ularly so
where the knife must have passed.

"This explains the state of the lips," she said; "but Francois had only
bitten one piece out of this peach. He did not keep the bouquet long in
his hand, for the flowers are still fresh; the evil may yet be repaired,
for the poison cannot have penetrated very deeply.

"And yet, if the evil be merely superficial, why should this paralysis
of the senses be so complete, and why indeed should the decomposition of
the flesh have made so much progress? There must be more that I have not
seen."

And as she spoke Catherine again looked all round her, and observed,
hanging by a silver chain to its pole, the red and blue parrot to which
Francois was so attached.

The bird was dead, stiff, and the feathers of its wings rough and erect.

Catherine again looked closely and attentively at the torch which she
had once before already narrowly inspected, to satisfy herself that, by
its having burned out completely, the prince had returned early in the
evening.

"The smoke," said Catherine to herself; "the smoke! the wick of that
torch was poisoned; my son is a dead man."

She called out immediately, and the chamber was in a minute filled with
attendants and officers of the household.

"Miron, Miron!" cried some of them.

"A priest!" exclaimed the others.

But Catherine had, in the meantime, placed to the lips of Francois one
of the small bottles which she always carried in her alms-bag, and
narrowly watched her son's features to observe the effect of the
antidote she applied.

The duke immediately opened his eyes and mouth, but no glance of
intelligence gleamed in his eyes, no voice or sound escaped from his
lips.

Catherine, in sad and gloomy silence, quitted the apartment, beckoning
to the two attendants to follow her, before they had as yet had an
opportunity of communicating with any one.

She then led them into another chamber, where she sat down, fixing her
eyes closely and watchfully on their faces.

"Monsieur le Duc d'Anjou," she said, "has been poisoned some time during
his supper last evening; and it was you who served the supper."

At these words the two men turned as pale as death.

"Torture us, kill us, if you will," they said; "but do not accuse us."

"Fools that you are; do you suppose that if I suspected you, that would
have already been done? You have not yourselves, I know, assassinated
your master, but others have killed him; and I must know who the
m