w
the body out of the window, where it stuck for an instant, either
accidentally or voluntarily, and as if to defend a last remnant of life.
Then it fell. The two great lords, who were waiting for it, turned over
the corpse, wiped the blood off the face, and said, "Faith, 'tis he, sure
enough."

[Illustration: Henry de Guise and the Corpse of Coligny----369]

Some have said that Guise gave him a kick in the face. A servant of the
Duke of Nevers cut off the head, and took it to the queen-mother, the
king, and the Duke of Anjou. It was embalmed with care, to be sent, it
is said, to Rome. What is certain is that, a few days afterwards,
Mandelot, governor of Lyons, wrote to the king, "I have received, sir,
the letter your Majesty was pleased to write to me, whereby you tell me
that you have been advertised that there is a man who has set out from
over yonder with the head he took from the admiral after killing him, for
to convey it to Rome, and to take care, when the said man arrives in this
city, to have him arrested, and to take from him the said head.
Whereupon I incontinently gave such strict orders, that, if he presents
himself, the command which it pleases your Majesty to lay upon me will be
acted upon. There hath not passed, for these last few days, by way of
this city, any person going Romewards save a squire of the Duke of
Guise's, named Paule, the which had departed four hours previously on the
same day on which I received the said letter from your Majesty."

We do not find anywhere, in reference to this incident, any information
going further than this reply of the governor of Lyons to Charles IX.
However it may be, the remains of Coligny's body, after having been hung
and exposed for some days on the gibbet of Montfaucon, were removed by
Duke Francis de Montmorency, the admiral's relative and friend, who had
them transferred to Chantilly and interred in the chapel of the castle.
After having been subjected, in the course of three centuries, at one
time to oblivion and at others to divers transferences, these sad relics
of a great man, a great Christian, and a great patriot, have been
resting, for the last two and twenty years, in the very castle of
Chatillon-sur-Loing, his ancestors' own domain having once more become
the property of a relative of his family, the Duke of Luxembourg, to whom
Count Anatole de Montesquiou transferred them, and who, in 1851, had them
sealed up in a bit of wall in ruins, at th