ally she!"

No sooner had the king read the first lines, than he called out
indignantly, "Oh! the wretch!"

"What is it, my son?"

"He retracts all--he pretends that he confessed nothing; and he declares
that the Guises are innocent of any plot!"

"But," said Catherine, "if it be true?"

"He lies!" cried the king.

"How do you know, my son? Perhaps the Guises have been calumniated: the
judges, in their zeal, may have put false interpretation on the
depositions."

"Oh! no, madame; I heard them myself!" cried Henri.

"You, my son?"

"Yes, I?"

"How so?"

"When the criminal was questioned, I was behind a curtain and heard all
he said."

"Well, then, if he will have it, order the horses to pull."

Henri, in anger, gave the sign. It was repeated, the cords were
refastened, four men jumped on the horses, which, urged by violent
blows, started off in opposite directions. A horrible cracking, and a
terrible cry was heard. The blood was seen to spout from the limbs of
the unhappy man, whose face was no longer that of a man but of a demon.

"Ah, heaven!" he cried; "I will speak, I will tell all. Ah! cursed
duch--"

The voice had been heard above everything, but suddenly it ceased.

"Stop, stop," cried Catherine, "let him speak."

But it was too late; the head of Salcede fell helplessly on one side, he
glanced once more to where he had seen the page, and then expired.
Tanchon gave some rapid orders to his archers, who plunged into the
crowd in the direction indicated by Salcede's glance.

"I am discovered!" said the page to Ernanton. "For pity's sake, aid me!
they come, they come!"

"What do you want?"

"To fly! Do you not see that it is me they want?"

"But who are you, then?"

"A woman. Oh, save me! protect me!"

Ernanton turned pale; but generosity triumphed over fear. He placed his
protegee before him, opened a path with blows, and pushed her toward the
corner of the Rue du Mouton, toward an open door. Into this door she
entered; and she seemed to have been expected, for it closed behind her.
Ernanton had not even time to ask her name, or where he should find her
again; but in disappearing she had made a sign full of promise.

Meanwhile, Catherine was standing up in her place, full of rage.

"My son," said she, at last, "you would do well to change your
executioner; he is a leaguer."

"What do you mean, mother?"

"Salcede suffered only one draw, and he is dead."

"Because he was too sensi