th Catharine of Medicis, had
paused before the body of the admiral--

"Sire," said he, "does not your Majesty find that the smell of this poor
corpse is too noxious to be longer endured?"

"Ha! think you so, Harry?" cried Charles, whose eyes were sparkling with a
ferocious joy.

"Yes, sire."

"Then I am not of your opinion. _The body of a dead enemy always smells
well._"

"By my faith! sire," said Monsieur de Tavannes, "your Majesty should have
invited Pierre Ronsard to accompany us on this little visit to the
admiral; he would have made an impromptu epitaph on old Gaspard."

"That will I make," said Charles. And after a moments reflection, "Listen,
gentlemen," said he--

"Ci-git, mais c'est mal entendu,
Pour lui le mot est trop honnete,
Ici l'amiral est pendu,
Par les pieds, a faute de tete."

"Bravo! bravo!" cried the Catholic gentlemen with one voice, whilst the
converted Huguenots there present maintained a gloomy silence. As to
Henry, he was talking to Margaret and the Duchess of Nevers, and pretended
not to hear.

"Come, sir," said Catharine, who, in spite of the perfumes with which she
was covered, began to have enough of this tainted atmosphere--"Come, sir,"
said she to the king, "the best of friends must part. Let us bid adieu to
the admiral, and return to Paris."

And bowing her head ironically to the corpse by way of a farewell, she
turned her horse and regained the road, whilst her suite filed past the
body of Coligny. The crowd followed the cavalcade, and ten minutes after
the king's departure, no one remained near the mutilated body of the
admiral.

When we say no one, we make a mistake. A gentleman, mounted on a black
horse, and who, probably, during the stay of the king, had been unable to
contemplate the disfigured corpse sufficiently at his ease, lingered
behind, and was amusing himself by examining, in all their details, the
chains, irons, stone pillars, in short, the whole paraphernalia of the
gibbet, which, no doubt, appeared to him, who had been but a few days at
Paris, and was not aware of the perfection to which all things are brought
in the metropolis, a paragon of hideous ingenuity. This person was our
friend Coconnas. A woman's quick eye had in vain sought him through the
ranks of the cavalcade. Monsieur de Coconnas remained in admiration before
the masterpiece of Enguerrand de Marigny.

But the woman in question was not the only person who sought Coconnas. A
cavalier