claimed Berenger, startled; 'that might bring the death of
some other person's child on my soul.'

'That shall be guarded against,' said Sir Francis. 'In the meantime,
my fair youth, keep your matters as silent as may be---do not admit
the Chevalier again in my absence; and, as to this man Guibert, I will
confer with my steward whether he knows too much, and whether it be
safer to keep of dismiss him!'

'If only I could see the King, and leave Paris,' sighed Berenger.

And Walsingham, though unwilling to grieve the poor youth further,
bethought himself that this was the most difficult and hopeless matter
of all. As young Ribaumont grew better, the King grew worse; he himself
only saw Charles on rare occasions, surrounded by a host of watchful
eyes and ears, and every time he marked the progress of disease; and
though such a hint could be given by an Ambassador, he thought that by
far the best chance of recovery of the child lay in the confusion that
might probably follow the death of Charles IX. in the absence of his
next heir.

Berenger reckoned on the influence of Elisabeth of Austria, who had been
the real worker in his union with Eutacie; but he was told that it was
vain to expect assistance from her. In the first year of her marriage,
she had fondly hoped to enjoy her husband's confidence, and take her
natural place in his court; but she was of no mould to struggle with
Catherine de Medicis, and after a time had totally desisted. Even at the
time of the St. Bartholomew, she had endeavoured to uplift her voice
on the side of mercy, and had actually saved the lives of the King of
Navarre and Prince of Conde; and her father, the good Maximilian II.,
had written in the strongest terms to Charles IX. expressing his horror
of the massacre. Six weeks later, the first hour after the birth of her
first and only child, she had interceded with her husband for the lives
of two Huguenots who had been taken alive, and failing then either
through his want of will or want of power, she had collapsed and yielded
up the endeavour. She ceased to listen to petitions from those who had
hoped for her assistance, as if to save both them and herself useless
pain, and seemed to lapse into a sort of apathy to all public interests.
She hardly spoke, mechanically fulfilled her few offices in the court,
and seemed to have turned her entire hope and trust into prayer for her
husband. Her German confessor had been sent home, and a Jesuit give