fasse luire sa clarté."[5]

A verse was sung for every head as it fell; but every head that fell made one voice less in the chorus.

In an hour but twelve gentlemen remained, and they the most prominent leaders of the conspiracy.

Then there was a pause. The two executioners were weary, and the king was arriving.

François II. was more than pale; he was absolutely livid. Mary Stuart took her place at his right, and Catherine de Médicis at his left.

The Cardinal de Lorraine took his place beside the queen-mother; and the Prince de Condé was shown to a seat beside the young queen.

When the prince appeared upon the platform, almost as pale as the young king himself, the twelve condemned men saluted him.

He gravely responded to their salutation.

"I always bow in the presence of death," he remarked aloud.

The king was received, however, with less respect than the Prince de Condé. No acclamation welcomed him upon his arrival. He noticed the omission, and turning to the cardinal, he said, with an angry frown,—

"Ah, Monsieur le Cardinal, I will never forgive you for forcing us to come hither!"

Charles de Lorraine, however, had raised his hand as a signal for the marks of devotion to be manifested, and a few voices scattered through the crowd cried,—

"Vive le roi!"

"You hear, Sire?" rejoined the cardinal.

"Yes," said the king, sadly; "I hear a few awkward fellows, who but serve to make the general silence more noticeable."

Meanwhile the remainder of the royal gallery had been occupied. The king's brothers, the papal nuncio, the Duchesse de Guise, had taken their places there one after another.

Then came the Duc de Nemours, also very pale, and looking as if he were the prey of bitter remorse.

Last of all two men took their stations there, behind the others, whose presence in that place and at that time was perhaps not less remarkable than that of the Prince de Condé.

They were Ambroise Paré and Gabriel de Montgommery.

They had been led thither by very different motives.

Ambroise Paré had been summoned to Amboise some days before by the Duc de Guise, who was decidedly alarmed concerning the health of his royal nephew; and Mary Stuart, no less alarmed than her uncle, and seeing how dejected François was at the mere thought of theauto-da-fèimplored the surgeon to be at hand to assist the king in case he should faint.

Gabriel, however, had come to make one last supreme effort to save at least one of the condemned,—the one who was to suffer last, and whom he reproached himself for having involuntarily, by his well-meant advice, led into this fatal extremity,—the young and gallant Castelnau de Chalosses.

Castelnau, we must remember, had surrendered only upon the written and subscribed assurance of the Duc de Nemours, who had guaranteed his life and liberty; whereas, immediately upon reaching Amboise he had been cast into prison, and to-day was to be beheaded,—last of all, as being the most guilty of all.

We must, however, be just to the Duc de Nemours. When he saw his word and honor as a gentleman thus compromised, he was in despair, and indignant to the highest degree; and for three weeks he went ceaselessly from the Cardinal de Lorraine to the Duc de Guise, and from Mary Stuart to, the king, begging and demanding and imploring the release of him to whom he owed this debt of honor. But the Chancellor Olivier, to whom they referred the question, declared, according to Monsieur de Vieilleville, that "a king is in nowise bound by his word to a rebellious subject, nor by any promise whatsoever made to him on his [the king's] behalf." This almost broke the heart of the Duc de Nemours, "who," the chronicler naïvely adds, "was worried only about his signature; for as to his word, he would always have given the lie to any one without exception who dared to upbraid him for it, save his Majesty alone, so valiant and noble-hearted a prince was he!"

Like Gabriel, the Duc de Nemours had been drawn to the place of execution—which was more terrible to him than to any other—by a secret hope of still saving Castelnau at the last moment.

Meanwhile the Duc de Guise, on horseback, with his captains beneath the gallery, had given a signal to the executioners; and the punishments and singing of psalms began again after the brief interruption.

In less than a quarter of an hour eight heads fell. The fair young queen was almost fainting.

Only four conspirators remained at the foot of the scaffold.

The clerk read in a loud voice,—

"Albert Edmond Roger, Comte de Mazères, guilty of heresy, of the crime oflèse-majesté, and of attacking with arms in his hand the person of the king."

"'T is false!" cried the Comte de Mazères from the scaffold.

Then, showing to the people his blackened arms and his breast all bruised by the torture, he continued: "See the condition to which I have been reduced in the king's name! But I know that he knows nothing of it; and so I still cry,Vive le roi!"

His head fell. The last three Protestants who were awaiting their turns at the foot of the scaffold sang again the first verse of the psalm,—

"Dieu nous soit doux et favorable,Nous bénissant par sa bonté,Et de son visage adorableNous fasse luire sa clarté."[6]

The clerk's voice was heard once more,—

"Jean Louis Alberic, Baron de Raunay, guilty of heresy, of the crime oflèse-majesté, and of attacking with arms in his hand the person of the king."

"You lie like two clowns, you and your cardinal," said De Raunay; "it is only against him and his brother that we took up arms. I hope they may both meet death as peacefully and as pure in heart as I."

Thereupon he laid his head upon the block.

The last two condemned men sang on,—

"Dieu tu nous as mis à l'épreuve,Et tu nous as examinés;Comme l'argent que l'on épreuve,Par feu tu nous as affinés."[7]

Again the clerk resumed his deadly summons,—

"Robert Jean René Briquemaut, Comte de Villemongis, guilty of heresy, of the crime oflèse-majesté, and of a criminal attempt against the king's person."

Villemongis bathed his hands in De Raunay's blood; and raising them toward heaven, he cried,—

"Heavenly Father, Thou seest the blood of Thy children! Thou wilt avenge them!"

He fell lifeless as he spoke.

Castelnau, left quite alone, still sang,—

"Tu nous as fait entrer et joindreAux pièges de nos ennemis;Tu nous as fait les reins astreindreDes filets où tu nous as mis."[8]

The Duc de Nemours had been lavish with his gold in furtherance of his hope of saving Castelnau. The clerk and even the executioners were interested in his salvation. The first executioner said that he was exhausted; and there was a necessary interruption while the other was preparing to relieve him.

Gabriel took advantage of it to urge the duke to renewed efforts.

Jacques de Savoie thereupon leaned toward the Duchesse de Guise, with whom he was said to be on the very best terms, and whispered in her ear. The duchess had much influence over the mind of the queen.

She at once rose, as if she could not bear any more of the sad spectacle, and said loud enough for Mary to hear: "Ah, this is too horrible for ladies! Do you see how ill the queen is? Let us go."

But the Cardinal de Lorraine gazed sternly at his sister-in-law.

"A little more firmness, Madame," said he, harshly. "Remember that you are of the blood of D'Este and the wife of the Duc de Guise."

