Part 172 (2/2)
”To die, my son?” said Catharine. ”This is only a pa.s.sing attack of your wretched trouble. Would you have us despair in this way?”
”I tell you, madame, I feel that my soul is about to pa.s.s away. I tell you, madame, that death is near me, by Heaven! I feel what I feel, and I know what I am talking about!”
”Sire,” said the queen, ”your imagination is your most serious trouble.
Since the well-merited punishment of those two sorcerers, those a.s.sa.s.sins, La Mole and Coconnas, your physical suffering should have diminished. The mental trouble alone continues, and if I could talk with you for just ten minutes I could prove to you”--
”Nurse,” said Charles, ”watch at the door that no one may enter. Queen Catharine de Medicis wishes to speak with her well-loved son Charles IX.”
The nurse withdrew.
”Well,” continued Charles, ”this interview will have to take place some day or other, and better to-day than to-morrow. Besides, to-morrow may be too late. But a third person must be present.”
”Why?”
”Because I tell you I am dying,” repeated Charles with frightful seriousness; ”because at any moment death may enter this chamber, as you have done, pale, silent, and unannounced. It is, therefore, time.
Last night I settled my personal affairs; this morning I will arrange those of the kingdom.”
”What person do you desire to see?” asked Catharine.
”My brother, madame. Have him summoned.”
”Sire,” said the queen, ”I see with pleasure that the prejudices dictated by hatred rather than pain are leaving your mind, as they soon will fade from your heart. Nurse!” cried Catharine, ”nurse!”
The woman, who was keeping watch outside, opened the door.
”Nurse,” said Catharine, ”by order of my son, when Monsieur de Nancey returns say to him to summon the Duc d'Alencon.”
Charles made a sign which detained the woman.
”I said my brother, madame,” said Charles.
Catharine's eyes dilated like those of a tigress about to show her anger. But Charles raised his hand imperatively.
”I wish to speak to my brother Henry,” said he. ”Henry alone is my brother; not he who is king yonder, but he who is a prisoner here. Henry shall know my last wishes.”
”And do you think,” exclaimed the Florentine, with unusual boldness in the face of the dread will of her son, her hatred for the Bearnais being strong enough to make her forget her customary dissimulation,--”do you think that if, as you say, you are near the tomb, I will yield to any one, especially a stranger, my right to be present at your last hour; my right as queen and mother?”
”Madame,” said Charles, ”I am still King; and I still command. I tell you that I desire to speak to my brother Henry and yet you do not summon my captain of the guard. A thousand devils! I warn you, madame, I still have strength enough to go for him myself.”
The King made a movement as if to rise from the bed, which brought to light his body, b.l.o.o.d.y like Christ's after the flogging.
”Sire,” cried Catharine, holding him back, ”you wrong us all. You forget the insults given to our family, you repudiate our blood. A son of France alone should kneel before the death-bed of a King of France. As to me, my place is marked out; it is here by the laws of nature as well as the laws of royalty. Therefore I shall remain.”
”And by what right do you remain, madame?” demanded Charles IX.
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