have the guilty ones severely punished to-morrow. Go on
with your reading, Carlotta." And Catharine sank back on her pillow with
a calmness that greatly resembled weakness, for those present noticed
great drops of perspiration rolling down her face.

Madame de Sauve obeyed this formal order, but her eyes and her voice
were mere machines. Her thoughts wandered to other things which
represented a terrible danger hanging over a loved head. Finally, after
struggling on for several minutes, she became so oppressed between her
feelings and etiquette that her words became unintelligible, the book
fell from her hands, and she fainted.

Suddenly a louder noise was heard; a quick, heavy step fell on the
corridor, two pistol-shots shook the windows; and Catharine, astonished
at the interminable struggle, rose in terror, erect, pale, with dilating
eyes. As the captain of the guard was about to hurry out, she stopped
him, saying:

"Let every one remain here. I myself will go and see what is the
matter."

This is what was taking place, or rather what had taken place. That
morning De Mouy had received the key of Henry's room from the hands of
Orthon. In this key, which was piped, he had noticed a roll of paper. He
drew it out with a pin. It was the password of the Louvre for that
night.

Besides, Orthon had verbally transmitted to him the words of Henry,
asking De Mouy to come to the king at ten o'clock in the Louvre.

At half-past nine De Mouy put on a suit of armor, the strength of which
he had already more than once had occasion to test; over this he
buttoned a silk doublet, fastened on his sword, put his pistols in his
belt, and over everything threw the red cloak of La Mole.

We have seen how, before going back to his rooms, Henry had thought best
to pay a visit to Marguerite, and how he arrived by the secret stairway
just in time to run against La Mole in Marguerite's sleeping-room, and
to appear in the dining-room before the King. It was at that very moment
when, thanks to the password sent by Henry, and above all to the famous
red cloak, that De Mouy passed under the gate of the Louvre.

The young man went directly to the apartments of the King of Navarre,
imitating as well as he could, as was his habit, the gait of La Mole. He
found Orthon waiting for him in the antechamber.

"Sire de Mouy," said the mountaineer, "the king has gone out, but he
told me to admit you, and to tell you to wait for him. If he should be
l