ssing, which
issued from his wound, was the only sound he could give forth; a reddish
froth fringed his lips, and he shook his head in sign of impotence and
suffering.

"But speak, then!" cried Catharine; "speak, if it be only to say one
word."

Maurevel pointed to his wound and again uttered some inarticulate sounds,
made an effort which ended in a hoarse rattle, and swooned away. Catharine
then looked around her: she was surrounded by the dead and the dying;
blood was flowing in streams over the floor, and a gloomy silence
prevailed in the apartment. She spoke once more to Maurevel, but he could
not hear her voice; this time he remained not only silent, but motionless.
Whilst stooping over him, Catharine perceived the corner of a paper
protruding from the breast of his doublet: it was the order to arrest
Henry. The queen-mother seized it and hid it in her bosom. Then, in
despair at the failure of her murderous project, she called the captain of
her guard, ordered the dead men to be removed, and that Maurevel, who
still lived, should be conveyed to his house. She moreover particularly
commanded that the king should not be disturbed.

"Oh!" murmured she, as she reentered her apartment, her head bowed upon
her breast, "he has again escaped me! Surely the hand of God protects this
man. He will reign! he will reign!"

Then, as she opened the door of her bedroom, she passed her hand over her
forehead, and composed her features into a smile.

"What was the matter, madam?" enquired all her ladies, with the exception
of Madame de Sauve, who was too anxious and agitated to ask questions.

"Nothing," replied Catharine; "a great deal of noise and nothing else."

"Oh!" suddenly exclaimed Madame de Sauve, pointing to the ground with her
finger, "each one of your Majesty's footsteps leaves a trace of blood upon
the carpet!"

Thrice foiled in her designs upon Henry's life, the queen-mother does not
yet give in. Henry, whom the king has reproached with his ignorance of
falconry, has asked the Duke of Alencon to procure him a book on that
subject. Catharine hears of this request, and gives D'Alencon a book of
the kind required--a rare and valuable work, but of which the edges of the
leaves are stuck together, apparently from age, in reality by poison. The
idea is old, but its application is novel and very effective. The
queen-mother convinces D'Alencon that Henry is playing him false, and the
duke places the fatal book in the