e appears to have ceased.

"It is over," said Catharine.--"Captain," she continued, addressing herself
to Monsieur de Nancey, "if there has been scandal in the palace, you will
not fail to-morrow to have it severely punished. Go on reading, Carlotta."

And Catharine fell back upon her pillows. Only those nearest to her
observed that large drops of perspiration were trickling down her face.

Madame de Sauve obeyed the formal order she had received, but with her
eyes and voice only. Her imagination represented to her some terrible
danger suspended over the head of him she loved. After a short struggle
between emotion and etiquette, the former prevailed; her voice died away,
the book fell from her hands, and she fainted. Just then a violent noise
was heard; a heavy hurried step shook the corridor; two pistol-shots
caused the windows to rattle in their frames, and Catharine, astonished at
this prolonged struggle, sprang from her couch, pale, and with dilated
eyeballs. The captain of the guard was hastening to the door, when she
seized his arm.

"Let no one leave the room," she cried; "I will go myself to see what is
occurring."

What was occurring, or rather what had occurred, was this: De Mouy had
received, that morning, from Henry's page, Orthon, the key of the King of
Navarre's apartment. In the hollow of the key was a small roll of paper,
which he drew out with a pin. It contained the password to be used that
night at the Louvre. Orthon had, moreover, delivered a verbal invitation
from Henry to De Mouy, to visit him at the Louvre that night at ten
o'clock.

At half-past nine, De Mouy donned a cuirass, of which the strength had
been more than once tested; over this he buttoned a silken doublet,
buckled on his sword, stuck his pistols in his belt, and covered the whole
with the counterpart of La Mole's famous crimson mantle. Thanks to this
well-known garment, and to the password with which he was provided, he
passed the guards undiscovered, and went straight to Henry's apartment,
imitating as usual, and as well as he could, La Mole's manner of walking.
In the antechamber he found Orthon waiting for him.

"Sire de Mouy," said the lad, "the king is out, but he begs of you to
wait, and, if agreeable, to throw yourself upon his bed till his return."

De Mouy entered without asking any further explanation, and by way of
passing the time, took a pen and ink, and began marking the different
stages from Paris to Pau upon