Part 112 (2/2)
”Mother, it is not my fault if this thought comes to me, and takes stronger hold of me, perhaps, than it should; but did not you yourself tell me that the horoscope of my brother Charles prophesied that he would die young?”
”Yes,” said Catharine, ”but a horoscope may lie, my son. Indeed, I myself hope that all horoscopes are not true.”
”But his horoscope said this, did it not?”
”His horoscope spoke of a quarter of a century; but it did not say whether it referred to his life or his reign.”
”Well, mother, bring it about so that I can stay. My brother is almost twenty-four. In one year the question will be settled.”
Catharine pondered deeply.
”Yes,” said she; ”it would certainly be better if it could be so arranged.”
”Oh, imagine my despair, mother,” cried Henry, ”if I were to exchange the crown of France for that of Poland! My being tormented there with the idea that I might be reigning in the Louvre in the midst of this elegant and lettered court, near the best mother in the world, whose advice would spare me half my work and fatigue, who, accustomed to bearing, with my father, a portion of the burden of the State, would like to bear it with me too! Ah, mother, I should have been a great king!”
”There! there! dear child,” said Catharine, to whom this outlook had always been a very sweet hope, ”there! do not despair. Have you thought of any way of arranging the matter?”
”Oh, yes, certainly, and that is why I came back two or three days before I was expected, letting my brother Charles suppose that it was on account of Madame de Conde. Then I have been with De Lasco, the chief amba.s.sador. I became acquainted with him, and did all I could in that first interview to make him hate me. I hope I have succeeded.”
”Ah, my dear child,” said Catharine, ”that is wrong. You must place the interest of France above your petty dislikes.”
”Mother, in case any accident happened to my brother, would it be to the interest of France for the Duc d'Alencon or the King of Navarre to reign?”
”Oh! the King of Navarre, never, never!” murmured Catharine, letting anxiety cover her face with that veil of care which spread over it every time this question arose.
”Faith,” continued Henry, ”my brother D'Alencon is not worth much more, and is no fonder of you.”
”Well,” said Catharine, ”what did Lasco say?”
”Even Lasco hesitated when I urged him to seek an audience. Oh, if he could write to Poland and annul this election!”
”Folly, my son, madness! What a Diet has consecrated is sacred.”
”But, mother, could not these Poles be prevailed on to accept my brother in my stead?”
”It would be difficult, if not impossible,” said Catharine.
”Never mind, try, make the attempt, speak to the King, mother. Ascribe everything to my love for Madame de Conde; say that I am mad over her, that I am losing my mind. He saw me coming out of the prince's hotel with De Guise, who did everything for me a friend could do.”
”Yes, in order to help the League. You do not see this, but I do.”
”Yes, mother, yes; but meanwhile I am making use of him. Should we not be glad when a man serves us while serving himself?”
”And what did the King say when he met you?”
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