d
the livid lips of the dog to examine his teeth, and perceived in the
interstices some white-looking fragments clinging to the sharp points of
the molars. He took out these pieces, and saw that they were paper. Near
where the paper had been the swelling was greater, the gums were
swollen, and the skin looked as if it had been eaten by vitriol.

Charles gazed carefully around him. On the carpet lay two or three bits
of the paper similar to that which he had already recognized in the
dog's mouth. One of the pieces, larger than the others, showed the marks
of a woodcut. Charles's hair stood on end, for he recognized a fragment
of the picture which represented a gentleman hawking, and which Acteon
had torn from the treatise on hunting.

"Ah!" said he, turning pale; "the book was poisoned!"

Then, suddenly remembering:

"A thousand devils!" he exclaimed, "I touched every page with my finger,
and at every page I raised my finger to my lips. These fainting-spells,
these attacks of pain and vomiting! I am a dead man!"

For an instant Charles remained motionless under the weight of this
terrible thought. Then, rising with a dull groan, he hastened to the
door of the armory.

"Maitre Rene!" he cried, "I want Maitre Rene, the Florentine; send some
one as quickly as possible to the Pont Saint Michel and bring him to me!
He must be here within ten minutes. Let some one mount a horse and lead
another that he may come more quickly. If Maitre Ambroise Pare arrives
have him wait."

A guard went instantly to carry out the King's commands.

"Oh!" murmured Charles, "if I have to put everybody to the torture, I
will know who gave this book to Henriot;" and with perspiration on his
brow, clenched hands, and heaving breast, he stood with his eyes fixed
on the body of his dead dog.

Ten minutes later the Florentine knocked timidly and not without some
anxiety at the door of the King's apartments. There are some consciences
to which the sky is never clear.

"Enter!" said Charles.

The perfumer appeared. Charles went towards him with imperious air and
compressed lip.

"Your Majesty sent for me," said Rene, trembling.

"You are a skilful chemist, are you not?"

"Sire"--

"And you know all that the cleverest doctors know?"

"Your Majesty exaggerates."

"No; my mother has told me so. Besides, I have confidence in you, and I
prefer to consult you rather than any one else. See," he continued,
pointing to the dog, "look at what