Marguerite de Valois : an historical romance

Front matter

PG i, VIXPENCE,.

BY ALEXANDRE DUMAS qb ble tidy

; ; Cp eae Ves aad the 4,54 Relig !

Chapter I

M. de Guise’s Latin. ‘ : : CHAPTER II.

Henry of Navarre and Marguerite. . CHAPTER III.

The Poet-king ° . e e o

CHAPTER IY.

The Evening of the 24th of August, 1572

CHAPTER V.

Of the Louvre in particular, and of Virtue in general . : é :

CHAPTER VI.

The Debt paid .

CHAPTER VII.

The Night of the 24th of August, 1572.

e e s o

CHAPTER VIII.

The Victims . : : : :

CHAETER IX.

The Murderers Q : ‘ ‘ ‘5

CHAPTER X.

Death, Mass, or the Bastille . : “

CHAPTER XI.

The Hawthorn of the Cemetery of the Innocents : : - ° .

CHAPTER XII.

Mutual Confidence 3 ; ° °

CHAPTER XIII.

How there are Keys that open Doors they arenot meant for . : ° CHAPTER XIV.

Catherine and Marguerite . : .

CHAPTER XV.

What Woman wills, Heaven wills also .

CHAPTER XVI,

The Body of a Dead Enemy always smells Sweet . ‘ , ’ :

53 56

CHAPTER XVII.

The Rival of Maitre Ambroise Paré ‘

CHAPTER XVIII.

The Visit

CEAR TERE aS 5

The Abode of Maitre René, Perfumer to the Queen-mother

CHAPTER Xxx% The Black Hens . 4 7

CHAPTER XXI.

Madame de Sauve’s chamber s i

CHAPTER XXIf.

se Sire, yOu will Des King oe. 4 “

CHAPTER XXIII.

A new Convert . 2 : ; s

CHAPTER XXIV.

The Rue Tizon and the Rue Cloche- Percée . ; as

CHAPTER XXV.

Cherry Mantle. : ‘ ° .

CHAPTER XXVI.

Marguerite . ‘ , , 5 :

CHAPTER XXVIII.

| The Hand of ‘Providence ‘ 3 :

CHAPTER XXVIII.

The Lettef from Rome. : ae

CHAPTER XXIX.

The Departure . : : Suet

CHAPTER XXX.

| Maurevel : ~ : ‘ F :

CHAPTER XXXI.

The Boar Hunt . 3 5 o :

CHAPTER XXXII.

Fraternity < . . . . ‘ CHAPTER XXXII, The Gratitude of King Charles the Ninth

| Le)

oF

TOO

IOI

CHAPTER XXXIV.

Man proposes, but God disposes

CHAPTER XXXV.

The two Kings . :

CHAPTER XXXVI.

Marie Touchet a : ;

CHAPTER XXXVII.

The return to the Louvre 2

CHAPTER XXXVIII.

Interrogatories , ‘ :

CHAPTER XXXIX.

Projects of Vengeance . ,

CHAPTER XL.

The Atrides . 3 : .

CHAPTER XLI.

The Horoscope . :

CHAPTER XLII.

Mutual Confidences f ‘

6HAPTER XLIII.

The Ambassadors . ; 5

CHAPTER XLIV: Orestes and Pylades :

CHAPTER XLV.

O:thon. F é : 4

CHAPTER XLVI.

The Hostelry of ‘‘ La Belle Etoile ”’

CHAPTER XLVII.

De Mouy de Saint-Phale

CHAPTER XLVIII.

Two Heads for one Crown

CHAPTER XLIX.

The Book of Venerie .

CHAPTER L, The Hawking Party . 4

CONTENTS. z a |

PAGE

I4I

LAG 4

CHAPTER LI. | The Pavilion of Francois the First

CHAPTER LII.

The Examinations - .

CHAPTER LIII.

Acton. ;

CHAPTER LIV.

Vincennes ., ; ‘ :

CHAPTER LV.

The Figure of Wax. ;

CHAPTER LVI,

| The Invisible Bucklers .

CHAPTER LVII.

he Trial os. ° 5 ;

| CHAPTER LVIII.

The Torture of the Boot ‘

| CHAPTER LIX.

The Chapel . : ; A

CHAPTER LX.

The Place Saint-Jean-en-Gréve

CHAPTER LXI.

The Headsman’s Tower

CHAPTER LXII.

The Sweat of Blood.