"Ah, and that is just why I am so troubled!" retorted the duchess. "No mother ever had better cause for suffering; for all this bloodshed and all the hatred aroused by this day's work will fall upon our innocent children."

"How weak women are!" muttered the cardinal, who was an arrant coward.

"However," said the Duc de Nemours, "one does not need to be a woman to be touched by this mournful picture. Tell me, Prince," said he to Monsieur de Condé, "are not you moved by it?"

"Oh, ho!" sneered the cardinal; "the prince is a soldier, accustomed to see death in all forms."

"Yes, on the battle-field," replied the prince, courageously; "but upon the scaffold, and in cold blood,—that's quite another matter!"

"Has a prince of the blood so much pity for rebels, pray?" It was again the sneering voice of Charles de Lorraine which asked the question.

"I have unlimited pity and sympathy," retorted the prince, "for gallant officers who have always worthily served their king and country."

What more could the prince do or say in his position, himself the object of suspicion? The Duc de Nemours understood, and addressed himself next to the queen-mother.

"See, Madame, but one remains," said he, without calling Castelnau's name. "Can we not at least save him?"

"I can do nothing," replied Catherine, turning her head away.

Meanwhile the unfortunate Castelnau was ascending the steps to the scaffold, singing as he went,—

"Dieumesoit doux et favorable,Mebénissant par sa bonté,Et de son visage adorableMefasse luire sa clarté."[9]

The people, deeply affected, forgot the fear inspired by spies andmouchards, and cried as with one voice,—

"Mercy, mercy!"

The Duc de Nemours was struggling at that moment to soften the heart of the young Duc d'Orléans.

"Monseigneur," said he, "have you forgotten that it was Castelnau who, in this same town of Amboise, saved the life of the late Duc d'Orléans, when it was in great danger during anémeute?"

"I will do whatever my mother decides," replied the Duc d'Orléans.

"But," said the Duc de Nemours, imploringly, "if you would but address the king; a single word from you—"

"I tell you again," rejoined the young prince, dryly, "that I await my mother's commands."

"Ah, Prince!" said the Duc de Nemours, reproachfully.

He made a motion to Gabriel expressive of discouragement and despair.

Thereupon the clerk read slowly,—

"Michel Jean Louis, Baron de Castelnau-Chalosses, accused and convicted of the crime oflèse-majesté, of heresy, and an attack upon the king's person."

"I call my judges themselves to witness," cried Castelnau, "that the declaration is false,—unless, indeed, it belèse-majestéto oppose with all my strength the tyranny of the Guises. If it is to be understood in that way, they should have begun by declaring them kings. Perhaps it will yet come to that; but it will be for those who survive me to deal with that matter."

Addressing the executioner, he said in a firm voice,—

"Now do your office."

But the headsman, who noticed some commotion in the galleries, pretended to be arranging his axe so as to gain time.

"The axe is dull, Monsieur le Baron," he said in a low voice; "and you are surely worthy to die at a single blow. And who knows but that a moment more—It seems to me that something of good omen for you is going on down below there."

Again the people cried,—

"Mercy! mercy!"

Gabriel, losing all self-control at that supreme moment, ventured to cry aloud to Mary Stuart,—

"Mercy, Madame the Queen!"

Mary turned, met Gabriel's heart-rending glance, and understood his despairing cry.

Bending her knee before the king, she said,—

"Sire, this mercy at least; I ask it of you on my knees!"

"Sire," cried the Duc de Nemours, "has not enough blood been shed? And yet, you know, there should be mercy in the king's countenance."

François, trembling in every limb, seemed struck by these words. He seized the queen's hand.

"Remember, Sire," said the stern voice of the nuncio, who wished to recall the king to a more severe view of his duty,—"remember that you are the very Christian king."

"Yes, I do remember it," replied François II., firmly. "Let mercy be shown to the Baron de Castelnau!"

But the Cardinal de Lorraine, feigning to misinterpret the meaning of the king's first phrase, had made an imperative sign to the executioner.

As François pronounced the word "mercy," Castelnau's head rolled upon the planks of the scaffold.

The next day the Prince de Condé set out for Navarre.

[5]"O Lord, to us be merciful,"And bless us with Thy grace,"And show unto our humble heartsThe brightness of Thy face."

[5]

"O Lord, to us be merciful,"And bless us with Thy grace,"And show unto our humble heartsThe brightness of Thy face."

[6]""O Lord, to us be merciful,And bless us with Thy grace,"And show unto our humble heartsThe brightness of Thy face."

[6]

""O Lord, to us be merciful,And bless us with Thy grace,"And show unto our humble heartsThe brightness of Thy face."

[7]""Thou hast put us to the proof when weTo Thy guidance did aspire;"Like gold, Thou hast refined usBy the ordeal of fire."

[7]

""Thou hast put us to the proof when weTo Thy guidance did aspire;"Like gold, Thou hast refined usBy the ordeal of fire."

[8]""Into the snare our foes have laidThou, Lord, hast made us fall;"And there, fast hound, we lie, and waitThy word, O Lord of all!"

[8]

""Into the snare our foes have laidThou, Lord, hast made us fall;"And there, fast hound, we lie, and waitThy word, O Lord of all!"

[9]""O Lord, tomebe merciful,And blessmewith Thy grace,"And show untomyhumble heartThe brightness of Thy face."

[9]

""O Lord, tomebe merciful,And blessmewith Thy grace,"And show untomyhumble heartThe brightness of Thy face."

From the day of that fatal execution, the feeble health of François II. grew steadily worse.

Seven months later (at the end of November, 1560), the court being then at Orléans, where the States-General had been convoked by the Duc de Guise, the poor boy-king of seventeen was obliged to take to his bed.

Beside that bed of sorrow where Mary Stuart prayed and watched and wept, a most interesting drama depended for its conclusion upon the life or death of the son of Henri II.

The real question, although others were interested in its solution, lay between a pale woman and a sinister-looking man, who were seated side by side in the evening of December 4 a few steps from the sleeping invalid, and from Mary, who was weeping silently at his pillow.

The man was Charles de Lorraine, the woman Catherine de Médicis.

The revengeful queen-mother, who had at first been as one dead after the struggle which we have related at the accession of her son, had awakened during the last eight months, since the "Tumult of Amboise."

This, in brief, is what she had done in the bitterness of her hatred against the Guises: she had entered into a secret alliance with the Prince de Condé and Antoine de Bourbon; she had effected a reconciliation secretly with the old Constable de Montmorency. Nought but hatred can cause hatred to be forgotten.

