him know as much, my daughter."

"Madame," said the queen, "I have not your strength when looking at
suffering."

"Do not look, then."

The king heard nothing; he was all eyes. They were lifting Salcede from
the car on to the scaffold, round which the archers had cleared a large
space, so that it was distinctly visible to all eyes.

Salcede was about thirty-five years of age, strong and vigorous; and his
pale features, on which stood drops of blood, were animated alternately
by hope and anguish. He was no vulgar assassin; he was of good birth,
and even distantly related to the queen, and had been a captain of some
renown. Those bound hands had valiantly borne the sword, and that livid
head, on which were depicted the terrors of death, had conceived great
designs. Therefore, to many of the spectators, he was a hero; to others,
a victim; some looked on him as an assassin; but the crowd seldom
despises those very great criminals who are registered in the book of
history as well as in that of justice. Thus they told, in the crowd,
that Salcede was of a race of warriors; that his father had fought
against the Cardinal de Lorraine, but that the son had joined with the
Guises to destroy in Flanders the rising power of the Duc d'Anjou, so
hated by the French.

He had been arrested and conducted to France, and had hoped to be
rescued by the way; but unfortunately for him, M. de Bellievre had kept
such good watch, that neither Spaniards nor Lorraines, nor leaguers, had
been able to approach. In the prison Salcede hoped; during the torture,
on the car, even on the scaffold, he still hoped. He wanted neither
courage nor resignation; but he was one of those who defend themselves
to their last breath. He darted curious glances toward the crowd, but
constantly turned away, with a look of disappointment.

At this moment, an usher, raising the tapestry of the royal tent,
announced that the president Brisson and four councilors desired the
honor of an instant's conversation with the king on the subject of the
execution.

"Good," said the king. "Mother, you will be satisfied."

"Sire, a favor," said Joyeuse.

"Speak, Joyeuse; and provided it be not the pardon of the criminal--"

"Sire, permit my brother and me to retire."

"What! you take so little interest in my affairs that you wish to retire
at such a moment!"

"Do not say so, sire; all that concerns your majesty profoundly
interests me; but I am of a miserable organiza