back as if she had seen some sleeping reptile
inside it.

"Well," said Charles, who had not taken his eyes from his mother, "what
is there in the box to startle you, madame?"

"Nothing," said Catharine.

"Then put in your hand, madame, and take out a book that is there; there
is one, is there not?" added Charles, with a pale smile, more terrible
in him than a threat in another.

"Yes," faltered Catharine.

"A book on hunting?"

"Yes."

"Take it out and bring it to me."

In spite of her assurance Catharine turned pale, and trembled in every
limb, as she extended her hand towards the box.

"Fatality!" she murmured, raising the book.

"Very good," said Charles, "now listen; this book on hunting--I loved
the chase madly, above everything else--I read this book too eagerly, do
you understand, madame?"

Catharine gave a dull moan.

"It was a weakness," continued Charles; "burn it, madame. The weakness
of kings and queens must not be known!"

Catharine stepped to the glowing hearth, and dropped the book into the
flames.

Then, standing motionless and silent, she watched with haggard eye the
bluish light which rose from the poisoned leaves.

As the book burned a strong odor of arsenic spread through the room.
Soon the volume was entirely destroyed.

"And now, madame," said Charles, with irresistible majesty, "call my
brother."

Catharine, overcome, crushed under a multiple emotion which her profound
wisdom could not analyze, and which her almost superhuman strength could
not combat, took a step forward as if to speak.

The mother grew remorseful; the queen was afraid; the poisoner felt a
return of hatred.

The latter sentiment dominated.

"Curse him!" she cried, rushing from the room, "he triumphs, he gains
his end; curse him! curse him!"

"You understand, my brother, my brother Henry," cried Charles, calling
after his mother; "my brother Henry, with whom I wish to speak instantly
regarding the regency of the kingdom!"

Almost at the same instant Maitre Ambroise Pare entered through the door
opposite the one by which the queen had just left, and, pausing on the
threshold, noticed the peculiar odor in the room.

"Who has been burning arsenic here?" said he.

"I," replied Charles.

CHAPTER LXIII.

THE DONJON OF THE PRISON OF VINCENNES.

Henry of Navarre was strolling dreamily along the terrace of the prison.
He knew the court was at the chateau, not a hundred feet away, and
through