Her new and ill-assorted friends, urged on by her, had fomented rebellion in various provinces, had aroused Dauphiné under Montbrun, and Provence under the brothers Mouvans, and had caused an attempt to be made upon Lyons by Maligny.

The Guises, on their side, were by no means asleep. They had assembled the States-General at Orléans, and had taken care to have a majority devoted to them.

Then, too, they had summoned the King of Navarre and the Prince de Condé to attend the States-General, as was their right.

Catherine de Médicis sent warning after warning to the princes to dissuade them from putting themselves in their enemy's power; but their duty called them, and the Cardinal de Lorraine gave them the king's word as a pledge of their security.

Therefore they came to Orléans.

The very day of their arrival Antoine de Navarre was consigned to a certain house in the city where he was kept continually in sight, and the Prince de Condé was cast into prison.

Then an extraordinary commission issued to try the prince; and he was condemned to death at Orléans by the procurement of the Guises,—the very man whose innocence the Duc de Guise himself at Amboise had announced his willingness to answer for with his sword.

Only one or two signatures were still to be procured, which the Chancellor l'Hôpital was delaying, before the sentence would be executed.

The foregoing statement will serve to show how matters stood on the evening of the 4th of December, as regards the party of the Guises, of which Le Balafré was the arm and the cardinal the head, and the Bourbon faction, of which Catherine de Médicis was the secret soul.

Everything depended, for both sides, upon the expiring breath of the anointed youth.

If François II. could only live a few days longer, the Prince de Condé would be executed, the King of Navarre might be accidentally slain in some altercation, and Catherine de Médicis banished to Florence. So far as the States-General were concerned, the Guises were masters, and if necessary, kings.

If, on the other hand, the young king should die before his uncles were relieved of their enemies, the struggle would begin again, with the chances against them rather than in their favor.

Therefore what Catherine de Médicis and Charles de Lorraine were waiting and watching for with such an anguish of interest on that cold night of the 4th of December, in that apartment in the city of Orléans, was not so much the life or death of their royal son and nephew as the triumph or defeat of their cause.

Mary Stuart alone watched over her young, dearly loved husband without thinking what loss his death might entail upon her.

However, we must not think that the bitter antagonism of the queen-mother and the cardinal betrayed itself to outside observers in their manners or their conversation. On the contrary, they had never seemed to be more confiding or more affectionate to each other.

At the moment at which we look in upon them, taking advantage of François's slumber, they were talking in a low voice and in the most friendly way imaginable about their most secret interests and their inmost thoughts.

For the better to conform to that Italian policy of which we have already given specimens, Catherine had sedulously dissembled her underhand proceedings, and Charles de Lorraine had always pretended to know nothing of them.

Thus they had not ceased to converse as allies and as friends. They were like two gamblers, each of whom cheats loyally for his own side, and who openly use cogged dice against each other.

"Yes, Madame," the cardinal was saying,—"yes, that stubborn Chancellor de l'Hôpital obstinately refuses to sign the decree for the prince's death. Ah! you were indeed in the right, Madame, six months ago, to oppose his succession to Olivier so vigorously! If I had only understood you then!"

"What? is it absolutely impossible to overcome his resistance?" asked Catherine, who had in reality instructed the chancellor to resist.

"I have tried flattery and threats," Charles de Lorraine replied, "and have found him inflexible."

"Suppose Monsieur le Duc should try his hand?"

"Nothing will move that Auvergne mule," said the cardinal. "Besides, my brother has declared that he does not propose to meddle in the affair at all."

"It becomes embarrassing," remarked Catherine, secretly delighted beyond expression.

"There is one way, however," said the cardinal, "by resorting to which we can get along without all the chancellors in the world."

"Is there, indeed? What way is that?" cried the queen-mother, uneasily.

"To have the decree signed by the king."

"By the king!" echoed Catherine. "But can he do it? Has he the right?"

"Yes," replied the cardinal, "we have proceeded thus far in this very matter by the advice of the best jurists, who have declared that the matter may be pushed forward to judgment in spite of the prince's refusal to reply."

"But what will the chancellor say?" cried Catherine, really alarmed.

"He will grumble, as he always does," replied the cardinal, calmly; "he will threaten to resign the seals."

"And if he does really carry out his threat?"

"It will be doubly advantageous, for we shall be well rid of a most inconvenient critic."

"When do you propose that this decree should be signed?" asked Catherine, after a pause.

"To-night, Madame."

"And you will cause it to be executed—?"

"To-morrow."

The queen-mother absolutely shuddered, for the blow was sudden.

"To-night! to-morrow! you do not reflect," she replied. "The king is too ill and weak, and his intellect is not clear enough to understand what you mean to ask of him."

"There is no necessity that he should understand, provided that he signs," retorted the cardinal.

"But his hand is not strong enough to hold a pen."

"It can be guided for him," taking keen delight in the alarm which he saw depicted in the expression of his dear foe.

"Listen," said Catherine, very gravely. "I must give you a warning and some good advice. My poor son's end is nearer than you think. Do you know what Chapelain, the first physician, told me?—that he did not think the king would be alive to-morrow evening, unless by a miracle."

"So much the more reason for us to hasten," said the cardinal, coldly.

"Yes," rejoined Catherine, "but if François II. is not alive to-morrow, Charles IX. reigns; and the King of Navarre will perhaps be regent. What a terrible reckoning would he demand for the infamous punishment of his brother? Would you not be in your turn tried and condemned?"

"Oh, well, Madame, he who risks nothing has nothing!" cried the cardinal, with angry warmth. "Besides, who says that Antoine de Navarre will be appointed regent? Who says that this Chapelain is not mistaken? Bah! the king is alive now!"

"Not so loud! not so loud, uncle!" said Mary Stuart, rising in fright. "You will wake the king! See! you have waked him."

"Mary, where are you?" said the feeble voice of François.

"Here, always by your side, dear Sire," replied Mary.

"Oh, how I suffer!" groaned the poor youth. "My head is as if it were on fire; and this pain in my ear is like a continual sword-thrust. Even in my sleep I have continued to suffer. Ah! all is at an end with me; all is at an end!"

"Don't say so! oh, don't say so!" replied Mary, struggling to restrain her tears.

"My memory is failing," said François. "Have I received the Holy Sacrament? I wish to do so as soon as possible."

"All your duties shall be fulfilled, dear Sire; do not be anxious about them."

"I want to see my confessor, Monsieur de Brichanteau."

"He will be with you immediately," said Mary.

"Are prayers being said for me?" asked the king.

