as possible
from Paris."

"And wherefore, madame?" inquired Charles IX., fixing on his mother that
glassy eye which, on certain occasions, became so penetrating.

"Because every day I receive new insults from persons of the new faith;
because to-day I hear that you have been threatened by the Protestants
even in your own Louvre, and I do not desire to be present at such
spectacles."

"But then, madame," replied Charles IX., with an expression full of
conviction, "an attempt has been made to kill their admiral. An infamous
murderer has already assassinated the brave M. de Mouy. _Mort de ma
vie_, mother, there must be justice in a kingdom!"

"Oh, be easy on that head, my son," said Catharine; "they will not fail
justice; for if you should refuse it, they will still have it in their
own way: on M. de Guise to-day, on me to-morrow, and yourself later."

"Oh, madame!" said Charles, allowing a first accent of doubt to show in
his voice, "do you think so?"

"Oh, my son," replied Catharine, giving way entirely to the violence of
her thoughts, "do you not see that it is no longer a question of
Francois de Guise's death or the admiral's, of the Protestant religion
or the Catholic religion, but simply of the substitution of Antoine de
Bourbon's son for the son of Henry the Second?"

"Come, come, mother, you are falling again into your usual
exaggeration," said the King.

"What, then, have you in mind, my son?"

"To wait, mother,--to wait. All human wisdom is in this single word. The
greatest, the strongest, the most skilful is he who knows how to wait."

"You may wait, then; I will not."

Catharine made a courtesy, and stepping towards the door, was about to
return to her apartment.

Charles IX. stopped her.

"Well, then, really, what is best to be done, mother?" he asked, "for
above all I am just, and I would have every one satisfied with me."

Catharine turned toward him.

"Come, count," she said to Tavannes, who was caressing the King's
shrike, "tell the King your opinion as to what should be done."

"Will your Majesty permit me?" inquired the count.

"Speak, Tavannes!--speak."

"What does your Majesty do when, in the chase, the wounded boar turns on
you?"

"By Heaven! monsieur, I wait for him, with firm foot," replied Charles,
"and stab him in the throat with my boar-spear."

"Simply that he may not hurt you," remarked Catharine.

"And to amuse myself," said the King, with a sigh which indicated
co