It is known you are in Paris; the archers
are hunting for you. Flee! Flee!"

"And you say that I shall be King, Rene? I, a fugitive?"

"Look, sire," said the Florentine, pointing to a brilliant star, which
appeared from behind the folds of a black cloud, "it is not I who say
so, but the star!"

Henry heaved a sigh, and disappeared in the darkness.

END.

FOOTNOTES:

[1]

"To uphold the faith
I am beautiful and trusty.
To the king's enemies
I am beautiful and cruel."

[2] Bons chiens chassent de race.

[3]

From up above to down below Gaspard was flung,
And then from down below to high above was hung.

[4]

Here lies--the term the question begs,
For him you need a word that's stronger:
Here hangs the admiral by the legs--
Because he has a head no longer!

[5]

Hawthorn brightly blossoming,
Thou dost fling
Verdant shadows down the river;
Thou art clad from top to roots
With long shoots
On which graceful leaflets quiver.

Here the poetic nightingale
Ne'er doth fail--
Having sung his love to capture--
To repair to consecrate,
'Neath thy verdure, hours of rapture.

Therefore live, O Hawthorn fair,
Live fore'er!
May no thunder bolt dare smite thee!
May no axe or cruel blast
Overcast!
May the tooth of time....

[6] _Raffines_ or _raffine d'honneur_ was a term applied in the 16th
century to men sensitively punctilious and ready to draw their swords at
the slightest provocation.--N.H.D.

[7] The original has _a l'aide d'une promenade_.

[8] "Who are standing by my litter?"

"Two pages and an outrider."

"Good! They are barbarians! Tell me, La Mole, whom did you find in your
room?"

"Duke Francois."

"Doing what?"

"I do not know."

"With whom?"

"With a stranger."

[9] "I am alone; enter, my dear."

[10] She was in the habit of carrying a large farthingale, containing
pockets, in each of which she put a gold box in which was the heart of
one of her dead lovers; for she was careful as they died to have their
hearts embalmed. This farthingale hung every night from a hook which was
secured by a padlock behind the headboard of her bed. (Tallemant Des
Reaux, _History of Marguerite of Valois_.)

[11]

Fair duchess, your dear eyes
Are emerald skies,
Half hid 'neath cloud-lids white,
Whence fiercer lightning flies,