"I have hardly ceased since the morning."

"Poor dear Mary! Where is Chapelain?"

"In the next room, ready to answer your call. Your mother and my uncle the cardinal are there also. Do you wish to see them, Sire?"

"No, no; none but you, Mary!" said the dying man. "Turn a little this way—there—so that I may at least see you once more."

"Courage!" replied Mary. "God is so kind! and I pray to Him with such a full heart."

"Oh, the pain!" moaned François. "I cannot see, and can scarcely hear. Give me your hand, Mary."

"There! rest upon me," said Mary, soothingly, supporting the small pale face of her husband upon her shoulder.

"My soul to God! my heart to thee, Mary! Forever! Alas! to die at seventeen!"

"No, no! you shall not die!" cried Mary. "What ill have we done to God on high that He should thus afflict us?"

"Do not weep, Mary," said the king. "We shall meet again above. I regret nothing in this world but you. If I could carry you with me, I should be glad to die. The journey to heaven is even more beautiful than that to Italy; and then, too, I fear that without me you will never know any joy. They will make you suffer,—you will be cold and lonely; they will kill you, my poor dear heart! It is that which afflicts me much more than death."

The king sank back upon his pillow exhausted, and maintained a dejected silence.

"But you shall not die; you shall not die, Sire!" cried Mary. "Listen, I have a great hope. One chance in which I have faith is left us."

"What do you mean?" Catherine de Médicis, drawing near in her amazement, interrupted her.

"Yes," continued Mary Stuart, "the king may yet he and shall be saved. Something within me tells me that all these physicians by whom he is surrounded and wearied to death are ignorant and blind. But there is a skilful man, learned and famous,—a man who preserved my uncle's life at Calais—"

"Master Ambroise Paré?" suggested the cardinal.

"Master Ambroise Paré!" Mary repeated. "They say that this man ought not to have the king's life in his hands, and would himself prefer not to; that he is a heretic and accursed; and that even if he would accept the responsibility of such a case, it ought not to be intrusted to him."

"That is very certain," said the queen-mother, scornfully.

"What! if I intrust it to him myself?" cried Mary. "Can a man of genius be a traitor! A great man, Madame, is always a good man."

"But," said the cardinal, "my brother has not delayed thinking of Ambroise Paré until to-day. He has already been approached."

"Yes, but who have been sent to him?" retorted Mary,—"those who took no interest in the matter, or even his enemies, perhaps. But I sent a trusted friend to him, and he will come."

"It will take some time for him to come from Paris," observed Catherine.

"He is on the way; in fact, he ought to have arrived," rejoined the young queen. "The friend of whom I spoke promised to bring him here to-day."

"Who is this mysterious friend, pray?" asked the queen-mother.

"Comte Gabriel de Montgommery, Madame."

Before Catherine had time to utter a word, Dayelle, Mary's first lady-in-waiting, came in and said to her mistress,—

"Comte Gabriel de Montgommery is below, and awaits Madame's commands."

"Oh, let him come in! let him come in!" cried Mary, eagerly.

"One moment!" interposed Catherine de Médicis, in a cold, hard voice. "Before allowing that man to enter, pray wait at least until I can take my leave. If it pleases you to intrust the life of the son to him who cut short the life of the father, I, at all events, do not propose to meet the murderer of my husband again, or hear his voice. Therefore I enter my protest against his presence in this place, and withdraw at his approach."

She did, in fact, leave the room without bestowing a glance upon her dying son or giving him a mother's farewell blessing.

Was it because the detested name of Gabriel de Montgommery recalled to her mind the first outrage the late king had put upon her? It may be so; nevertheless, it is certain that she had no such horror as she pretended of the sight of Gabriel and the sound of his voice; for when she withdrew to her own apartment, which adjoined that of the king, she was careful to leave the door half open, and had no sooner closed another door which opened upon a corridor quite deserted at that late hour than she applied both eye and ear to the aperture, in order to see and hear what took place after her abrupt departure.

Gabriel appeared, ushered in by Dayelle, and knelt to kiss the hand the queen held out to him, before making a profound salutation to the cardinal.

"Well?" asked Mary Stuart, anxiously.

"Madame, I have prevailed upon Master Paré," said Gabriel. "He is below."

"Oh, thank you, thank you, my faithful friend!" cried Mary.

"Pray, Madame, is the king failing?" said Gabriel, in a low voice, casting an uneasy glance at the bed, where François II. lay without color or motion.

"Alas! he never seems to gain," replied the queen; "and I was very impatient to see you. Did Master Ambroise object seriously to coming?"

"No, Madame," replied Gabriel. "He had already been sent for, but in such a way, he told me, as to invite a refusal. He was expected to bind himself in advance, upon his life and his honor, to save the king, when he had not even seen him. He was given to understand that, being himself a Protestant, he was open to the suspicion of desiring the death of a persecutor of Protestants. In short, he was treated with such insulting distrust, and such severe conditions were imposed upon him, that unless he had been utterly devoid of self-respect, to say nothing of caution, he must unavoidably have been led to hold himself aloof. He did so, to his great regret, and was not urged any further by those who had been sent to him."

"Can it be that our intentions were thus misrepresented to Master Paré?" the Cardinal de Lorraine hastily interposed. "Yet my brother and myself have sent to him two or three times, and have been always told of his obstinate refusal to come, and his extraordinary suspicions. We believed those whom we sent to seek him to be most trustworthy!"

"But were they really so, Monseigneur?" asked Gabriel. "Master Paré thinks otherwise, now that I have told him your real sentiments toward him, and the queen's kind words. He is convinced that, unknown to you, persistent efforts have been made for some guilty purpose to keep him from the king's bedside."

"It must be so," returned Charles de Lorraine; "I recognize the queen-mother's hand in this," he muttered, "for she is deeply interested that her son should not be saved. But will she thus corrupt all those upon whose devotion we rely? This is a counterpart of the appointment of her friend L'Hôpital! How she does make sport of us!"

Mary Stuart, meanwhile, leaving the cardinal to his reflections upon what had taken place, and his anxiety as to what was to come, was saying to Gabriel,—

"Monsieur Paré did finally come with you, did he not?"

"At my first request," replied the young count.

"And he is here?"

"Awaiting only your gracious permission to enter, Madame."

"Pray let him come in at once!" cried Mary Stuart.

Gabriel de Montgommery went for a moment to the door at which he had entered, and returned with the surgeon.

Sheltered behind her door, Catherine de Médicis was still watching, more engrossed than ever.