CHAPTER LXIII.

CHAPTER LXIV.

The Regency :

CHAPTER LXV.

The King is dead! God save the King!

CHAPTER LXVI.

Epilogue. ; ; ;

The Platform of the Donjon at Vincennes

MARGUERITE DE VALOIS.

GRAPE ER! It M. DE GUISE’S LATIN.

ON Monday, the 18th of August, 1572, there was a splendid féte at the Louvre.

The windows of the ancient royal residence were brilliantly illuminated, and the squares and streets adjacent, usually so solitary after the clock of Saint Germain-l’Auxerrois had tolled nine, were now crowded with people, although it was past midnight.

All this assemblage, threatening, pressing, and turbulent, resembled, in the gloom, a dark and rolling sea, each swell of which increases to a foaming wave; this sea, extending all along the quay, spent its waves at the base of the walls of the Louvre, on the one hand, and against the Hotel de Bourbon, which was opposite, on the other. ‘There was in spite of the royal féte, and perhaps even because of the royal féte, something threatening in the aspect of the people.

The court was celebrating the marriage of Madame Marguerite de Valois, daughter of Henry II. and sister of King Charles IX., with Henry de Bourbon, King of Navarre; and that same morning the Cardinal de Bourbon had united the young couple with the usual ceremonial observed at the marriages of the royal daughters of France, on a stage erected at the entrance to Notre-Dame.

This marriage had astonished everybody, and occasioned much surmise to certain persons who saw clearer than others. They could not comprehend the union of ‘two parties who hated each other so thoroughly as did, at this moment, the Protestant party and the Catholic party ; and they wondered how the young Prince de Condé could forgive the Duke d’ Anjou, the king’s father, for the death of his father, assassinated by Montesquiou, at Jarnac. They asked how the young Duke de Guise could pardon Admiral de Coligny for the death of his father, assassinated at Orleans by Poltrot de Méré. Moreover, Jeanne de Navarre, the courageous spouse of the weak Antoine de Bourbon, who had conducted his son Henry to the royal espousals which awaited him, had died scarcely two months before, and singular reports had been spread abroad as to this sudden death. It was everywhere whispered, and in some places said aloud, that she had discovered some terrible ; secret; and that Catherine de Medicis, fearing its disclosure, had poisoned her gloves, ; which had been made by one René, her | fellow-countryman, and deeply skilled in such affairs. ‘This report was the more spread ana believed, when, after the death of this great queen, at her son’s request, two celebrated physicians, one of whom was the fanrous Ambroise Paré, were instructed to open and examine the body, but not the skull. As it was by the smell that Jeanne de Navarre had been poisoned, it was the brain alone that could present any traces of the crime, and that was the sole part excluded from dissection. We say crime, for no one doubted for a moment that acrime had been committed.

This was not all. The king, Charles, in particular had set his heart on this union, which not only re-established peace in his kingdom, but also attracted to Paris the principal Huguenots of France, and his anxiety almost approached to obstinacy. As _ the two betrothed belonged one to the Catholic religion and the other to the Reformed religion, they were obliged to obtain a dispensation from Gregory XIII., who then filled the papal chair. The dispensation was slow in coming, and the delay causing great uneasiness to the late Queen of Navarre, she had one day expressed to Charles IX. her fears least the dispensation should not arrive; to which the king replied :

“Be under no alarm, my dear aunt. I honour you more than FE do the Pope, and I love my sister more than I fear his holiness. Tam not a Huguenot, but neither am I fool; and if the Pope makes any difficulties, I will myself take Margaret by the hand, and unite her to your son in the sight of open day.”

This speech was soon spread through the Louvre and the city, and whilst it greatly rejoiced the Huguenots, had given the Catholics wherewithal to reflect upon; and they asked one another, with a low voice, if the king really meant to betray them, or was only playing a part which some fine morning or evening might have an unexpected finale.

It was particularly with regard to Admiral de Coligny, who for five or six years had been so bitterly opposed to the king, that the conduct of Charles IX. appeared inexplicable ;

Io a pitch was this carried, that Catherine de Medicis herself, who until then had controlled the actions, will, and even desires of the young prince, seemed beginning to be really uneasy, and not without reason; for, in a moment of confidence, Charles IX. had said to the admiral, in reference to the war in Flanders, ‘‘ My father, there is one other thing against which we must be on our guard, and this is, that the queen, my mother, who likes to poke her nose everywhere, as you well know, shall learn nothing of this undertaking; we must keep it so quiet that she does not hear a word of it, or, meddler as she is, she will spoil all.”

