the Duchess of Nevers. "Do not miss him, sire. A
good thrust to the brute!"

"You may depend on that, duchess," replied Charles. And levelling his
spear, he charged the boar, who, being held down by the two dogs, could
not avoid the blow. Nevertheless, at the sight of the glittering point of
the weapon, the animal made a movement on one side, and the spear, instead
of piercing his breast, grazed his shoulder, and struck against the rock
in his rear.

"_Mille noms d'un diable!_" cried the king, "I have missed him. A spear!
a spear!" And backing his horse, like a knight in the lists, he pitched
away his weapon, of which the point had turned against the rock. A
_piqueur_ advanced to give him another. But at the same moment, as if he
had foreseen the fate that awaited him, and was determined to avoid it at
any cost, the boar, by a violent effort, wrenched his torn ears from the
jaws of the dogs, and with bloodshot eyes, bristling and hideous, his
respiration sounding like the bellows of a forge, and his teeth chattering
and grinding against each other, he lowered his head and made a rush at
the king's horse. Charles was too experienced a sportsman not to have
anticipated this attack, and he turned his horse quickly aside. But he had
pressed too hard upon the bit; the horse reared violently, and, either
terrified at the boar or compelled by the pull on the bridle, fell
backwards. The spectators uttered a terrible cry. The king's thigh was
under the horse.

"Slack your rein!" cried Henry, "slack your rein!"

The king relinquished his hold on the bridle, seized the saddle with his
left hand, and with his right tried to draw his hunting-knife; but the
blade, pressed upon by the weight of his body, would not leave its sheath.

"The boar! the boar!" cried Charles. "Help, D'Alencon! help!"

Nevertheless the horse, left to himself, and as if he had understood his
rider's peril, made an effort, and had already got up on three legs, when
Henry saw the Duke Francis grow deadly pale, bring his arquebuss to his
shoulder, and fire. The ball, instead of striking the boar, now but at two
paces from the king, broke the front leg of the horse, who again fell with
his nose upon the earth. At the same moment Charles's boot was torn by the
tusk of the boar.

"Oh!" murmured D'Alencon between his pallid lips, "I think that the Duke
of Anjou is King of France, and that I am King of Poland!"

It seemed indeed probable. The snout of the boa