for the 13th
May--which Maria de' Medici was so insistent should take place before
his departure for the wars. The matter so preyed upon his mind that last
he unburdened himself to Sully one day at the Arsenal.

"Oh, my friend," he cried, "this coronation does not please me. My heart
tells me that some fatality will follow."

He sat down, grasping the case of his reading-glass, whilst Sully could
only stare at him amazed by this out-burst. Thus he remained awhile in
deep thought. Then he started up again.

"Pardieu!" he cried. "I shall be murdered in this city. It is their only
resource. I see it plainly. This cursed coronation will be the cause of
my death."

"What a thought, sir!"

"You think that I have been reading the almanach or paying heed to the
prophets, eh? But listen to me now, Grand Master." And wrinkles deepened
about the bold, piercing eyes. "It is four months and more since we
announced our intention of going to war, and France has resounded with
our preparations. We have made no secret of it. Yet in Spain not a
finger has been lifted in preparation to resist us, not a sword has been
sharpened. Upon what does Spain build? Whence her confidence that in
despite of my firm resolve and my abundant preparations, despite the
fact announced that I am to march on the lath of this month, despite the
fact that my troops are already in Champagne with a train of artillery
so complete and well-furnished that France has never seen the like of
it, and perhaps never will again--whence the confidence that despite all
this there is no need to prepare defences? Upon what do they build, I
say, when they assume, as assume they must, that there will be no war?
Resolve me that, Grand Master."

But Sully, overwhelmed, could only gasp and ejaculate.

"You had not thought of it, eh? Yet it is clear enough Spain builds on
my death. And who are the friends of Spain here in France? Who was it
intrigued with Spain in such a way and to such ends as in my lifetime
could never have been carried to an issue? Ha! You see."

"I cannot, sire. It is too horrible. It is impossible!" cried that
loyal, honest gentleman. "And yet if you are convinced of it, you should
break off this coronation, your journey, and your war. If you wish it
so, it is not difficult to satisfy you."

"Ay, that is it." He came to his feet, and gripped the duke's shoulder
in his strong, nervous hand. "Break off this coronation, and never
let me hear of it agai