Mary Stuart ran forward to meet Ambroise, took his hand, led him herself to the cherished patient's bedside, and said on the way, as if to cut short all complimentary salutations,—

"Thanks to you for coming, Master Paré. I relied upon your zeal to do good, even as I now rely upon your skill. Come quickly; come to the king!"

Ambroise Paré, yielding to the queen's restless impatience, without having time to utter a word, was soon standing by the bed where François II., vanquished by suffering, so to speak, had only sufficient strength to breathe, almost imperceptibly and with a feeble, moaning sound.

The great physician stood a moment gazing at the young face, drawn and emaciated by suffering.

Then he stooped over the king, who was to him only a patient, and felt and probed the terrible swelling of the right ear with a touch as light and gentle as Mary's own.

The king instinctively recognized the touch of a physician, and yielded to it without opening his heavy eyes.

"Oh, such agony!" he moaned piteously; "such agony! Can you do nothing to relieve me?"

The light was too far away for Ambroise's purpose, and he made a sign to Gabriel to bring it nearer; but Mary seized it first, and herself held it for the surgeon while he made a long and careful examination of the seat of pain.

This silent, minute study lasted perhaps ten minutes; at the end of which Ambroise Paré rose to an erect posture again, and let the bed-curtain fall, apparently deeply absorbed in meditating upon his diagnosis.

Mary Stuart, waiting breathlessly, did not dare to ask him a question, lest she might disturb the current of his thoughts; but she scanned his features in an anguish of suspense. What would be his decision?

The famous physician sadly shook his head; and the movement seemed to the distracted queen like a sentence of death.

"Oh!" she exclaimed at last, unable to control her anxiety any longer; "pray tell me, is there no chance of saving him?"

"There is but one, Madame," replied Ambroise Paré.

"Is there even one?" cried the queen.

"Yes, Madame; and although, alas! it is not an absolutely certain one, still it exists, and I should be very hopeful if—"

"If?" asked Mary.

"If the man to be saved were not the king, Madame."

"Oh, that indeed!" cried Mary; "treat him, and save him as if he were the meanest of his subjects!"

"But suppose I fail?" demanded Ambroise; "for God alone is master. Shall I not be accused of having caused his death, being, as I am, a Huguenot? Might not such an awfully heavy responsibility unnerve me and make my hand tremble, when I should be in need of such absolute calmness and self-confidence?"

"Listen," was Mary's reply: "if he lives, I will bless you all my life, and if—if he dies, I will defend you to the death. Therefore make the effort! make the effort, I beg, I implore you! Since you say it is the last and only chance, for the love of God, do not let it pass, for it would be a crime!"

"You are right, Madame," said Ambroise, "and I will try,—that is, if I am allowed; if you yourself will allow me, for I cannot conceal from you that the remedy to which I must resort is an extreme and unusual one, and, so far as appearances go, violent and dangerous."

"Really?" said Mary, trembling like a leaf; "and is there no other?"

"No other, Madame! There is still time to employ it; in twenty-four hours at the utmost, and perhaps in twelve, it will be too late. An abscess has formed in the king's head; and unless it is relieved and discharged by a speedy operation, it will burst upon the brain and cause death."

"Must you therefore operate upon the king immediately?" said the cardinal. "I will not take the responsibility upon myself."

"Ah, you see that you already begin to doubt me!" said Ambroise. "No, I must have the daylight; and besides, I need the rest of the night to think it over, to get my hand in practice, and make one or two experiments. But to-morrow morning, at nine o'clock, I will be here. Please be here then, Madame, and you, Monseigneur; I should be glad if Monsieur le Lieutenant-General would also attend, in order that those whose devotion to the king is well tried may be present; but no others,—as few physicians as possible. I will then explain what I propose to do, and if you authorize me to proceed, with God's grace, I will try the last chance He has left us."

"And is there no danger before to-morrow?" the queen asked.

"No, Madame," said Master Paré. "But it is most essential that the king should rest quietly, and gather strength for the operation he is to undergo. I will mix with the harmless beverage I see on the table two drops of this elixir," he added, suiting the action to the word. "Let the king take this immediately, Madame, and he will at once fall into a deep, untroubled sleep. Watch him carefully, watch him yourself, if possible, to see that his sleep be not disturbed."

"Never fear! I will answer for that," replied Mary. "I will not leave his side to-night."

"That is of the utmost importance," said Ambroise. "Now I can do nothing more here, and I ask your permission to retire, Madame,—still to devote myself to the king, however, and to prepare for my great task."

"Go, good Master, go!" said Mary; "and accept in advance my thanks and blessing. Until to-morrow!"

"Until to-morrow, Madame," replied Ambrose Paré. "Be of good cheer!"

"I shall not cease to pray," said Mary. "And you also, Monsieur le Comte, once more I thank you," she continued, addressing Gabriel. "You are of those of whom Master Paré has spoken, whose devotion to the king has been put to the proof; therefore come to-morrow, I beg you, to give your illustrious friend the moral support of your presence."

"I will be here, Madame," said Gabriel, as he withdrew with the surgeon after respectfully saluting the queen and the cardinal.

"Yes, and I will be here too," said Catherine de Médicis to herself from her post of observation,—"yes, I will be here; for this Paré is quite capable of saving the king's life with his great skill, and of thus destroying his own party, as well as the prince and myself. The imbecile! But I will be here!"

Catherine de Médicis remained at her post for some time, although none but Mary Stuart and the cardinal were left in the king's chamber; but she neither saw nor heard anything of interest. The queen administered the sleeping-draught to François, who seemed, as Ambroise Paré had promised, to fall at once into a more peaceful slumber. Then everything was still. The cardinal, seated in his chair, was deep in thought; while Mary, on her knees, was pouring out her very soul in prayer.

The queen-mother softly withdrew to her own room to imitate the cardinal's reflective mood.

If she had remained a few moments longer, however, she would have witnessed a scene quite worthy of herself.

Mary Stuart, rising from her knees, said to the cardinal,—

"There is no reason why you should stay to watch with me, dear uncle; for I intend to remain here till the king awakes. Dayelle, the physicians, and the servants in attendance will be quite sufficient for any emergency that can arise; so that you may go and take a little rest. I will send to you if it is necessary."

"No," said the cardinal; "the Duc de Guise, who has been delayed by a number of pressing matters, told me that before he retired he would come to learn the latest news of the king, and I promised to await him here. Hark! do I not hear his step now?"

"Oh, don't let him make any noise!" cried Mary, rushing to the door to warn Le Balafré.