Now, wise and experienced as he was, Coligny had not kept this counsel secret ; and, albeit he had come to Paris with great suspicions, and albeit at his departure from Chatillon a peasant had thrown herself at his feet, crying, “Ah! sir, our good master, do not go to Paris, for if you do you will die—you and all who are with you !’’—these suspicions were lulled and almost destroyed in his breast, and in that of Teligny, his son-in-law, to whom

_the king was especially kind and attentive, calling him * brother,” as he called the admiral his “ father,” and behaving to him as he did to his best friends.

The Huguenots, then, excepting some few morose and suspicious spirits, were completely re-assured, The death of the Queen of Navarre passed over, as having beencaused byapleurisy, and the spacious apartments of the Louvre were filled with those brave Protestants to whom the marriage of their young chief, Henry, promised an unexpected return of good fortune. Admiral Coligny, La Rochefoucault, the young Prince de Condé, Toligny, in short, all the leaders of the party, were triumphant when they saw so powerful at the Louvre, and so welcome in Paris, those whom, three months before, King Charles and Queen Catherine would have hanged on gibbets higher than those of assassins. The king, the queen, the Duke d’Anjou, and the Duke d’Alencon did the honours of the royal féte with all courtesy and kindness.

The Duke d’Anjou received from the Huguenots themselves well-merited compliments as to the two battles of Jarnac and Montcontour, which he had gained before he was eighteen years of age, more precocious in that than either Caesar or Alexander, to whom they compared him, of course placing the conquerors of Pharsalia and Issus as inferior to the living prince. The Duke d’AlenconIcoked on, with his bland, false smile, whilst Queen Catherine, radiant with joy and diffuse in compliment, congratulated Prince Henry de Condé on his recent marriage with Marie de Cleves, and the Messieurs de Guise themselves looked gracious on the formidable enemies of their house, and the Duke de Mayenne discoursed with M. de

MARGUERITE DE VALOZS.

Tavanne and the admiral on the impending war, which was now more than ever threatened against Philippe II.

In the midst of these groups moved backwards and forwards, his head a-little on one side, his ear open to all that was said, a young man about nineteen years of age, with a keen eye, black hair cut very close, thick eyebrows and a nose curved like an eagle’s, with a sneering smile and a growing moustache and beard. This young man, who had first distinguished himself at the battle of Arnay-le-Duc, for which he had been very highly complimented, was the dearly beloved pupil of Coligny, and the hero of the day. Three months anterior, that is to say, when his mother was diving, they called him the Prince of Béarn, now he was called the King of Navarre, and in aftertime, Henry IV.

From time to time a gloomy cloud passed suddenly and rapidly over his brow; questionless, he recollected that ‘*two months, two little months,” had scarce elapsed since his mother’s death, and he less than any: one doubted that she had been poisoned. But the cloud was transitory and disappeared like a fleeting shadow, for they who spoke to him, they who congratulated him, they who elbowed him, were they who had assassinated the brave Jeanne d’Albret.

Some paces distant from the King of Navarre, almost as pensive and gloomy asthe king affected to be joyous and free from cares, was the young Duke de Guise, conversing with Teligny. More fortunate than the Béarnais, at two-and-twenty he had almost attained the reputation of his father, Francois, the great Duke de Guise. He was an elegant gentleman, very tall, with a noble and haughty look, and gifted with that natural majesty, which caused it to be said that by his side other princes seemed to belong to the people. Young as he was, the Catholics looked up to him as the chief of their party, as the Huguenots considered Henry of Navarre, whose portrait we have just drawn, to be their chief. He had heretofore borne the title of Prince de Joinville, and at the siege of Orleans fought his first fight under his father, who died in his arms, denouncing Admiral Coligny as his assassin. It was then the young duke, like Hannibal, took a solemn oath to avenge his father’s death on the admiral and his family, and to pursue the foes to his religion without truce or respite, promising God to be his exterminating angel on earth, until the very last heretic should be cut off. It was therefore with the deepest astonishment that the people saw this prince, usually so faithful to his word, extend the hand of fellowship to those whom he had sworn to hold as his eternal enemies, and discourse familiarly with the son-in-law of the man whose death he had promised to his dying father. —

But as we have said, this was an evening of astonishments. £

All continued smilingly within, and a murmur more soft and flattering thah ever pervaded the Louvre at the moment when the youthful bride, after having laid aside her toilette of ceremony, her long mantle and flowing veil, returned to the ball-room, accompanied by the lovely Duchess de Nevers, her most intimate friend, and led by her brother, Charles IX., who presented her to the principal guests.

