th intense anguish
upon the sanguinary scene spread out before him. He saw his friends
utterly defeated, and their squadrons trampled in the dust beneath the
hoofs of the Catholic cavalry.

The Protestants, without loss of time, rallied anew their forces. The
Queen of Navarre soon saw thousands of strong arms and brave hearts
collecting again around her banner. Accompanied by her son, she rode
through their ranks, and addressed them in words of feminine yet
heroic eloquence, which roused their utmost enthusiasm. But few
instances have been recorded in which human hearts have been more
deeply moved than were these martial hosts by the brief sentences
which dropped from the lips of this extraordinary woman. Henry, in the
most solemn manner, pledged himself to consecrate all his energies to
the defense of the Protestant religion. To each of the chiefs of the
army the queen also presented a gold medal, suspended from a golden
chain, with her own name and that of her son impressed upon one side,
and on the other the words "Certain peace, complete victory, or
honorable death." The enthusiasm of the army was raised to the highest
pitch, and the heroic queen became the object almost of the adoration
of her soldiers.

Catharine, seeing the wonderful enthusiasm with which the Protestant
troops were inspired by the presence of the Queen of Navarre, visited
the head-quarters of her own army, hoping that she might also
enkindle similar ardor. Accompanied by a magnificent retinue of her
brilliantly-accoutred generals, she swept, like a gorgeous vision,
before her troops. She lavished presents upon her officers, and in
high-sounding phrase harangued the soldiers; but there was not a
private in the ranks who did not know that she was a wicked and a
polluted woman. She had talent, but no soul. All her efforts were
unavailing to evoke one single electric spark of emotion. She had
sense enough to perceive her signal failure and to feel its
mortification. No one either loved or respected Catharine. Thousands
hated her, yet, conscious of her power, either courting her smiles or
dreading her frown, they often bowed before her in adulation.

The two armies were soon facing each other upon the field of battle.
It was the third of October, 1569. More than fifty thousand combatants
met upon the plains of Moncontour. All generalship seemed to be
ignored as the exasperated adversaries rushed upon each other in a
headlong fight. The Protestants