e of treason towards me, I
swear. Besides, I owe him amends, poor boy! His mother was poisoned by
some members of my family, I am told. Moreover, I am well. But if I were
to be taken ill, I would call him, I should want him to stay with me, I
would take nothing except from him, and when I died I would make him
King of France and of Navarre. And by Heaven! instead of laughing at my
death as my brothers would do, he would weep, or at least he would
pretend to weep."

Had a thunderbolt fallen at Catharine's feet she would have been less
startled than at these words. She stood speechless, gazing at Charles
with haggard eyes. Then at the end of a few moments:

"Henry of Navarre!" she cried, "Henry of Navarre King of France to the
detriment of my children! Ah! Holy Virgin! we shall see! So this is why
you wish to send away my son?"

"Your son--and what am I, then? the son of a wolf, like Romulus?" cried
Charles, trembling with anger, his eyes shining as though they were on
fire. "Your son, you are right; the King of France is not your son, the
King of France has no brothers, the King of France has no mother, the
King of France has only subjects. The King of France has no need of
feelings, he has wishes. He can get on without being loved, but he shall
be obeyed."

"Sire, you have misunderstood my words. I called my son the one who was
going to leave me. I love him better just now because just now he is the
one I am most afraid I shall lose. Is it a crime for a mother to wish
that her child should not leave her?"

"And I, I tell you that he shall leave you. I tell you that he shall
leave France, that he shall go to Poland, and within two days, too, and
if you add one word he shall go to-morrow. Moreover, if you do not
smooth your brow, if you do not take that threatening look from your
eyes, I will strangle him this evening, as yesterday you yourself would
have strangled your daughter's lover. Only I shall not fail, as we
failed in regard to La Mole."

At the first threat Catharine's head fell; but she raised it again
almost immediately.

"Ah, poor child!" said she, "your brother would kill you. But do not
fear, your mother will protect you."

"Ah, you defy me!" cried Charles. "Well! by the blood of Christ, he
shall die, not this evening, not soon, but this very instant. Ah, a
weapon! a dagger! a knife! Ah!"

Having looked around in vain for what he wanted, Charles perceived the
little dagger his mother always wore