e States.

Monsieur had given his orders. The musketeers, led by their officer,
took possession of the little passage by which one wing of the castle
communicates with the other. This passage was commenced by a small
square ante-chamber, dark even in the finest days. Monsieur stopped
Louis XIV.

"You are passing now, sire," said he, "the very spot where the Duc de
Guise received the first stab of the poniard."

The king was ignorant of all historical matters; he had heard of the
fact, but he knew nothing of the localities or the details.

"Ah!" said he with a shudder.

And he stopped. The rest, both behind and before him, stopped likewise.

"The duc, sire," continued Gaston, "was nearly were I stand: he was
walking in the same direction as your majesty; M. de Loignac was exactly
where your lieutenant of musketeers is; M. de Saint-Maline and his
majesty's ordinaries were behind him and around him. It was here that he
was struck."

The king turned towards his officer, and saw something like a cloud pass
over his martial and daring countenance.

"Yes, from behind!" murmured the lieutenant, with a gesture of supreme
disdain. And he endeavored to resume the march, as if ill at ease at
being between walls formerly defiled by treachery.

But the king, who appeared to wish to be informed, was disposed to give
another look at this dismal spot.

Gaston perceived his nephew's desire.

"Look, sire," said he, taking a flambeaux from the hands of M. de
Saint-Remy, "this is where he fell. There was a bed there, the curtains
of which he tore with catching at them."

"Why does the floor seem hollowed out at this spot?" asked Louis.

"Because it was here the blood flowed," replied Gaston; "the blood
penetrated deeply into the oak, and it was only by cutting it out that
they succeeded in making it disappear. And even then," added Gaston,
pointing the flambeaux to the spot, "even then this red stain resisted
all the attempts made to destroy it."

Louis XIV. raised his head. Perhaps he was thinking of that bloody trace
that had once been shown him at the Louvre, and which, as a pendant to
that of Blois, had been made there one day by the king his father with
the blood of Concini.

"Let us go on," said he.

The march was resumed promptly; for emotion, no doubt, had given to the
voice of the young prince a tone of command which was not customary
with him. When he arrived at the apartment destined for the king, which
commu