The Duc de Guise entered, pale and excited. He saluted the queen, but in his preoccupation did not think to ask for the king's welfare; he went straight to his brother, and led him aside to a window-recess.

"Terrible news!" he began,—"a veritable thunder-stroke!"

"In Heaven's name, what is it?" asked the cardinal.

"The Constable de Montmorency has left Chantilly with fifteen hundred gentlemen," said the Duc de Guise. "The better to conceal his movements, he made a detour around Paris, and came from Ecouen and Corbeil to Pithiviers by the valley of Essonne. He will be at the gates of Orléans with his troop to-morrow; and I have just received warning of his coming."

"That is indeed terrible!" said the cardinal. "The old villain wishes to save his nephew's head. I will warrant that it was the queen-mother who notified him. Oh, this feeling of utter helplessness against that woman!"

"This is no time to proceed against her, but to bestir ourselves in our own interests," said Le Balafré. "What shall we do?"

"Go at once with our forces to meet the constable," replied Charles de Lorraine.

"Will you guarantee to hold Orléans when I am no longer here with my troops?"

"Alas! no,—indeed, I cannot," replied the cardinal. "All the Orléans people are disaffected,—Huguenots and Bourbons at heart. But in any event the States-General are on our side."

"And L'Hôpital against us, remember, my brother. Ah, it is a hard position? How does the king?" the duke asked finally, danger reminding him of his last resource.

"The king is in bad condition," was the cardinal's reply; "but Ambroise Paré, who has come to Orléans at the queen's request (I will explain this to you later), still hopes to save the king by a hazardous but necessary operation to-morrow morning, which may have happy results. Do not fail to be here at nine o'clock, brother, to sustain Ambroise, if need be."

"Surely I will be here," rejoined Le Balafré, "for that is our only hope. Our authority would die with François's last breath; but on the other hand, it would be a fine thing to frighten the constable, and perhaps make him retrace his steps, by sending him, by way of a welcome, the head of his handsome nephew, De Condé."

"Yes, that would be a very eloquent greeting, in my opinion," said the cardinal, reflectively.

"But this infernal L'Hôpital impedes everything!" exclaimed Le Balafré.

"If we had the king's signature upon the decree for the prince's death, instead of L'Hôpital's," suggested Charles de Lorraine, "there would be no further difficulty, brother,—am I not right?—about this execution taking place to-morrow morning before Montmorency's arrival, and before Master Paré's operation."

"That would not be strictly legal; but it would be possible," replied Le Balafré.

"Very well, then!" cried Charles de Lorraine, eagerly. "Leave me here, my brother; there is nothing more for you to do to-night, and you must need rest, for two o'clock will soon strike. You must husband your strength for to-morrow. Retire, and leave me here. I mean to make a desperate effort myself to retrieve our fortunes."

"What is it to be?" the duke asked. "Pray, take no definite step without first consulting me, brother."

"Never fear! If I have what I want, I will wake you before daybreak to perfect our plans."

"Very well," said Le Balafré; "with this assurance I will retire, for it is true that I am exhausted. But be cautious!"

He said a few consoling words to Mary Stuart, and left the room with as little noise as possible.

Meanwhile the cardinal had seated himself at a table, and was making a copy of the decree of the commission, of which he had the original before him.

That done, he rose and walked toward the king's bed. But Mary Stuart stood erect in front of him, and stopped him with a gesture.

"Where are you going?" said she, in a low tone, but firmly, and with signs of growing anger.

"Madame," replied the cardinal, "it is important, indispensable, that the king should sign this paper."

"What is most important, and most indispensable, is that the king should rest quietly," said Mary.

"Let me have his name at the bottom of this writing, Madame, and I will importune you no more."

"But you will awake him," retorted the queen; "and I do not choose that you shall. Besides, he is not capable of holding a pen at this moment."

"I will hold it for him," said the cardinal.

"I have told you that I will not have it!" replied Mary Stuart, authoritatively.

The cardinal stopped a moment, amazed at this obstacle, which he had never dreamed of.

Then he continued in his most insinuating tones,—

"Listen to me, Madame,—my dear niece, listen to me; I will tell you what is at stake. You understand very well that I would respect the king's repose if I were not constrained by the most urgent necessity. It is our fortune and yours, our welfare and yours, which are at stake. Understand me. This paper must be signed before daybreak, or we are lost!—lost, I tell you."

"That does not concern me," said Mary, calmly.

"Indeed it does! Once more I tell you, our ruin is your ruin, child that you are!"

"Even so, what does it matter to me?" the queen replied. "Do you suppose I concern myself with your ambition? My ambition is to save my beloved, to preserve his life if I can, and meanwhile to guard his priceless repose. Master Paré constituted me the guardian of the king's slumber. I forbid you to disturb it, Monsieur! Understand me! I forbid you! If the king dies, my royalty dies too!—it is all one to me! But as long as one breath remains in his body, I will defend it against the hateful demands of your intrigues. I have contributed more than I ought, my uncle, to the strengthening of your power and influence when my François was still well and strong; but I take your power from your hands again as soon as I have to concern myself with forcing respect to be shown to what may be the last hours of peace on earth that God will vouchsafe this poor life. The king, Master Paré said, would need to-morrow all of the little strength he has left. No one on earth, on any pretext whatsoever, shall deprive him of one moment of this refreshing slumber."

"But when the motive is such an important and urgent one?" said the cardinal.

"Upon no pretext whatever shall any one on earth awaken the king," repeated Mary, firmly.

"Ah, but it must be done!" retorted the cardinal, ashamed at last of having been so long delayed by the unaided resistance of a mere child, and she his niece. "The interests of State, Madame, are not consistent with these sentimental considerations. The king's signature is essential to me at once; and I will have it."

"You shall not have it, Monsieur le Cardinal," replied Mary.

The cardinal took a step toward the king's bedside, but again Mary Stuart faced him and barred his passage.

The queen and the minister looked in each other's eyes for an instant, each as excited and angry as the other.

"I will pass," said Charles de Lorraine, in a quick, short voice.

"Do you dare to lay your hand upon me, Monsieur?"

"My niece!"

"Your niece no longer, but your queen!"

These words were uttered in so firm, and withal dignified and queenly a tone, that the astonished cardinal recoiled.

"Yes, your queen," Mary continued; "and if you approach one step nearer, or make another motion, as if to make your way to the king, I will go to that door; I will call those who are on guard there; and though you be my uncle, though you be minister and cardinal, I, your queen, will order your arrest upon the spot, as guilty oflèse-majesté."

"Such a scandal!" muttered the cardinal, in affright.

