idly; and then, seeing that his
mother still stood motionless by his side, he added with more
energy--"Am I then no more a king, madam, that, at my own command, I
cannot even be left to _die_ in peace?"

"It is of your health, your safety, your life, that I would speak,"
continued Catherine of Medicis, unmoved. "The physicians have sought
in vain to discover the real sources of the cruel malady that devours
you; but there is no reason to doubt of your recovery, when the cause
shall be known and removed."

"And you, madam, should know, it would appear, better than my
physicians the hidden origin of my sufferings!" said Charles, in a
tone in which might be remarked traces of the bitterest irony. "Is it
not so?" and he looked upon his mother with a deadly look of suspicion
and mistrust.

The Queen-mother started slightly at these words; but, after a moment,
she answered in her usual bland tone of voice--

"It is my solicitude upon this subject that now brings me hither."

"I thank you for your solicitude," replied the King, with the same
marked manner; "and so, doubtless, does my brother Anjou: you love him
well, madam, and he is the successor of his childish brother."

In spite of the command over herself habitually exercised by Catherine
of Medicis, her pale brow grew paler still, and she slightly
compressed her lips, to prevent their quivering, upon hearing the
horrible insinuation conveyed in these words. The suspicions
prevalent at the time, that the Queen-mother had employed the aid of a
slow poison to rid herself of a son who resisted her authority, in
order to make room upon the throne for another whom she loved, had
reached her ears, and, guilty or guiltless, she could not but perceive
that her own son himself was not devoid of these suspicions. After the
struggle of a moment with herself, however, during which the drops of
perspiration stood upon her pale temples, she resumed----

"I love my children all; and I would save your life, Charles. My
ever-watchful affection for you, my son, has discovered the existence
of a hellish plot against your life."

"More plots, more blood!--what next, madam?" interrupted, with a
groan, the unhappy King.

"What the art of the physician could not discover," pursued his
mother, "I have discovered. The strange nature of this unknown
malady--these pains, this sleeplessness, this agony of mind and body,
without a cause, excited my suspicions; and now I have the proofs in