aster and thy prince--the dupe of thy
base stratagems; who hast blinded me, and gulled me, whilst thy real
design was the interest of another!"

"Proceed, my lord duke," said La Mole calmly. "Of what other does my
lord duke speak?"

"Of Henry of Navarre, for whom you have conspired at Margaret's
instigation," replied Alencon, walking uneasily up and down the room,
and not venturing to look upon his accused favourite, as if he
himself had been the criminal, and not the accuser.

"Ah! thither flies the bolt, does it?" said La Mole, with score. "But
it strikes not, my lord. If I may claim your lordship's attention to
these papers for a short space of time, I should need no other answer
to this strange accusation, so strangely thrown out against me." And
he produced from his person several documents concealed about it, and
laid them before the Duke, who had now again thrown himself into his
chair. "This letter from Conde--this from La Breche--these from others
of the Protestant party. Cast your eyes over them? Of whom do they
speak? Is it of Henry of Navarre? Or is it of the Duke of Alencon?
Whom do they look to as their chief and future King?"

"Philip, forgive me--I have wronged you," said the vacillating Duke,
as he turned over these documents from members of the conspiracy that
had been formed in his own favour. "But, gracious Virgin!--I now
remember my mother knows all--she is fearfully incensed against you.
She spoke of your arrest."

"Already!" exclaimed La Mole. "Then it is time to act! I would not
that it had been so soon. But Charles is suffering--he can no longer
wield the sceptre. Call out the guard at once. Summon your fiends.
Seize on the Louvre."

"No--no--it is too late," replied the Duke; "my mother knows all, I
tell you. No matter whether for me or for another, but you have dared
to attack the rights of my brother of Anjou--and that is a crime she
never will forgive."

"Then act at once," continued his favourite, with energy. "We have
bold hearts and ready arms. Before to-night the Regency shall be
yours; at Charles's death the Crown."

"No, no--La Mole--impossible--I cannot--will not," said Alencon in
despair.

"Monseigneur!" cried La Mole, with a scorn he could not suppress.

"You must fly, Philip--you must fly!" resumed his master.

"No--since you will not act, I will remain and meet my fate!"

"Fly, fly, I tell you! You would compromise me, were you to remain,"
repeated the Duke. "Every