The bride was the daughter of Henry II, was the pearl of the crown of France, MAR- GUERITE DE VALOIS, whom, in his familiar tenderness for her, King Charles IX. always called ma sweur Margot, “my sister Madge.”

Never was a more flattering reception, never one more merited, than that which awaited the new Queen of Navarre. Marguerite at this period was scarcely twenty, and already she was the object of all the poets’ eulogies, some of whom compared her to Aurora, others to Cytherea; she was, in truth, a beauty without rival in that court in which Catherine de Medicis had assembled the loveliest women of the age and country.

She had black hair and a brilliant complexion ; a voluptuous eye, veiled by long lids, coral and delicate lips, a graceful neck, a full, enchantipg figure, and concealed in a satin slipper a tiny foot, scarce larger than an infant’s. The French, who possessed her, were proud to see so lovely a flower flourishing in their soil, and foreigners who passed through France returned home dazzled with her beauty, if they had but seen her, and amazed at her knowledge, if they had discoursed with her; for not only was Marguerite the loveliest, she was also the most erudite, woman of her time, and on all sides was quoted the remark of an Italian savant who had been presented to her, and who, after having conversed with her for an hour in Italian, Spanish, and Latin, had said, on quitting her presence: ‘‘To see the court without seeing Marguerite de Valois, is to see neither France nor the court.”

Thus it may be supposed, that addresses to King Charles IX. and the Queen of Navarre were not wanting. The Huguenots were great hands at addresses. Many strong hints as to the past, and stronger hints as to the future, were adroitly slipped into these harangues; but to all such allusions and speeches he replied, with his pale lips and artificial smiles :

‘‘In giving my sister Margot to Henry of Navarre, I give my sister to all the Protestants of the kingdom.”

This phrase assured some and made others smile, for it had really a double sense: the one paternal, and with which Charles IX. would not load his mind; the other, injurious to the bride, her husband, and also to him who saidit, for it recalled some scandalous rnmours with which the chroniclers of the court had already found means to smirch the nuptual robe of Marguerite de Valois.

However, M. de Guise was conversing, as we have described, with Teligny; but he did not pay to the conversation such sustained attention but that he turned away somewhat, from time to time, to cast a glance at the group of ladies, in the centre of whom gli‘-

MARGUERITE DE VALOIS.

It tered the Queen of Navarre. When the princess’s eye thus met that of the young duke, a cloud seemed to overspread that lovely brow, around which stars and diamonds formed a tremulous circlet, and some agitating thought might be divined in her restless and impatient manner.

The Princess Claude, the eldest sister of Marguerite, who had been for some years married to the Duke of Lorraine, had observed this uneasiness, and going up to her, was about to inquire the cause, when all stood aside at the approach of the queen-mother, who came forward leaning on the arm of the young Prince de Condé, and the princess was thus suddenly shut out from her sister. ‘There was then a general movement, by which the Duke de Guise profited to approach Madame de Nevers, his sister-in-law, and Marguerite.

Madame de Lorraine, who had not lost sight of her sister, then remarked, instead of the cloud which she had before observed op her forehead, a burning blush come into her cheeks. The duke approached still nearer, and when he was within two steps of Marguerite, she appeared rather to feel than see his presence, and turned round, making a violent effort over herself in order to give her features an appearance of calmness and indifference. The duke, then respectfully bowing, murmured, in a low tone, ‘ /ése atulli.”>—* I have brought it.”

Marguerite returned the salute of the young duke, and as she stooped, replied, in the same tone, ‘Noctu pro more.’— To-night, as usual.”

These words, uttered softly, were so Jost in the enormous collar which the princess wore, as to be heard only by the person to whom they were addressed; but brief as had been the conference, it doubtless composed all the young couple had to say, for after this exchange of two words for three, they separated, Marguerite more thoughtful, and the duke with his brow less clouded than when they met. This little scene took place without _ the person most interested appearing to re-_ mark it, for, on his side, the King of Navarre had eyes but for one individual amongst those whom Marguerite de Valois had around her, and that was the lovely Madame de Sauve.

