th, which, up to that moment, had remained open,
became closed; the flow of blood which for several days past had
terrified all who were near him, as the bloody sweat of Charles IX. had
similarly done at an earlier period, had suddenly ceased, and hands and
feet became icy cold. Henri was sitting beside the head of the couch
whereon his brother was extended. Catherine was standing in the recess
in which the bed was placed, holding her dying son's hand in hers.

The bishop of Chateau-Thierry and the Cardinal de Joyeuse repeated the
prayers for the dying, which were joined in by all who were present,
kneeling, and with their hands clasped reverently together. Toward
mid-day, the dying man opened his eyes; the sun's rays broke through a
cloud and inundated the bed with a flood of light. Francois, who, up to
that moment, had been unable to move a single finger, and whose mind had
been obscured like the sun which had just re-appeared, raised one of his
arms toward heaven with a horror-stricken gesture.

He looked all round the room, heard the murmuring of the prayers, grew
conscious of his illness as well as of his weakness, became aware of his
critical position, perhaps because he already caught a glimpse of that
unseen and terrible future, the abode of certain souls after they have
quitted their earthly prison.

He thereupon uttered a loud and piercing cry, and struck his forehead
with a force which made every one tremble.

Then, knitting his brows, as if one of the mysterious incidents of his
life had just recurred to him, he murmured:

"Bussy! Diana!"

This latter name had been overheard by none but Catherine, so weakened
had the dying man's voice become before pronouncing it.

With the last syllable of that name Francois d'Anjou breathed his last
sigh.

At this very moment, by a singular coincidence, the sun, which had
gilded with its rays the royal arms of France, and the golden
fleurs-de-lis, was again obscured: so that the fleurs-de-lis which had
been so brilliantly illumined but a moment before, became as dark and
gloomy as the azure ground which they had but recently studded with
constellations almost as resplendent as those whereon the eye of the
dreamer rests in his upward gaze toward heaven.

Catherine let her son's hand fall.

Henri III. shuddered, and leaned tremblingly on Chicot's shoulder, who
shuddered too, but from a feeling of awe which every Christian feels in
the presence of the dead.

Mir