nical laugh. "To some
hearts all things are possible."

"You had a mother once," continued Charles, after a painful pause. "But
she was good and kind; and she is dead. Know you how she died?--Mine
still lives--and now it is I who die."

"Speak not thus, I entreat you, sire!" interrupted Henry. "This is
horrible!"

"Horrible! is it not?" repeated the wretched king with the same
harrowing laugh. "Henry! trust not yourself to the tender mercies of my
mother!"

Again the same strange noise struck upon the ear of Henry of Navarre.

"Nor shall my people, my poor suffering people, be trusted to her care,"
continued the king with more energy. "Henry, thou art the only one, in
this my palace of the Louvre, who loves me. In spite of all that has
been said and done, thou alone hast left me in repose, hast never
troubled my last days by conspiracies against my crown, and against my
life--ay, my life! Brother has been set against Brother in bitter
hatred. Thou alone hast not hated me, Henry. Thou alone, in spite of all
the wrongs I have done thee--thou hast loved me. To thee I commend my
poor patient wife--to thee I commend my people!"

"But, sire, should it please Heaven to take you from us--and may you
live long, I pray"--resumed Henry of Navarre, whilst the king shook his
head--"it will be your mother who will claim the regency, until the
return from Poland of your brother, Henry of Anjou. It will be hers
probably to command!"

"When I bid you not trust yourself to her tender mercies," replied
Charles, "think not I spoke as a child. My life is ebbing fast, I know,
but my mind is clear. Give me that paper!" He pointed to a paper laid
upon a table close by his side. "This is my last and binding command,
which I shall now sign with my own hand," he continued, as Henry brought
him the desired paper, and laid it upon his couch. "This declares, that,
by my last will, I appoint you as Regent of this realm until the return
of the King of Poland. The name is still in blank; for I would not that
those who drew it up should know my purpose, and bring my mother
clamouring to my side, to thwart my last wish by her reproaches. Give me
a pen, Henry. Now, support me--so--in your arms. Where is now the paper?
My sight is troubled; but I shall find strength to see and strength to
trace that name."

Raised up in the arms of the King of Navarre, Charles took the pen
placed in his hand, and laid it on the paper.

"When you are regent, Hen