a map of France that hung against the wall.
This he had completed, however, in a quarter of an hour; and after walking
two or three times round the room, and gaping twice as often, he took
advantage of Henry's permission, and stretched himself upon the large bed,
surrounded with dark hangings, which stood at the further end of the
apartment. He placed his pistols and a lamp upon a table near at hand,
laid his naked sword beside him, and certain not to be surprised, since
Orthon was keeping watch in the antechamber, he sank into a heavy slumber,
and was soon snoring in a manner worthy of the King of Navarre himself.

It was then that six men, with naked swords in their hands, and daggers in
their girdles, stealthily entered the corridor upon which the door of
Henry's apartment opened. A seventh man walked in front of the party,
having, besides his sword, and a dagger as broad and as strong as a
hunting-knife, a brace of pistols suspended to his belt by silver hooks.
This man was Maurevel. On reaching Henry's door, he paused, introduced
into the lock the key which he had received from the queen-mother, and,
leaving two men at the outer door, entered the antechamber with the four
others. "Ah, ha!" said he, as the loud breathing of the sleeper reached
his ears from the inner room, "he is there."

Just then Orthon, thinking it was his master who was coming in, went to
meet him, and found himself face to face with five armed men. At the sight
of that sinister countenance, of that Maurevel, whom men called _Tueur du
Roi_, the faithful lad stepped back, and placed himself before the second
door.

"In the king's name," said Maurevel, "where is your master?"

"My master?"

"Yes, the King of Navarre."

"The King of Navarre is not here," replied Orthon, still in front of the
door.

"'Tis a lie," replied Maurevel. "Come! out of the way!"

The Bearnese are a headstrong race; Orthon growled in reply to this
summons, like one of the dogs of his own mountains.

"You shall not go in," said he sturdily. "The king is absent." And he held
the door to.

Maurevel made a sign; the four men seized the lad, pulled him away from
the door-jambs to which he clung, and as he opened his mouth to cry out,
Maurevel placed his hand over it. Orthon bit him furiously; the assassin
snatched away his hand with a suppressed cry, and struck the boy on the
head with his sword-hilt. Orthon staggered.

"Alarm! alarm! alarm!" cried he, as he fell sen