happened to
you?"

"Nothing which you do not know, mother. I am in love. I am loved; but it
is this very love which is the cause of my unhappiness."

"Tell me about it, my son," said Catharine.

"Well, mother,--these ambassadors,--this departure"--

"Yes," said Catharine, "the ambassadors have arrived; the departure is
near at hand."

"It need not be near at hand, mother, but my brother hastens it. He
detests me. I am in his way, and he wants to rid himself of me."

Catharine smiled.

"By giving you a throne, poor, unhappy crowned head!"

"Oh, no, mother," said Henry in agony, "I do not wish to go away. I, a
son of France, brought up in the refinement of polite society, near the
best of mothers, loved by one of the dearest women in the world, must I
go among snows, to the ends of the earth, to die by inches among those
rough people who are intoxicated from morning until night, and who gauge
the capacity of their king by that of a cask, according to what he can
hold? No, mother, I do not want to go; I should die!"

"Come, Henry," said Catharine, pressing her son's hands, "come, is that
the real reason?"

Henry's eyes fell, as though even to his mother he did not dare to
confess what was in his heart.

"Is there no other reason?" asked Catharine; "less romantic, but more
rational, more political?"

"Mother, it is not my fault if this thought comes to me, and takes
stronger hold of me, perhaps, than it should; but did not you yourself
tell me that the horoscope of my brother Charles prophesied that he
would die young?"

"Yes," said Catharine, "but a horoscope may lie, my son. Indeed, I
myself hope that all horoscopes are not true."

"But his horoscope said this, did it not?"

"His horoscope spoke of a quarter of a century; but it did not say
whether it referred to his life or his reign."

"Well, mother, bring it about so that I can stay. My brother is almost
twenty-four. In one year the question will be settled."

Catharine pondered deeply.

"Yes," said she; "it would certainly be better if it could be so
arranged."

"Oh, imagine my despair, mother," cried Henry, "if I were to exchange
the crown of France for that of Poland! My being tormented there with
the idea that I might be reigning in the Louvre in the midst of this
elegant and lettered court, near the best mother in the world, whose
advice would spare me half my work and fatigue, who, accustomed to
bearing, with my father, a portion of the