all the kings that France will ever
have, there'll be another to take pleasure in such work as that. But
when I am really king, I'll forge no swords; they shall all go back into
their scabbards."

"Sire," said the Comte de Solern, "the fatigues of tennis and hunting,
your toil at this forge, and--if I may say it--love, are chariots which
the devil is offering you to get the faster to Saint-Denis."

"Solern," said the king, in a piteous tone, "if you knew the fire they
have put into my soul and body! nothing can quench it. Are you sure of
the men who are guarding the Ruggieri?"

"As sure as of myself."

"Very good; then, during this coming day I shall take my own course.
Think of the proper means of making the arrest, and I will give you my
final orders by five o'clock at Madame de Belleville's."

As the first rays of dawn were struggling with the lights of the
workshop, Charles IX., left alone by the departure of the Comte de
Solern, heard the door of the apartment turn on its hinges, and saw his
mother standing within it in the dim light like a phantom. Though very
nervous and impressible, the king did not quiver, albeit, under the
circumstances in which he then stood, this apparition had a certain air
of mystery and horror.

"Monsieur," she said, "you are killing yourself."

"I am fulfilling my horoscope," he replied with a bitter smile. "But
you, madame, you appear to be as early as I."

"We have both been up all night, monsieur; but with very different
intentions. While you have been conferring with your worst enemies in
the open fields, concealing your acts from your mother, assisted by
Tavannes and the Gondis, with whom you have been scouring the town, I
have been reading despatches which contained the proofs of a
terrible conspiracy in which your brother, the Duc d'Alencon, your
brother-in-law, the king of Navarre, the Prince de Conde, and half the
nobles of your kingdom are taking part. Their purpose is nothing less
than to take the crown from your head and seize your person. Those
gentlemen have already fifty thousand good troops behind them."

"Bah!" exclaimed the king, incredulously.

"Your brother has turned Huguenot," she continued.

"My brother! gone over to the Huguenots!" cried Charles, brandishing the
piece of iron which he held in his hand.

"Yes; the Duc d'Alencon, Huguenot at heart, will soon be one before the
eyes of the world. Your sister, the queen of Navarre, has almost ceased
to