ier to confess the truth, especially after he had
consulted Catherine's looks.

He was questioned on all sides, and he replied that Monsieur le Duc
d'Anjou must certainly have suffered from some seriously-disturbing
cause, and had been subjected to some violent mental shock.

In this way he avoided compromising himself, therefore, which is a very
difficult matter in such a case.

When Henri III. required him to answer affirmatively or negatively to
his question, "Whether the duke would live?" he replied,

"I will answer your majesty in three days."

"And when will you tell me?" said Catherine, in a low voice.

"You, madame, are very different; I answer you unhesitatingly."--"Well?"

"Your majesty has but to interrogate me."

"On what day will my son die, Miron?"

"To-morrow evening, madame."

"So soon?"

"Ah! madame," murmured the physician, "the dose was by no means a slight
one."

Catherine placed one of her fingers on her lips, looked at the dying
man, and repeated in an undertone this sinister word, "Fatality!"

CHAPTER LXXXIX.

LES HOSPITALIERES.

The count had passed a terrible night, in a state bordering on delirium
and verging on death.

Faithful, however, to his duty, as soon as he had heard the king's
arrival announced, he rose and received him at the gate, as we have
described; but no sooner had he presented his homage to his majesty,
saluted respectfully the queen-mother, and pressed the admiral's hand,
than he shut himself up in his own room, not to die, but to carry
determinedly into execution his long cherished project, which nothing
could any longer interfere with.

Toward eleven o'clock in the morning, therefore--that is to say, as soon
as, immediately after the terrible news had circulated that the Duc
d'Anjou's life was in imminent danger, every one had dispersed, leaving
the king completely bewildered by this fresh event--Henri went and
knocked at his brother's door, who, having passed a part of the previous
night traveling, had just retired to his own room.

"Ah! is that you?" asked Joyeuse, half asleep; "what is the matter?"

"I have come to bid you farewell, my brother," replied Henri.

"Farewell! What do you mean? Are you going away?"

"Yes, I am going away, brother, and nothing need keep me here any
longer, I presume."

"Why nothing?"

"Of course, since the fetes at which you wished me to be present will
not take place, I may now consider myself as freed fro