r the fallacy of your
pretended knowledge or be angered by your prediction. Whatever may be
the cause of your hesitation, however, I am resolved that you shall
speak; and I command you, upon pain of my displeasure, to do so
truthfully."

Still La Riviere excused himself, until perceiving that it would be
dangerous to persevere in his pertinacity, he at length reluctantly
replied: "Sire, your son will live to manhood, and will reign longer
than yourself; but he will resemble you in no one particular. He will
indulge his own opinions and caprices, and sometimes those of others.
During his rule it will be safer to think than to speak. Ruin threatens
your ancient institutions; all your measures will be overthrown. He will
accomplish great deeds; will be fortunate in his undertakings; and will
become the theme of all Christendom. He will have issue; and after his
death more heavy troubles will ensue. This is all that you shall know
from me, and even this is more than I had proposed to tell you."

The King remained for a time silent and thoughtful, after which he said
coldly: "You allude to the Huguenots, I see that well; but you only talk
thus because you have their interests at heart."

"Explain my meaning as you please," was the abrupt retort; "but you
shall learn nothing more from me." And so saying, the uncompromising
astrologer made a hurried salutation to the monarch and withdrew.[156]

A fortnight after this extraordinary scene another event took place at
the Louvre sufficiently interesting to Henry to wean his thoughts for a
time even from the foreshadowed future of his successor. In an apartment
immediately contiguous to that of the still convalescent Queen, Madame
de Verneuil became in her turn the mother of a son, who was baptized
with great ceremony, and received the names of Gaston Henri;[157] and
this birth, which should have covered the King with shame, and roused
the nation to indignation, when the circumstances already detailed are
considered, was but the pretext for new rejoicings.

On the 27th of October the Dauphin made his public entry into Paris. The
infant Prince occupied a sumptuous cradle presented to him by the Grand
Duchess of Florence; and beside him, in an open litter, sat Madame de
Montglat, his gouvernante, and the royal nurse. The provost of the
merchants and the metropolitan sheriffs met him at some distance from
the gates, and harangued him at considerable length; and Madame de
Montglat