ry," he paused to say, "remove my mother from
your court. It is I who bid you do it. She would hate you with a mortal
hatred; for power is her only aim in this world, and for that she would
forfeit her salvation in the next. Not a moment would your life be in
safety. She would poison you, as she has poisoned her miserable son."

"Sire! retract those words!" said a voice close by the dying king.

Before the couch of her son stood Catherine de Medicis. Her face was
cold and passionless as ever, although her dark eyes gleamed with
unusual fire, and her pallid face was still more pale.

"What would you have with me, madam?" said Charles, shuddering, as she
approached. "Have I not desired to be alone with my good brother Henry
upon affairs of state?"

"Retract those words, sire!" pursued his mother, unheeding him. "You
have brought against me the most awful accusation that malice can lay to
the charge of a human being. Would you leave this world, if so it please
the saints above, with so hideous a lie upon your lips? Sire! retract
those words!"

"Leave me, woman! Leave me to die in peace!" said Charles, with an
effort of energy, struggling with his weakness and the violence of his
emotions. "Be you guilty of this deed, or be you not, may Heaven forgive
you your misdeeds, as I pray it may forgive me mine."

"My son! my son!" cried Catherine, kneeling down by his side, whilst the
tears, which were ever ready at her command, and might now have been
natural tears of rage, rolled down her cheeks, "I cannot leave you thus,
a victim to the most horrible suspicion. I may have erred against you,
but it has been unconsciously. I have ever sought your honour and your
glory, perhaps by means you now condemn; but I have acted, like a weak,
fallible mortal, for the best. No--no--you really cannot entertain
thoughts so terrible. It cannot be. This is the suggestion of my
enemies--and my enemies are yours, my son." And, as she said these
words, Catherine darted a cold, sharp look of rage at Henry of Navarre,
who had risen, and now remained an unwilling spectator of so terrible a
scene--a scene of the most fearful passions of the human heart between
mother and son, and upon the bed of death. "No--no--you will retract
your words. You will say you did not entertain that frightful thought."

As the Queen-mother spoke, her eyes were fixed upon the paper, which was
to consign the regency to Henry of Navarre; and, in spite of the
animation