"Which of us is responsible for it, Monsieur?"

The sparkling eye, the inflated nostrils, the heaving bosom of the young queen, and her whole determined bearing were a sufficient guarantee that she would carry out her threat.

And then, too, she was so lovely and so haughty, and withal so touching, that even the priest, with his heart of bronze, felt moved and beaten.

The man yielded to the child; and the affairs of State obeyed the cry of natural affection.

"Well!" said the cardinal, drawing a long breath, "I will wait, then, until the king awakes."

"Thanks!" said Mary, resuming the gentle and melancholy demeanor which had become customary to her since the king's illness.

"But as soon as he awakes—" continued Charles.

"If he is then in condition to hear what you have to say, and do what you wish, I will interpose no further obstacle."

The cardinal was perforce contented with this promise. He returned to his seat at the table, and Mary to herprie-Dieu,—he waiting, and she hoping.

The slow hours of that night of watching dragged themselves along, and François II. did not awake. The promise of Ambroise Paré was not a vain one: not for many nights had the king known such long and peaceful slumber.

From time to time he made a slight movement or uttered a feeble moan; sometimes he pronounced a word or a name, generally Mary's. But he would relapse at once into his deep sleep; and the cardinal, who did not once fail to rise in haste at the least sound, would return dejectedly to his seat.

He crumpled in his hand uneasily the useless, fatal decree, which without the king's signature might well serve for his own death-warrant.

He watched the torches gradually burn out or grow pale, as the cold December dawn whitened the windows.

At last, as eight o'clock struck, the king moved, then opened his eyes, and called, "Mary! are you there, Mary?"

"Always at your side," replied the queen.

Charles de Lorraine rushed forward with the paper in his hand. Perhaps there was time even yet; a scaffold is soon erected.

But at that instant Catherine de Médicis re-entered the royal apartments by the door leading to her own.

"Too late!" muttered the cardinal. "Ah, fortune turns her back upon us! Now, if Ambroise does not save the king's life, we are lost indeed!"

The queen-mother during that night had not thrown away her time. In the first place, she had sent her creature, Cardinal de Tournon, to the King of Navarre, and had settled terms with the Bourbons in writing. Then before daybreak she had received the Chancellor l'Hôpital, and had learned from him of the expected arrival at Orléans of her ally, the constable; L'Hôpital, by her instructions, promised to be in the great hall, which was next to the king's apartments, at nine o'clock, and to have with him as many of her partisans as he could find. Last of all, she had made an appointment for half after eight with Chapelain and two or three others of the royal physicians, whose mediocre talent was the natural-born enemy of the genius of Ambroise Paré.

Having thus taken her precautions, she was the first, as we have seen, to enter the king's chamber just as he awoke. She went at once to her son's bedside, gazed at him for a few moments with bent head, like a grief-stricken mother, pressed a kiss upon his hand, which was hanging listlessly down, and wiping away a tear or two, took her seat in such a position as to have him always in sight.

She, as well as Mary Stuart, was determined from that time on to watch over that bed of suffering, for her own purposes.

The Duc de Guise entered almost immediately. After exchanging a few words with Mary, he walked toward his brother.

"Have you done nothing?" he asked.

"Alas! I have not been able to do anything," was the reply.

"Fortune is turning against us, then," said the duke. "There is a great crowd in Antoine de Navarre's antechamber this morning."

"Have you any news of De Montmorency?"

"None at all. I have tried in vain to learn something thus far. He could not have taken the most direct road, and he may be even now at the gates of the city. If Ambroise Paré is not successful in his operation, farewell to our fortune."

At this moment the physicians who had been summoned by Catherine de Médicis entered.

The queen-mother herself led them to the bedside of the king, whose suffering and groaning had begun again.

The physicians examined the royal patient, each in turn, and then retired to a corner to consult. Chapelain proposed a poultice to draw out the foreign matter; but the others declared in favor of injecting a certain medicated water into the ear.

They were just agreeing on the last-named method when Ambroise Paré entered, accompanied by Gabriel. After having examined into the king's condition, he joined his professional brethren.

Ambroise Paré, surgeon to the Duc de Guise, whose professional renown was already established, was now an authority to be reckoned with. The physicians told him what they had resolved to do.

"The remedy proposed is inadequate, I am sure," said Ambroise Paré, aloud; "but we must make haste, for the brain will be filled sooner than I thought."

"Oh, hasten, then, in Heaven's name!" cried Mary Stuart, who had overheard.

The queen-mother and the two Guises thereupon drew near the physicians, and joined their group.

"Have you any better and more speedy means than ours to suggest, Master Paré?" asked Chapelain.

"Yes," said Paré.

"What is it?"

"We must trepan the king," said Paré.

"Trepan the king!" cried the three physicians, in tones expressive of the utmost horror.

"In what does this operation consist?" asked the Duc de Guise.

"It is little known as yet, Monseigneur," replied the surgeon. "It consists in making upon the top of the head, or rather upon the lateral part of the brain, with an instrument I have invented, called the 'trepan,' an opening about the size of an angelot."

"God of mercy!" cried Catherine de Médicis, indignantly. "Put the knife to the king's head! And you would dare to do it?"

"Yes, Madame," replied Ambroise, simply.

"But it would be murder!" exclaimed Catherine.

"Why, Madame," added Ambroise, "I propose scientifically and carefully to bore a hole in the head, which is only what the blind and heedless do every day upon the battle-field. Yet see how many such wounds are cured!"

"Will you be answerable for the king's life, Master Ambroise?" asked the cardinal; "that is the question."

"God alone has the life and death of mortals in His hand, as you should know better than I, Monsieur le Cardinal. All that I can promise is that this is the last and only chance of saving the king. Yes, it is the only chance; but it is only a chance."

"But you say that your operation may be successful, do you not, Ambroise?" said Le Balafré. "Tell me, have you ever performed it successfully?"

"Yes, Monseigneur," replied Paré,—"only a short time since upon Monsieur de la Bretesche, at the sign of the Red Rose, in Rue de la Harpe; and to mention a case of which Monseigneur may perhaps have some knowledge, I performed it at the siege of Calais upon Monsieur de Pienne, who was wounded while fighting at the breach."

It may have been with intention that Ambroise Paré recalled the memory of Calais. It is certain that he succeeded, and that the Duc de Guise seemed moved.

"Yes, I remember," said he, "I have no longer any hesitation; I consent to the operation."

"And so do I," said Mary Stuart, enlightened, no doubt, by her love.

"But not I!" cried Catherine.

"What, Madame! not when you have been told that it is our only chance?" said Mary.

