Part 15 (2/2)
”But what is now to be done?”
”Try a last effort.”
”And who will try it?”
”I will! Is the King alone?”
”No; M. de Tavannes is with him.”
”Await me here; or, rather, follow me at a distance.”
Catharine instantly rose and went to the chamber, where on Turkey carpets and velvet cus.h.i.+ons were the King's favorite greyhounds. On perches ranged along the wall were two or three valuable falcons and a small shrike, with which Charles IX. amused himself in bringing down the little birds in the garden of the Louvre, and that of the Tuileries, which they had just begun building.
On her way the queen mother put on a pale and anguished expression, while down her cheeks rolled a last or rather a first tear.
She noiselessly approached Charles IX. as he was giving his dogs fragments of cakes cut into equal portions.
”My son,” said the queen, with a trembling in her voice so cleverly affected that the King started.
”What is it, madame?” said Charles, turning round suddenly.
”My son,” replied Catharine, ”I would ask your leave to retire to one of your chateaux, no matter which, so that it be as distant as possible from Paris.”
”And wherefore, madame?” inquired Charles IX., fixing on his mother that gla.s.sy eye which, on certain occasions, became so penetrating.
”Because every day I receive new insults from persons of the new faith; because to-day I hear that you have been threatened by the Protestants even in your own Louvre, and I do not desire to be present at such spectacles.”
”But then, madame,” replied Charles IX., with an expression full of conviction, ”an attempt has been made to kill their admiral. An infamous murderer has already a.s.sa.s.sinated the brave M. de Mouy. _Mort de ma vie_, mother, there must be justice in a kingdom!”
”Oh, be easy on that head, my son,” said Catharine; ”they will not fail justice; for if you should refuse it, they will still have it in their own way: on M. de Guise to-day, on me to-morrow, and yourself later.”
”Oh, madame!” said Charles, allowing a first accent of doubt to show in his voice, ”do you think so?”
”Oh, my son,” replied Catharine, giving way entirely to the violence of her thoughts, ”do you not see that it is no longer a question of Francois de Guise's death or the admiral's, of the Protestant religion or the Catholic religion, but simply of the subst.i.tution of Antoine de Bourbon's son for the son of Henry the Second?”
”Come, come, mother, you are falling again into your usual exaggeration,” said the King.
”What, then, have you in mind, my son?”
”To wait, mother,--to wait. All human wisdom is in this single word. The greatest, the strongest, the most skilful is he who knows how to wait.”
”You may wait, then; I will not.”
Catharine made a courtesy, and stepping towards the door, was about to return to her apartment.
Charles IX. stopped her.
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