has somewhat recovered his strength, and has succeeded in
writing the name of the man who was in the apartment of the King of
Navarre. This man was Monsieur de Mouy._"

"De Mouy!" thought the queen; "well, I felt it was he. But this old
man--ah! _cospetto!_--this old man is"--

She leaned toward the captain of the guard.

"Look, Monsieur de Nancey," said she, "but without attracting attention;
look at Lasco who is speaking. Behind him--do you see the old man with
the white beard, in the black velvet suit?"

"Yes, madame," replied the captain.

"Well, do not lose sight of him."

"The one to whom the King of Navarre made a sign just now?"

"Exactly. Station yourself at the door of the Louvre with ten men, and
when he comes out invite him in the King's name to dinner. If he
accepts, take him into some room in which you must keep him a prisoner.
If he resists, seize him, dead or alive."

Fortunately Henry, who had been paying but little attention to
Marguerite's address, was looking at Catharine, and had not lost a
single expression of her face. Seeing the eyes of the queen mother fixed
so earnestly on De Mouy, he grew uneasy; when he saw her give an order
to the captain of the guard he comprehended everything.

It was at this moment that he made the sign which had surprised Monsieur
de Nancey, and which meant, "You are discovered, save yourself!"

De Mouy understood this gesture, which was a fitting climax to the
portion of Marguerite's address intended for him. He did not delay an
instant, but mingled with the crowd and disappeared.

Henry, however, was not easy until Monsieur de Nancey had returned to
Catharine, and he saw from the frown on the queen mother's face that the
captain had not been in time.

The audience was over. Marguerite exchanged a few unofficial words with
Lasco.

The King staggered to his feet, bowed, and went out, leaning on the arm
of Ambroise Pare, who had not left him since his illness.

Catharine, pale with anger, and Henry, silent from disappointment,
followed.

As to the Duc d'Alencon, he had scarcely been noticed during the
ceremony, and not once had Charles, whose eyes had not left the Duc
d'Anjou, glanced at him.

The new King of Poland felt himself lost. Far from his mother, carried
away by those barbarians of the north, he was like Antaeus, the son of
Terra, who lost his strength when lifted in the arms of Hercules. Once
beyond the frontier the Duc d'Anjou felt