oice.

"Sire, your majesty will understand at the first word. This friend knows
all the particulars of the attempt to poison Monseigneur de Conde."

"There has been an attempt to poison the Prince de Conde?" exclaimed
Henry with a well-assumed astonishment. "Ah, indeed, and when was this?"

Rene looked fixedly at the king, and replied merely by these words:

"A week ago, your majesty."

"Some enemy?" asked the king.

"Yes," replied Rene, "an enemy whom your majesty knows and who knows
your majesty."

"As a matter of fact," said Henry, "I think I have heard this mentioned,
but I am ignorant of the details which your friend has to reveal. Tell
them to me."

"Well, a perfumed apple was offered to the Prince of Conde. Fortunately,
however, when it was brought to him his physician was with him. He took
it from the hands of the messenger and smelled it to test its odor and
soundness. Two days later a gangrene swelling of the face, an
extravasation of the blood, a running sore which ate away his face, were
the price of his devotion or the result of his imprudence."

"Unfortunately," replied Henry, "being half Catholic already, I have
lost all influence over Monsieur de Conde. Your friend was wrong,
therefore, in addressing himself to me."

"It was not only in regard to the Prince de Conde that your majesty
could be of use to my friend, but in regard to the Prince de Porcian
also, the brother of the one who was poisoned."

"Ah!" exclaimed Charlotte, "do you know, Rene, that your stories partake
of the gruesome? You plead at a poor time. It is late, your conversation
is death-like. Really, your perfumes are worth more." Charlotte again
extended her hand towards the opiate box.

"Madame," said Rene, "before testing that, as you are about to do, hear
what cruel results wicked men can draw from it."

"Really, Rene," said the baroness, "you are funereal this evening."

Henry frowned, but he understood that Rene wished to reach a goal which
he did not yet see, and he resolved to push towards this end the
conversation which awakened in him such painful memories.

"And," he continued, "you knew the details of the poisoning of the
Prince de Porcian?"

"Yes," said he. "It is known that every night he left a lamp burning
near his bed; the oil was poisoned and he was asphyxiated."

Henry clinched his fingers, which were damp with perspiration.

"So," he murmured, "he whom you call your friend knows not only the
detail