"Who says so?" demanded the queen-mother. "Master Ambroise Paré, a heretic, forsooth! Besides, it is not the opinion of the physicians."

"No, Madame," said Chapelain; "and these gentlemen and myself protest against the remedy that Master Paré proposes."

"Ah, do you hear?" cried Catherine, in triumph.

Le Balafré, in great agitation, led the queen-mother into the embrasure of a window, and said in an undertone, with clinched teeth,—

"Madame, hearken to me! You wish that your son should die, and the Prince de Condé should live! You are in accord with the Bourbons and the Montmorencys! The bargain is made, and the spoils divided in advance! I know everything! Take care! I know everything, I tell you!"

But Catherine de Médicis was not one of those who are easily intimidated; and the Duc de Guise made a serious mistake. She only understood the better how essential it was for her to adopt a bold course, since her enemy thus removed his mask. She cast a withering glance upon him, and breaking away from his grasp with a sudden movement, ran to the folding-doors, and herself threw them open to their fullest extent.

"Monsieur le Chancelier!" she cried.

L'Hôpital, according to the orders he had received, was waiting in the large hall. He had collected there all of the partisans of the queen-mother and the princes whom he had been able to find.

At Catherine's call he came quickly forward, and the group of nobles pressed inquisitively toward the open door.

"Monsieur le Chancelier," continued Catherine, raising her voice that she might be heard by all, "it is proposed to authorize a violent and desperate operation upon the person of the king. Master Paré proposes to pierce his head with an instrument of his own devising. I, his mother, with these three physicians, protest against this crime. Monsieur le Chancelier, record my protest."

"Close that door!" cried the Duc de Guise.

Despite the remonstrances of the gentlemen collected in the great hall, Gabriel did as the duke ordered.

The chancellor alone remained in the king's chamber.

"Now, Monsieur le Chancelier," said Le Balafré, "be pleased to understand that the operation which has been mentioned is absolutely necessary; and that the queen and myself, lieutenant-general of the kingdom, will be answerable, if not for the operation, at all events for the surgeon."

"And I," cried Ambroise Paré, "at this supreme moment, assume all the responsibility that you choose to impose upon me; yes, I consent that my own life may pay the forfeit if I do not succeed in saving the king's. But, alas! it is full time. Look at the king! look!"

François lay there, livid, without motion, and with dull, lifeless eyes, and seemed to see and hear nothing,—scarcely to exist, in fact. He no more responded to Mary's caresses or her beloved voice.

"Oh, hasten, hasten, in the name of God!" she said appealingly to Ambroise. "Oh, try to save the life of the king, and I will protect yours!"

"I have no right to forbid these proceedings," said the impassive chancellor; "but it is my duty to state the protest of Madame the Queen-mother."

"Monsieur de l'Hôpital, you are no longer chancellor," rejoined the Duc de Guise, coldly. "Go on, Ambroise," he said to the surgeon.

"We will withdraw," said Chapelain, speaking for the physicians.

"So be it," replied Ambroise. "I must have most perfect quiet around me; so leave me, if you please, gentlemen. For the sake of being sole master for the moment, I assume the sole responsibility."

For some moments Catherine neither spoke nor moved. She had withdrawn to a window, and was looking out into the courtyard, where there was a great commotion; but in the crisis that was approaching, no one beside herself paid any heed to the tumult without.

All others, even the chancellor himself, had their eyes riveted upon Ambroise Paré, who had resumed the cool demeanor of a great surgeon, and was making ready his instruments.

But just as he was leaning toward François, the uproar came nearer, and seemed to be in the adjoining hall. A bitter and joyous smile played about the bloodless lips of Catherine. The door was violently thrown open; and the Constable de Montmorency, in full armor, appeared threateningly upon the threshold.

"I arrive most opportunely," cried the constable.

"What means this intrusion?" demanded the Duc de Guise, laying his hand upon his sword.

Ambroise Paré had no choice but to stay his hand. Twenty gentlemen accompanied Montmorency, and poured into the chamber after him. At his side were Antoine de Navarre and the Prince de Condé. Moreover, the queen-mother and L'Hôpital joined them. There was no longer any hope of maintaining the mastery even by force.

"In my turn," said Ambroise Paré, hopelessly, "I withdraw."

"Master Paré," cried Mary Stuart, "I, the queen, command you to proceed with your operation!"

"But, Madame," replied the surgeon, "I told you that most perfect quiet was necessary! and you see!" he added expressively, pointing to the constable and his train.

"Monsieur Chapelain," said he to the first physician, "try your injection."

"That will take but an instant," said Chapelain, quickly. "Everything is prepared."

With the assistance of hisconfrères, he injected his preparation into the king's ear.

Mary Stuart, the Guises, Gabriel, and Ambroise allowed them to do as they chose, and said nothing; they were completely crushed, and as if turned to stone.

The constable chattered away like a madman.

"This is very well!" said he, well pleased with the forced docility of Master Paré. "When I think that if it had not been for me you would have opened the king's head in such fashion! Kings of France are only wounded so upon the battle-field, do you see? The steel of an enemy may touch them, but a surgeon's knife never!"

And then, exulting over the dejected attitude of the Duc de Guise, he continued,—

"It was quite time that I should arrive, thank God! Ah, Messieurs, they tell me that you proposed to cut off the head of my dear brave nephew, the Prince de Condé! But you aroused the old lion in his lair, and behold him! I have delivered the prince; I have addressed the States-General, who are restive under your oppression. I have, as constable, dismissed the guards you stationed at the gates of Orléans. Since when has it been customary thus to furnish guards to the king, as if he were not safe in the midst of his loyal subjects?"

"Of what king are you speaking?" demanded Ambroise Paré; "for soon there will be no king save Charles IX.,—for you see, Messieurs," said he to the physicians, "that despite your injection, the brain is already affected, and is beginning to be filled."

Catherine de Médicis clearly read in the hopeless air of Ambroise that all hope was at an end.

"Your reign is over, then, Monsieur," she could not forbear remarking to Le Balafré.

François II. at that moment suddenly raised himself in bed, opened his great staring eyes, moved his lips as if struggling to pronounce a name, then fell heavily back upon his pillow.

He was dead.

Ambroise Paré, with a sorrowful gesture, made the fact known to those present.

"Ah, Madame, Madame! you have killed your son!" cried Mary Stuart to Catherine, leaping toward her in a frenzy of despair.

The queen-mother bestowed upon her daughter-in-law a venomous, icy glance, in which shone all the hatred she had concealed for eighteen months.

Back to Index Next