Charlotte de Beaune-Semblancay, granddaughter of the unfortunate Semblancay, and wife of Simon de Fizes, Baron de Sauve, was one of the ladies in waiting to Catherine de Medicis, and one of the most redoubtable auxiliaries of this queen, who poured forth to her enemies philtres of love when she dared not pour out Italian poison, Delicately fair, and by turns sparkling with vivacity or languishing in melancholy, always ready for love or intrigue, the two great occupations which for fifty years employed the court of the three succeeding kings: a woman in every acceptation of the word, and in all the charm of the idea, from the blue eye, languishing or beaming fire, to the small and perfectly formed feet, hidden in their slippers of velvet, Madame de

Sauve had already for some months seized on every faculty of the King of Navarre, then making his débz¢ as lover as weil as politician, so completely, that Marguerite de Valois, a magnificent and royal beauty, had not even excited admiration in the heart of ler spouse ; and what was more strange, and astonished all the world, even on the part of that soul so full of darkness and mystery, Catherine de Medecis, whilst she prosecuted her project of union between her daughter and the King of Navarre, had not ceased to favour almost openly his amour with Madame de Sauve. But despite this powerful aid, and despite the easy manners of the age, the lovely Charlotte had hitherto resisted; and this resistance, unheard of, incredible, unprecedented, even more than the beauty and wit of her who resisted, had excited in the heart of the Béarnais a passion which, unable to satisfy itself, had destroyed in the young king’s heart ail timidity, pride, and éven that carelessness, half philosophy, half idleness, which formed the basis of his character.

Madame de Sauve had been only a few minutes in the apartment; {rom spite or grief, she had at first resolved on not being present at her rival’s tnumph, and under the pretext of an indisposition, had allowed her husband, who had been for five years secretary of state, to go alone to the Louvre; but when Catherine de Medicis saw the baron without his wife, had learned the cause that kept away her dear Charlotte, and that the indisposition was but slight, she wrote a few words to her, which the lady instantly obeyed. Henry, sad as he had at first been at her absence, had yet. breathed more freely when he saw M. de Sauve enter alone; but at the moment when, not expecting her appearance, he was about to pay some court to the charming creature whom he was condemned, if not to love, at least to treat as his wife, he saw Madame de Sauve arise, as it were, from the further end of the gallery. He was nailed to the place, his eyes iastened on the Circe, who enthralled him as if by magic chains, and instead of continuing his steps towards his wife, by a movement of hesitation which betrayed more astonishment than alarm, he advanced to meet Madame de Sauve.

The courtiers seeing the King of Navarre, whose inflammable heart they knew, approach the beautiful Charlotte, had not the courage to prevent their meeting, but diew aside complaisantly ; so that at the same moment when Marguerite de Valois and M. de Guise exchanged the few words in Latin which we have noted above, Henry, having approached Madame de Sauve, began, in a French very intelligible, although with somewhat of a Gascon accent, a conversation by no means so mysrious.

«Ah, ma mie!’ he said, “‘ you have, then, come at the very moment when they assured me that you were unwell, and I had lost all hope of seeing you ?”

‘*Your majesty,’ replied Madame de

Sauve, ‘‘ would perhaps wish me to believe that it had cost you something to lose this hope ?”

“Sang Diow! I believe it!’’ replied the Béarnais; ‘“‘know you not that you are my sun by day, and my star by night? By my faith, I was in deepest darkness till you appeared and illumined all.”

«Then, monseigneur, I serve you a very ill turn.”’

‘‘What mean you, ma mie?”

Henry.

.“ I mean that he who is master of the handsomest woman in France should only have one desire—that the light should disappear, and give way to darkness and to happiness.”

‘You know, cruel one, that my happiness is in the hands of one woman only, and that she laughs at poor Henry.”

“Oh!” replied the baroncss, ‘‘ I believed, on the contrary, that it was this person who was the sport and jest of the King of Navarre.”

“ By my faith, dearest, you reproach me very unjustly, and I do not comprehend how so lovely a mouth can be so cruel. Do you suppose for a moment that it is 1 who marry myself? No, ventre-saint-gris, itis not 1!”

‘Tt is I, perhaps,” said the baroness, sharply.

‘* With your lovely eyes have you not seen farther, baroness? No, no; it is not Henry of Navarre who weds Marguerite de Valois.”

‘¢ And what is it then ?”

