with which she addressed her son, it was evident that upon
that paper her chief thoughts were directed.

"Madam!" said Charles faintly, raising himself with difficulty on one
elbow, and struggling with internal pain--"you have received my last
words of pardon. Let my last moments be undisturbed."

"Charles, Charles!" exclaimed his mother, wringing her hands. "Let me
remove these horrible ideas from your mind. What shall I say? What shall
I do? Can a son think thus of a mother who has ever loved him? Oh,
no!--it is impossible. Your mind wandered. You did not think it."

"Enough, madam!--enough!" replied the King. "It was the passing fancy of
a wandering brain, if you will have it so. It is gone now. I think of it
no more. Now leave me."

"But, my son," persisted Catherine, "I have such secrets to reveal to
you, as you alone may hear. They are necessary to the safety of the
state--necessary to the salvation of your soul hereafter. I cannot, must
not, leave you. It is my bounded duty to remain."

"The time is past, madam," gasped her son, "when I can listen to such
matters. My moments are counted--and I have that to do that can brook no
delay."

Catherine sprung up with a feeling of despair, and turned away for a
moment.

"It is near noon," she muttered to herself. "And it was to be at noon,
said the astrologer. Oh! a few minutes--but a few minutes"----

"My son," she continued aloud, again approaching the bed of the king,
and having recourse once more to that importunity, which, in the latter
days of his reign, was the only weapon with which she could contrive to
work upon the mind of Charles, "but I have that to reveal which deeply
affects the honour of our family. Would you that other ears should
listen to our shame?"

"Aye, ever shame--ever blood--ever remorse!" murmured Charles, turning
his head upon his pillow.

"Would you refuse the last request of her who is, after all, your
mother?" exclaimed Catherine, with the well acted accent of extreme
despair.

The king uttered not a word.

"Leave us, sir," said the Queen-mother, with an imperious sign of her
hand to Henry of Navarre, upon seeing these symptoms of the wavering
resolution of her son.

The young prince remained unmoved, to await the will of the dying king.

"Leave us, Henry," said the Monarch; "you will return to me anon. This
is her last request--these are her last words. When she is gone, let me
see you instantly."

Henry of Navarre shook