asping cough, Henry sank together, and blood gushed from
his mouth.

The predictions were fulfilled; the tale borne by the courier riding
through Liege a week ago was made true, as were the stories of his death
already at that very hour circulating in Antwerp, Malines, Brussels, and
elsewhere.

The murderer aimed yet a third blow, but this at last was parried by
Epernon, whereupon the fellow stepped back from the coach, and stood
there, making no attempt to escape, or even to rid himself of the
incriminating knife. St. Michel, one of the King's gentlemen-in-waiting,
who had followed the coach, whipped out his sword and would have slain
him on the spot had he not been restrained by Epernon. The footmen
seized the fellow, and delivered him over to the captain of the guard.
He proved to be a school-master of Angouleme--which was Epernon's
country. His name was Ravaillac.

The curtains of the coach were drawn, the vehicle was put about, and
driven back to the Louvre, whilst to avoid all disturbance it was
announced to the people that the King was merely wounded.

But St. Michel went on to the Arsenal, taking with him the knife that
had stabbed his master, to bear the sinister tidings to Henry's loyal
and devoted friend. Sully knew enough to gauge exactly whence the blow
had proceeded. With anger and grief in his heart he got to horse, ill
as he was, and, calling together his people, set out presently for the
Louvre, with a train one hundred strong, which was presently increased
to twice that number by many of the King's faithful servants who joined
his company as he advanced. In the Rue de la Pourpointicre a man in
passing slipped a note into his hand.

It was a brief scrawl: "Monsieur, where are ye going? It is done. I have
seen him dead. If you enter the Louvre you will not escape any more than
he did."

Nearing St. Innocent, the warning was repeated, this time by a gentleman
named du Jon, who stopped to mutter:

"Monsieur le Duc, our evil is without remedy. Look to yourself, for this
strange blow will have fearful consequences."

Again in the Rue St. Honore another note was thrown him, whose contents
were akin to those of the first. Yet with misgivings mounting swiftly
to certainty, Sully rode amain towards the Louvre, his train by now
amounting to some three hundred horse. But at the end of the street he
was stopped by M. de Vitry, who drew rein as they met.

"Ah, monsieur," Vitry greeted him, "where are you