‘Why, saxg Diou! it is the Reformed religion which marries the Pope—that’s all.”

‘‘No, no; your majesty loves Madame Marguerite. Andcan I blame you? Heaven forbid! Sheis beautiful enough to be adored.”

Henry reflected for a moment, and, as he reflected, a meaning smile curled the corner of his lips.

‘* Baroness,”’ said he, ‘‘ you have no right to seek a quarrel with me. What have you done to prevent me from espousing Madame Marguerite? Nothing. On the contrary, you have always driven me to despair, and I wed her because you love me not.”

‘‘Tf I had loved you, sire, I must have died in another hour.”

— Tn another hour !

inquired

What do you mean?

And of what death would you have died ?”” ~~

‘‘Of jealousy !—for in another hour the Queen of Navarre will send away her women, and your majesty your gentlemen.”

‘Ts that really the thought that occupies your mind, ma mze?”

‘Tt have not said so. I only say, that if I loved you it would cccupy my mind most tormentingly.”’

‘‘But suppose,” said Henry, *“that the King of Navarre should not send away his gentlemen this evening?”

‘« Sire,” replied Madame de Sauve, looking at the king with astonishment for once unfeigned, ‘‘you say things impossible and incredible.”

‘‘ What must I do, to make you believe them ?”

ns ge

MARGUERITE DE VALOJS.

‘Give me a proof—and that proof you cannot give me.”

‘‘Yes, baroness, yes! By Saint Henry, I will give it you!” exclaimed the king, gazing amorously on her.

*©Oh, your majesty !””? murmured the lovely Charlotte, with downcast eyes, “‘ Ido not comprehend.”’

‘‘ There are four Henries in this room, my adorable!” replied the king. ‘* Henry de France, Henry de Con!é, Henry de Guise: but there is only one Henry of Navarre.”’

= Wwe?”

‘¢ Well; if this Henry of Navarre is with you all night #

“All night! ”

‘Yes; then you will be certain that he is not with any other.”’

“Ah! if you do that, sire,’ said Madame Sauve.

“*On the honour of a gentleman, [ will doit!”’

Madame de Sauve raised her beaming and love-promising eyes to the king, whose heart beat with joy.

‘“‘ And then,” said Henry, ‘‘ what will you say?”

J will say,’’ replied Charlotte, ‘‘that your majesty really loves me.”

** Ventre-saint-gris! then you shall say it. Have you not about you some waiting-woman whom you can trust ?”

‘* Yes, Dariole is devoted to me.”’

“€ Sang-Diou! then say to her, that I will make her fortune when I am King of France, as the astrologers prophesy.”

Charlotte smiled, for even at this period the Gascon reputation of the Béarnais. was already established with respect to his promises.

“Well, then, what do you desire of Dariole ? ”

‘* Little for her, a great deal for me. Your apartment is over mine?”

cones,

*‘Let her wait behind the door. I will strike three blows gently, and —_”

Madame de Sauve kept silence for several seconds, and then, as if she had looked around her to observe if she were overheard, she - fastened her gaze for a moment on the group which environed the queen-mother; brief as the moment was, it was sufficient for Catherine and her lady-in-waiting to exchange a look.

**Oh, if I were inclined,” said Madame de Sauve, with a syren’s accent that would have melted Ulysses himself—‘‘if I were inclined to make your majesty tell a falsehood ——”

“* Ma mie, try 2 “Ab ma foi! I confess lam tempted to do 50.

**Women are never so strong as after theif defeat.”

*«Sire, I hold you to your promise for Dariole, when you shall be King of France.”

Henry uttered an exclamation of joy.

It was at the precise moment when the cry escaped the lips of the Béarnais, that the Queen of Navarre replied to the Duke of Guise ;

i

‘* Noctu pro more.”

Then Henry quitted Madame de Sauve as happy as the Duke de Guise when he quitted Marguerite de Valois.

An hour after the double scene we have just related, King Charles and the queen-mother also retired to their apartments. Almost immediately the apartments began to empty; the galleries exhibited the bases of their marble columns. The admiral and the Prince de Condé were escorted home by four hundred Huguenot gentlemen through the middle of the crowd, which groaned as they passed. Then Henry de Guise, with the Lorraine and Catholic gentlemen, left in their turn, greeted by the cries of joy and plaudits of the people.

As to Marguerite de Valois, Henry of Navarre, and Madame de Sauve, they lived in the Louvre.