he captain of the
guards opened the door, and, almost suffocated, the King fell back on
his bed. Nancey had heard only his name; the orders which followed, and
which had been uttered in a less audible tone, were lost in space.

"Guard the door," said Henry, "and let no one enter."

Nancey bowed and withdrew.

Henry looked at the almost lifeless body, which already would have
seemed like that of a corpse had not a light breath stirred the fringe
of foam on the lips.

Henry looked for several moments, then, speaking to himself:

"The final moment has come!" said he; "shall I reign? shall I live?"

Just then the tapestry of the alcove was raised, a pale face appeared
behind it, and a voice vibrated through the silence of death which
reigned throughout the royal chamber.

"Live!" said this voice.

"Rene!" cried Henry.

"Yes, sire."

"Your prediction was false, then; I shall not be king?"

"You shall be, sire; but the time has not yet come."

"How do you know? Speak, that I may know if I may believe you."

"Listen."

"Well?"

"Stoop down."

Henry leaned over Charles. Rene did the same. They were separated by the
width of the bed alone, and even this distance was lessened by their
positions. Between them, silent and motionless, lay the dying King.

"Listen," said Rene; "placed here by the queen mother to ruin you, I
prefer to serve you, for I have faith in your horoscope. By serving you
I shall profit both in body and soul."

"Did the queen mother command you to say this also?" asked Henry, full
of doubt and pain.

"No," said Rene; "but I will tell you a secret."

He leaned still further over.

Henry did likewise, so that their heads almost touched.

This interview between two men bending over the body of a dying king was
so sombre that the hair of the superstitious Florentine rose on end, and
Henry's face became covered with perspiration.

"Listen," continued Rene, "I will tell you a secret known only to me. I
will reveal it to you if you will swear over this dying man to forgive
me for the death of your mother."

"I have already promised you this," said Henry, with darkening brow.

"You promised, but you did not swear," said Rene, drawing back.

"I swear it," said Henry, raising his right hand over the head of the
King.

"Well, sire," said the Florentine, hastily, "the King of Poland will
soon arrive!"

"No," said Henry, "the messenger was stopped by King Charles."

"King Charles inter