the lips of the favourite touched the
ear of his royal master, to whom he hurriedly murmured--

"Sire, the man you wot of is now in the apartment of the Queen-mother.
What do you decide? All is in readiness."

"Touch him not in her presence as you value your lives," was the
agitated reply; "we shall find him at the Louvre on our return."

A brief interval of suspense succeeded. The prelate who had officiated
then uttered the final blessing; and as the carriage which contained the
King and his favourite entered the palace by one gate, that of Concini
quitted it by another. Inexperienced as he was, however, Louis at once
perceived that he was no longer in a position to recede; and hasty
orders were issued to Vitry and his friends to accomplish their fatal
project on the following day, while the King at the same time secretly
commanded that the light horse of his bodyguard, and the members of his
household, should be in attendance at an early hour in the morning, as
well as a coach and six, at the entrance of the grand gallery. The
pretext for this arrangement was a hunting-party; but its actual
intention was to ensure and protect the King's flight, should his
purpose prematurely transpire or prove abortive. And meanwhile Marie de
Medicis slept, wholly unsuspicious of the change which was about to be
effected in her fortunes!

There is something singularly appalling in all the circumstances which
formed the prelude to this contemplated tragedy. Hitherto the
Queen-mother had created dangers for herself--had started at
shadows--and distrusted even those who sought to serve her; while her
son, silent, saturnine, and inert, had patiently submitted to the
indignities and insults which had been heaped upon him, as though he
were either unconscious or reckless of their extent; and the Italian
adventurer had braved his enemies, and appeared to defy fate itself.
Now, however, when the blow was about to be struck, when the ball and
the blade were alike ready to do their deadly office, all the principal
personages in the bloody drama had suddenly assumed new characters.
Marie slept; the boy-King had become the head of a conspiracy; and the
Marechal d'Ancre, enriched and ennobled beyond the wildest dreams of his
ambition, was preparing to quit the country of his adoption, and to
seek rest and peace in his own land. Another month, perhaps another
week, and he would have left France, probably for ever.

History presents few such a